Chapter Six
Xavier
The temperature dropped overnight. Not enough for frost, but enough that my breath shows when I step out of the truck and onto the cracked asphalt at the end of Maple Street.
It’s late October in Brookhaven. The air smells like dry leaves, chimney smoke, and whatever Mrs. Donnelly two houses down is burning in her barrel that she swears is ‘just paper.’
Ruby Bennett’s place sits at the very end of the street where the pavement gives up and turns into gravel, as if the town ran out of money halfway through the project.
I didn’t plan to come out here. Didn’t think about it when I left the job site. Didn’t think about it when I turned down this road. Didn’t think about it until I was already here.
Four days. Four days since she stood in a hardware aisle arguing with drywall anchors and looking at me like she wasn’t sure if she should trust my advice. Four days since I said I’d stop by. Three days since I didn’t.
The house itself is solid. It’s older, with a wide front porch and peeling paint that was probably white once but has settled into something closer to tired cream.
It’s not a bad house. It just needs some work. I shut the truck door and stand there longer than necessary, hands in my jacket pockets, cataloging what I see from the driveway.
One section of the guttering is pulling loose near the corner. Porch rail leaning to the left. The roof patch on the south side is curling at the edges.
Movement catches my eye. Off to the side of the house, a pen sits beyond the yard.
Samson is a black adult potbellied pig with an attitude that matches his namesake before his hair was cut, fearless with a dash of recklessness.
He nudges at the fence with determination as Delilah, a smaller pig with white flesh and a couple of black spots, circles slower, steady, as if she knows he doesn’t stand a chance of breaking free.
I grasp the fence, tugging back and forth. Solid. “You’ve got no hope, old man.” The larger pig gives out a loud squeal as if he disagrees with my assessment. “Sorry for your luck.”
Squirt, Ruby’s young pig, is nowhere to be seen. She’s been known to drag the young pig around like a purse dog instead of a pig that’ll be over 100 pounds when he’s fully grown. Inside, something moves past the window. Ruby.
I walk to the porch before I give myself time to think better of it.
The back door opens before I knock. Ruby steps out, sleeves pulled over her hands, hair twisted up in a knot that didn’t survive whatever she tried to do with it.
She stops when she sees me. Surprise flickers. Gone just as fast. “You do just show up places.”
I shrug. “You bought rolled insulation for completed walls.”
“That was one time.”
“It was four days ago.”
She leans against the doorframe, arms folding like she’s bracing for something. “I was exploring options.”
“You had paint samples named after clouds.”
One auburn brow arches upward as she taps her red painted toes on the deck. “They were different clouds.”
“They were white.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself. “You here to make fun of me or look at the house?”
“Both.”
“At least you’re honest.”
I step past her into the house, walking through the enclosed back porch. The trim is painted. Clean lines. Same shade all the way across. At least, she went with one color.
The kitchen…. Not finished. Not anything close to done. Her phone is propped up on the counter, paused on a video explaining something she clearly doesn’t understand.
I step closer to the wall, running my hand along the edge, feeling where it gives and where it shouldn’t. “You take anything out?”
“No.” She wipes her hands on her jeans.
“Good.” The scent of citrus, paint, and vanilla fills the space around me. Even though the place is disorganized, it’s been scrubbed clean.
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
She exhales. “Great.”
I crouch, checking the framing. “You’ve got a load-bearing section here.”
“I just heard those words like five minutes ago.”
“And?”
“I don’t know what they mean.”
My mouth almost lifts. “Means if you take the wrong thing out, your ceiling ends up in your kitchen.”
She stares at me. “That feels like important information.”
“It is.”
“Would’ve been nice to know before I started.” She walks across the kitchen floor, picks up a coffee cup and places it in the sink.
“You didn’t start.”
She glances over her shoulder as she twists on the hot water. “I thought about starting.”
After standing, I shove my hands into my pockets. “That’s worse.”
“That’s not helpful.”
I step back, looking at the whole space again. “You finished the back porch.”
“I did.”
“All the same color.”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t.”
I don’t say anything. Don’t have to. A quiet stretch takes root between us. Not awkward. Just…. There.
“Pigs look good.”
“Thank you.” One corner of her mouth raises upward, twitches and then returns to a flat line. “I might be better at raising pigs than picking out sheetrock anchors.”
A small snout pokes out from the dog bed tucked into the corner. Squirt lifts his head just enough to acknowledge us before dropping it back onto something balled beneath his chin. Something pink.
“Is he sleeping on a sock?”
Ruby glances over. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“He steals them.”
“Just socks?”
“Mostly. Occasionally a dish towel if he's feeling ambitious.”
“I see.” Squirt lets out a tiny squeal as he hears us. “It’s solid.”
“Squirt stealing socks?” She eyes me like she’s struggling to keep up with my topic changes. I can’t say that I blame her, even to me, it sounds random.
“No. The fence.”
She pauses. “Yeah. I did that.”
“I’m impressed.” With proper guidance, she might not be over her head. “Good work.”
“Thank you.” She looks away, pink coloring her cheeks.
I can’t stop the smile from forming this time. “Don’t expect more compliments from me.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Rude.”
“Honest.”
She glances back. “So, what now?”
The wall. Ruby. It’s my turn to look away this time. “We figure out what you can do without bringing the house down.”
“That feels like a low bar.”
“It’s a good place to start.”
She nods, pushing off the counter. “Fine. But if my ceiling ends up in the kitchen, I’m blaming you.”
“That’s fair.” I grab her phone, glance at the paused video, and set it back down. “Don’t watch that.”
“That’s rude.”
“Accurate. That guy has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“And of course, you do.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s no edge to it now. “Alright. Show me where to start.”
I nod once, stepping back toward the wall. This is simple. Structure. Support. Fix what’s weak before it fails.
Houses make sense. People don’t. And this, showing up here, four days late, standing in her kitchen like I didn’t already decide to stay out of it…. That isn’t simple. Not even a little.