M. Stelmack - A Roof Over Their Heads

He straightened. “No water?” He was tall; she barely reached his shoulder. “You might need to just turn the valve. It’s by—it should be downstairs in the furnace room right against the far wall. Usually about a foot or two off the ground.”

“Did that. Only the valves to the taps weren’t shut off and water sprayed everywhere, so I have to figure out what goes where.”

“You called the owner?”

“Yes, but she’s not picking up.”

He hefted the stick in his hand and his thick arm muscles corded. Callie whimpered and Alexi lifted her into her arms. Seth glanced at the stick, walked to the garden, set it down and returned without a word. Alexi felt Callie’s body sag with relief against hers.

“Until you sort it out with her,” he said, as if there’d been no interruption to their conversation, “the outside tap runs—usually runs—through a separate pipe. You could try it.”

She’d never thought of that. “Of course.” She leaned to check the side of the house, Matt leaning with her. She couldn’t see anything.

“Might be on the other side,” Seth contributed.

Matt moved to check but halted at the man’s next words. “You on your own?”

Alexi stiffened. One act of kindness didn’t give him access to her life file. Besides, she wasn’t about to admit to a stranger that she and the kids were alone.

Before she could answer, Matt spoke. “Daddy-R died a year ago.” He swallowed. “A year ago today.”

He’d remembered. Alexi had hoped that the excitement of today would make the kids forget the anniversary. Matt lifted his eyes to her, deep brown eyes Richard had described as rock and wood and land, all things solid. Right now, they’d gone soft with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” Seth said. The standard words of condolence were low and distinct as if the man well and truly was sorry.

Matt squared his shoulders and gave a short nod. Putting on a brave face as usual.

“Thanks again for all your help,” she said to Seth. “Matt, could you check—”

Bryn came up the side of the house, twirling Seth’s jersey about his head like a lasso. Seth made a low grumbling noise, and Matt jumped to sort out the mess.

The jersey-for-bat exchange was made with few words and fewer movements. Alexi and the kids watched as the first person they’d met at Spirit Lake strode off and pulled away in a truck with the lettering Greene-on-Top Roofing on the doors.

Alexi turned to Matt, his face pale as he tracked the progress of the white Ford down the street. “You okay?”

Matt wiped his forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

His voice was sad and shaky. When Alexi leaned to kiss him, he tilted his head away and quickly said, “Hey, I was thinking that we could set up the tent in the backyard. Be just as comfortable as sleeping inside and it wouldn’t stink, either.”

Alexi let him have his evasion. The whole point of coming here was to start over. Time to get on with it.

“Why not? We deserve a little fun.”

* * *

UNBELIEVABLE. THERE WERE no baseball bats. Seth had reserved the diamond, answered obvious questions, posted all week to the Facebook group with reminders about the switch in dates from their regular Thursday meetup to today, Friday, and to bring bats and balls because he had neither. The result was thirty-three people, sixteen balls and no bats. And to think he had one in his hand not two hours earlier. Homemade, but enough to get the game underway.

Everybody arranged themselves on lawn chairs or bleachers, or leaned on trucks, content to have him deal with the consequences of their forgetfulness. Fair enough. He was responsible for—how did the legal wording go?—“generating, overseeing, implementing and attending all events associated with the recreational club, Lakers-on-the-Go.”

He was about to haul his own butt off a bleacher and shoot over to Canadian Tire for a couple of bats, when Ben texted to say he’d bring over his two.

Seth wondered if one of them was a girl’s bat.

Back when he and Ben were thirteen, they’d hiked across town to this same ball diamond with a bat and ball. Mel, when he wasn’t roofing with their dad, came along, but Connie, four years younger, had been too much of a pain. She’d pestered him to come, and so he told her that there was only one bat, it was his, and he didn’t want to share it with her. The next time they’d played, Ben had showed up with a pink-and-purple bat he said he’d share.

Seth learned then that Ben was a loyal friend unless Connie was involved.

That summer it had turned into the four of them. They’d start off taking turns pitching, hitting and fielding, but soon enough it would fall into the pattern of Connie pitching, him hitting and Mel fielding, with Ben rotating among the positions. When it had been Ben’s turn to hit, Seth always moved to the field with Mel. No need for a back catcher because Ben could hit whatever Connie threw at him.

Heavy footsteps sent quivers through the stretch of metal bleacher under Seth’s butt. He glanced up to see Mel plunk himself down beside him, deadening the vibrations. He carried the same box of Timbit donuts he’d had up on a roof this afternoon.

Seth jutted his jaw at the yellow box. “Aren’t those hard and dry by now?”

Mel looked offended. “These are good a week later.”

Mel opened the box for Seth. Seth took a plain bite-size donut ball. “How would you know? They don’t last the day around you.”

Mel took two sugared ones. “Sometimes they get away on me, and I don’t find them till later.”

Seth opened his mouth, then shut it. The less he knew, the better.

“Forty percent chance of severe thunderstorms tonight,” Mel reported. “Good thing Ben and me finished off the roof.”

“Yep.”

Like with little kids, Mel didn’t always need a lot of feedback to hold a conversation.

“Hot enough for it, humid enough, too. And it’s July. Anything can happen in July.”

“You bet.”

“You called Connie yet?” Mel said.

“Why should I?” Seth opened his phone to check his weather app. Maybe there was something nasty coming. Hot and humid, yeah, but electrical, too. Made people lazy and twitchy at the same time.

“Maybe she didn’t get the widow’s message. Maybe she doesn’t realize how much of a not-good situation she’s in, legal-wise.”

Seth’s thumb paused over the phone screen. He’d told Mel about the renovation disaster over at the house but he’d never considered that the mom might call a lawyer. She struck him as more of a problem-solver than a troublemaker. Then again, hauling his sister’s butt into court was one way of solving the problem.

He hit Connie’s number. He didn’t get through and he didn’t leave a message. Seth called again. And again and again.

Mel tipped the box toward Seth, and Seth shook his head. It was part of their ritual. Seth would take one, maybe two, of whatever Mel had on hand and no more, even though Mel would continue to offer.

Connie had her own ritual around not answering her phone. She seemed to think he really had to mean it. Or, as he suspected, she liked to have him riled right from the get-go.

After what seemed like the ninety-seventh try, she answered with, “What? What!”

“Your tenants moved in today.”

“They did? Today?”

“Yes. She said she left you a message.”

Connie’s tone switched from surprise to accusatory. “You talked to her.”

“Not by choice. I don’t even know her name.” He meant that last bit to prove how little he knew this woman, but to his ears it came out peeved, as if he’d missed out. Not that he was going to ask Connie because she would love to know he wanted something from her. Lord it over him, angle for something in exchange. He didn’t want her to know it mattered when it was already absurd that it did.