Chapter 38
Hank’s call came while Dave was halfway through a meeting at Finley Point. He listened for less than thirty seconds before reaching for his jacket. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that you should see it,” Hank replied. “The plumber ran a camera through the sewer line. Part of the pipe has collapsed between the building and the main connection.”
Dave closed his eyes briefly. “I’m on my way.”
Forty minutes later, he pulled into the arts center parking lot and saw a plumbing van beside the curb. Orange markings had already been sprayed across a section of ground near the side of the building.
Hank met him outside. “The break’s about fifteen feet from the foundation,” he explained as they walked toward the marked area. “Old clay pipe. Looks like the ground shifted and crushed part of it.”
Dave crouched beside the access point while the plumber showed him the camera footage on a small screen. There was no mistaking the problem. The pipe had caved inward, leaving barely enough room for anything to pass.
“Can you replace only the damaged section?” Dave asked.
“That’s the plan. We’ll excavate from here, cut out what’s failed, then tie new PVC into the sound pipe on either side.”
“How long?”
“Two days if nothing else goes wrong.”
Dave frowned. “And the cost?”
The plumber named a figure close to eighteen thousand dollars.
Dave straightened. It was a lot of money, but not enough to jeopardize an opening they’d spent months working toward. “I’ll cover it.”
Hank looked at him.
Dave ignored the warning in his friend’s expression. “Get the work started. I’ll sort out the payment.”
The plumber nodded and returned to his van.
Hank waited until they were alone. “You might want to talk to Beth before you do that.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. The pipe needs fixing.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Dave frowned. “Then what did you mean?”
Hank glanced toward the front doors. “She’s been going through the accounts.”
Something in his tone made Dave uneasy. “All of them?”
“As far as I can tell.”
Dave looked at the building. That wasn’t good. He’d was going to tell Beth about the orders he’d changed. Preferably when the center was open, everything was running smoothly, and she was too pleased with the finished building to object too strongly. But that time had arrived early.
He walked inside with Hank.
The unpleasant smell was still noticeable, although someone had opened the windows. They’d only made it halfway across the room when Beth appeared at the entrance to her office.
She was holding a sheet of paper in her hand. “Hi, Dave.”
“Hi.” Beth’s expression was calm. Too calm.
“Could I speak to you for a minute?” she asked.
Dave glanced at Hank. His friend suddenly found something fascinating on the opposite side of the room. “Of course.”
Beth stepped back into her office, and Dave followed. Papers covered almost every available surface. Several invoices were arranged beside her laptop, and a spreadsheet filled the screen.
Beth closed the door.
Dave slipped his hands into his pockets. “Hank told me about the sewer.”
“I know. That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
He looked at the paperwork again.
Beth sat behind her desk but didn’t invite him to do the same. “I’ve been checking the renovation accounts to see whether we can save enough money to help pay for the sewer repair.”
“That makes sense.”
Beth frowned. “Except the accounts don’t make sense.”
There it was. Dave pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.
Beth picked up an invoice. “The shelving in the storeroom isn’t what I ordered. They’re much better.”
Dave said nothing.
“The hinges are different, too. And the acoustic battens in the music room aren’t the product on the original quote.” Beth placed the invoice on the desk. “Did you change the orders?”
Dave nodded. “I did.”
Beth’s shoulders lowered slightly, as though she’d hoped he’d tell her she was mistaken. “Why?”
“I thought the better products were worth using.”
“That doesn’t explain how we paid for them.”
He sighed. “The center didn’t pay the difference.”
Beth went very still. “Who did?”
“I did.”
For several seconds, the only sound in the office was the faint rumble of voices from the hallway.
Beth looked down at the papers. “All of it?”
“Not everything.”
“How much?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Her gaze came back to his. “It matters to me.”
Dave shifted in his chair. This was exactly the conversation he’d wanted to avoid. “The acoustic treatment needed upgrading. The original hinges weren’t good enough for the amount of use those cupboards will get. The shelving will last longer.”
Beth waited.
Dave knew that expression.
“And the faucets?” she asked.
Dave rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I paid the difference between the faucets you ordered and the ones you liked.”
Beth stared at him.
He tried to make it sound less significant than it was. “You wanted them. They suited the building better.”
“So you changed the order without telling me?”
“I knew you’d say no.”
