Megan Hart - The Favour

Gabe’s jaw went tight, but he knew better than to rise to the old man’s jabs. Ralph Tierney wanted to be discontent and grouchy, and he’d always find a way to do it. Gabe lifted his tools in farewell instead, and left his father alone.

Next door, he entered a world of warmth and the good smells of something baking, and laughter. A boy, Janelle’s kid, slapped down an Uno card on the table and tossed back his head, his hair too long. He crowed with glee as Mrs. Decker, sitting across from him, fanned out her cards and shook her head.

They both looked up when he came in the door. Mrs. Decker appeared surprised, the kid only curious. Janelle poked her head around the kitchen doorway.

“Hey!”

“Gabe Tierney,” Nan said. “What on earth?”

“I asked him to come over and fix the dishwasher,” Janelle explained. “Come on in. Bennett, this is Mr. Tierney.”

“Gabe. Mr. Tierney’s my old man.”

“You’re Andy’s brother,” Bennett said. “He said you were good at fixing stuff.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Gabe lifted the tools, uncomfortable under Mrs. Decker’s scrutiny.

She gave him a steady, solid look that made him feel like that seventeen-year-old punk again, the one defiling her granddaughter. He’d lived next door to Maureen Decker his entire life. She’d never been unkind to him, but she’d never been overly sweet to him, either, the way some adults had been while he was growing up. If “those Tierney boys” had ever curled Mrs. Decker’s lip or moved her to pity, she hadn’t shown it. She’d given him Popsicles and chased him out of her apple tree and put candy in his trick-or-treat bag. She’d hollered at him more than once, when she thought he needed it. She’d treated him like she treated all the other neighborhood kids, and Gabe had never forgotten that.

Janelle showed him the dishwasher. “It’s ancient. I’m not sure you can do anything for it, really.”

“I’ll take a look.” Gabe got on one knee and hunted for a screwdriver to open up the bottom panel. It came away easily enough, and what was inside wasn’t anything he’d never seen before. If anything, these older models were easier to fix because they didn’t rely on all the electronic bells and whistles the new ones did.

He was aware of Janelle watching him. Too aware. Her heavy winter clothes had been hiding a pair of black leggings and an oversize T-shirt cut at the neck so it hung off one shoulder. She wore thick, bunched socks and stood with one hip against the counter and her foot propped against the inside of her calf. It was strange seeing her as a redhead, even though that was how he’d always thought of her even when she’d been dying her hair black.

“Do you think you can fix it?”

“Yes. It’ll need a couple new parts, but you can get them at the hardware store. I’ll write a list.”

Janelle sighed. “Will they be expensive?”

Gabe looked up at her. From the living room came a burst of laughter that gave him pause before he answered. “Cheaper than a new dishwasher.”

“Yeah. Of course.” She laughed. “And better than washing all the dishes by hand, I guess.”

They didn’t have a dishwasher, working or broken, at the Tierney house. The old man had probably never washed a dish in his life. He’d firmly believed chores like that belonged to women and children...even grown children who still lived at home.

She was still watching him, her gaze a tickle on the back of his neck. Gabe carefully replaced the screws on the front panel and got to his feet. “Do you have some paper and a pen? I’ll write down what you need.”

“Yeah, sure. In the drawer.” She leaned past him to reach it.

She smelled good.

Gabe backed up a step. She noticed, of course. She was sharp like that. She pulled open the drawer, the contents rattling, and sighed.

“Huh, not here. I’ll have to get some from upstairs. Be right back.” She looked into his eyes when she moved past him, holding his gaze for several long seconds.

She’d been gone for only a minute when Bennett came into the kitchen. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Gabe looked up from the tool bag he was putting back in order. “Bennett, right?”

The kid nodded and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I came to get a drink.”

Gabe got out of the way, shoving his bag with a foot so it slid across the linoleum. The kid took a glass from the cupboard, then opened the fridge to pull out a gallon of milk. “You want some?”

“Uh...no, thanks.”

“You want a soda? Or my mom has a few beers in there.” The kid gave him that same curious head tilt his mother had.

Gabe shook his head. “No, thanks.”

Bennett sipped some milk and licked at the mustache it left behind. “Did you fix it?”

“Not yet.”

“But you will,” the kid said.

“I hope so. If I can get the right parts. It’s pretty old,” Gabe said. “But...I’ll do what I can.”

The kid beamed. “Good. Loading and unloading it is my chore, but if it’s broken, guess what my chore is.”

“Taking out the trash?”

“That, too,” Bennett said. “But also washing the dishes. It freaking sucks.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Gabe’s mouth, though he did his best to keep it straight. “Hey, language.”

Bennett looked surprised. “You think freaking’s a bad word?”

He didn’t, exactly, and it wasn’t even his place to have said anything to begin with. It had just slipped out automatically. To his horror, it was the sort of thing his old man would’ve said. Gabe grimaced.

Bennett frowned. “Don’t tell my mom, okay? She’ll be mad.”

In high school, Janelle had had a vast and colorful vocabulary. It had included a lot of creative curses that went well beyond the normal four-letter words. Freaking wouldn’t even have registered on her radar.

“You knew my mom when she was little, huh?”

It was weird the way he’d echoed Gabe’s thoughts from just a few moments ago, and Gabe stuttered a little bit on his answer. “Um, yeah. I did.”

Bennett nodded. “Nan said you did. She said you’ve lived next to her since you were born. How long is that?”

“A long time.”

“So you knew my mom when she lived here, with Nan?”

Gabe looked at the ceiling again, wondering if he could just write down the parts he needed at home and give them to Andy to bring over. Hell, he could just go to the hardware store himself and buy them. He didn’t want to stand here talking to Janelle’s son about knowing her, but the kid was clearly waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I knew her.”

“You went to school together?”

“Yeah.”

“Same grade?”

“Yes,” Gabe said, irritated now. “Jesus, kid. What’s with the interrogation?”

Bennett frowned for a second. “Sorry. My mom says the only way to ever find anything out is if you ask questions. I just wanted to know what she was like when she was younger.”

“So why don’t you ask her?”

Bennett shrugged. “Duh, you think the stories she tells me are the ones I’d think were more interesting to hear? Or just the sorts of things a parent tells a kid.”

“What kinds of things would you want to hear?” Gabe nudged his tool bag with a toe, getting ready to pick it up and make his exit.

“You know, the good stuff. Maybe you don’t know any good stuff.”

Gabe looked at the kid seriously. “If I did, you think I’d tell you?”

“Maybe.” Bennett shrugged again. “Andy knew my mom in high school, too—she says he did. But he doesn’t remember her at all. So I figured you must remember. Especially if you were good friends.”

“Did she...tell you that?” Gabe bent for the tool bag, hefting its weight so the contents jingled. “She talked about me?”