Page 11 of Come in with the Rain
“I don’t have any money, Max.” It’s hard for me to admit it, but I’ve never been very good at hiding things from Max. He’s my other half. Part of it is the twin bond, but part of it is the sort of bond that’s formed when you’re ten years old, sitting next to each other in an empty funeral home, the only other family you have in caskets. The sort of bond that’s formed when you get put in a group home where you sleep with your backs to each other like soldiers. The sort of bond that links you in a way that makes every social worker say, “If you want one, you have to take them both,” because we would have rather died than be separated.
“I’ll send you some.”
“No!” I take a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out. I don’t want you to pay for it. You’re already paying for the place itself. The least I can do is pay the bills and upkeep.”
His voice is gentle when he speaks again. “Hey, it’s half my place, too. Let me take care of you, Stella.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I just need to get back to work. I had two interviews scheduled today, but now I have a flooded kitchen, so I don’t think those are happening.”
“You’ll call me if I can help?”
“Yeah. Say hi to the grizzly bears for me.”
He chuckles, the sound so comforting in my ear. The number of times Max has laughed directly into my ear when we were trying to be quiet or secretive seems almost infinite. “They don’t have grizzlies in Argentina.”
“I thought you were in Alaska.”
“Not since Tuesday.”
“I can’t keep up.”
“I don’t expect you to. Worry about yourself, little sister. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As soon as we hang up, the full weight of the situation settles on me. I have to pay someone to fix this. How long can I go without taking care of it? It’s not like I don’t have another sink in the bathroom.
I put towels on the floor and slosh around on them, considering my options. I could call Mickey. He would come here and fix this in a heartbeat. I could tuck the broken hose into the cabinet and just not use the sink until I have enough money to get it taken care of. I could watch a bunch of YouTube videos and try to fix it myself.
None of which seem like great options.
I look at my phone.
Thereisone more option. But I’m not sure it’s the best one.
Before I can give myself too long to think about it, I grab my phone and Google the repair service working on Mickey’s house. I remember the name of it from the shirts everyone wore, with the logo sprawled across all of those muscular chests. One muscular chest in particular, at eye level and distractingly flexed while he worked. Adam.
I shake my head, not realizing my hands are trembling until it takes a few tries to hit the call button. I can’t possibly be this nervous for a phone call, but I have to focus on breathing steadily as I put the phone to my ear.
“Cylburn Repair. This is Cindy. How can I help you today?”
“Hi, my name is Stella Hart. I was wondering if you could put me in contact with Adam Lake. He’s one of your employees.”
There’s some clacking of nails on keys while I wait. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hart, but I don’t have an Adam Lake in my directory. Is it something I can help you with?”
“Um. Not really. I’m certain Adam Lake works for you.” I can feel embarrassment moving up to color my cheeks. Did I get the name of the repair service wrong? I doubt that. I noticed it every single day. Their shirts were bright red, and every time I saw them, it was always a bit jarring, like being hit in the face with a tomato.
“I apologize, Ms. Hart.”
She sounds like she’s about to hang up, and my pulse jumps. “What about Shawn Meyers? Do you have a Shawn Meyers in your system?”
More clacking. “Oh! Yes, I have a Shawn Meyers. Wait one second, and I’ll have him contact you.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone, waiting. It’s less than a minute before a call comes through from an unknown number.
“Shawn?”
“Stell—uh, Ms. Hart? Is something wrong?”