“Exactly.”
Dave frowned. “I was trying to help.”
“I know you were.”
That took some of the fight out of him.
Beth folded her hands on the desk. “And I appreciate what you were trying to do. But if you wanted to donate money to the center, you should have spoken to Natalie. We could have recorded it properly and adjusted the budget.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know what I’d done,” he told her.
Beth glanced toward the spreadsheet. “Natalie gave me the responsibility for keeping this renovation within the money we’d been allocated. I’ve been telling her we’re doing that.”
“You are.”
“No, Dave. I’m not.”
His brows drew together. “The center hasn’t gone over budget.”
“Only because you’ve been paying for things behind the scenes.”
He opened his mouth, but Beth kept going.
“The figures aren’t an accurate reflection of what this building has cost. When we present the final budget to the council, it won’t have the correct information for the insurances or the asset renewal plan.”
Dave hadn’t considered that. To him, it had been simple. They needed quality products that would last, and he could upgrade the ones that had been ordered.
Beth handed him a folder. “These are the invoices for the products that are different. How much have you spent?”
He gave her the approximate figure.
Beth’s eyes widened. “Dave.”
“It wasn’t all at once.”
“That doesn’t make it less money.”
Dave shrugged. “I can afford it.”
“That isn’t the point.”
He heard the frustration in her voice and felt his own rising to meet it. “Then what is the point? The building needed those things. I had the money. Nobody lost anything.”
“I lost the chance to be part of the decision.”
The words stopped him.
Beth’s expression softened, but she didn’t look away. “You saw a problem and fixed it,” she continued. “That’s what you do. And most of the time, it’s one of the things I admire about you. But I don’t want you solving problems for me without letting me be part of the solution.”
Dave looked at her. This wasn’t really about hinges or faucets. It wasn’t even about money.
He thought about their latest issue. “I told the plumber I’d pay for the sewer line to be repaired.”
Beth closed her eyes.
Dave frowned. “You’re going to say I shouldn’t have done that.”
She looked at him again. “You can’t pay eighteen thousand dollars because something has gone wrong at the center.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t your responsibility.”
“I can help.”
Beth rubbed her forehead. “If you want to donate eighteen thousand dollars, talk to Natalie. Let her decide whether she’s comfortable accepting your money.”
Dave frowned. “That wastes time.”
“All it takes is a conversation. Natalie already knows about the problem. We’ll work out how to fix it together.”
Dave leaned forward. “What if there isn’t enough money?”
“Then we’ll find another solution.”
“You already have one,” Dave told her. “Me.”
Beth didn’t look as though she saw his logic.
“If you’d told Natalie and I what you wanted to do, we would have taken your offer into consideration.
What if Natalie has another contingency account, or the council gives her more funding?
You could use the money from the sewer line and everything else for other things.
” Beth’s voice gentled. “Do you see why it’s important to ask first before spending your own money? ”
Dave looked down at his hands. He did. He didn’t particularly like it, but he understood.
All his life, caring for people had meant doing something useful. Fixing the broken step before Carol noticed it. Paying for Mark’s car repair when his son was short of money. Turning up at Hank’s house with tools instead of asking whether he needed help.
Providing was easy.
Standing beside someone while they worked out a problem together was harder. “I wasn’t trying to take anything away from you,” he said.
“I know.”
“And the faucets…” Dave hesitated. “Those weren’t really about the center.”
Beth’s expression changed.
“I bought them because you loved them.”
A faint flush warmed her cheeks. “That was incredibly sweet,” she said quietly. “And still something you should have told me.”
Dave gave a reluctant smile. “I’m getting that impression.”
Beth’s mouth curved and some of the tension between them eased.
He reached across the desk and held out his hand. After a moment, Beth placed hers in it. “I’ll talk to you next time.”
“Before you spend thousands of dollars?” Beth asked.
“Before I spend any money.” He rubbed his thumb across her fingers. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”
“I know.”
Dave looked at the woman sitting opposite him and understood something he should probably have realized sooner. Beth didn’t need someone to rescue her.
She wanted someone beside her.
And if he wanted to be that man, he’d have to learn that helping didn’t always mean fixing everything before she knew it was broken.
Sometimes it meant pulling up a chair, showing her the problem, and asking what they were going to do about it.
Together.