Miss Fix-It

Another nod. How did he not have a headache?

“How about I come and get you when I think it’s ready?” I offered. “It’ll be before bedtime tonight.”

I’d have to re-tape these boards tomorrow, but oh well.

Eli gazed out at all the boards. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Deal?” He stuck out his tiny hand.

I took it and shook. “Deal.”

“Can I watch you paint?”

I hesitated. I couldn’t say no, could I? I’d let Ellie. “Sure,” I said. “As long as you don’t touch anything.”

Nodding his agreement, he dropped to sit exactly where he was in the middle of the room. He crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap, staring at me expectantly.

My lips twitched at his interest in my work.

I remembered when I was a couple years older than him, sitting like that, and watching my dad do exactly what I was doing right now.

I was sis. My mom had died nine months before. It’d been the first week of summer and Dad couldn’t get a sitter. I’d been brought to work under the rules I wouldn’t touch anything, I wouldn’t go anywhere without him, and if I was really bored, I could pass him tools.

That was the day I grew a real interest in everything he did. The day I was first amazed that two hands could change a house so much with nothing more than love and dedication.

I glanced back at Eli and picked up my brush with a smile. He sat silently as I painted. I didn’t even hear him cough—not even a creak of the floorboards. If I didn’t turn and check on him every now and then, I wouldn’t have guessed he was there—or moving to get a better view of what I was doing.

It was peaceful. And fun, almost.

Until Tornado Ellie blew in.

“Whatcha doooooooooing?” she sang, hovering in the doorway.

Eli sighed.

“Painting,” I replied.

“Can I watch?”

“No,” Eli said. “You watched your woom.”

“I wanna watch yours, too.”

“No.”

“Kawi!”

I shrugged, rolling the paint on. “Sorry, Ellie. It’s up to Eli. I think he’s having fun watching me.”

“I had fun watching you, too!”

“You aweady watched,” Eli said quietly. “I wanna watch now.”

Ellie stomped her foot on the floor.

“Ellie!” Brantley shouted from downstairs. “You better not be upstairs!”

“I’m not,” she shouted back.

“Go away, Ewwie,” Eli said.

I shook my head as she stomped her head again. I was focused on a patch of wall by the ceiling and, in my attempt not to get red on the white ceiling, I didn’t know until it was too late.

“Nooo! Ewwie! Nooooo!” Eli shrieked, stomping and thumping as he got up.

I turned.

And, fuck.

“Ellie!” I didn’t mean to shout, I really didn’t. But seeing her deliberately and spitefully plant her red-paint-covered hands all over the blue wall because Eli said no made me.

Eli cried as he pulled her away from the wall and pushed her over. They both went down, kicking into the tray of blue paint.

It happened in slow motion.

They hit the ground.

The tray flicked up and over.

The paint splattered over the floor and the wall I intended to be red.

I stood there, covered in pink and blue and red paint, on the opposite side of the room, roller in hand, dripping paint on the floor, and stared at the twins.

They were still struggling. Ellie was screaming. Eli was shouting. And they were both covered in paint.

“What the—” Brantley stopped in the doorway, cheeks red. Slowly, he swung his gaze from the fighting twins to me. “What the hell happened?”

“Are you sure you want that answer?” I replied.

He took a deep breath. Picking his way between the paint splatters, he separated the twins. Holding them both by the arm, one in his left hand and the other in his right, he knelt down and stared at them both.

Ellie’s face was bright red from screaming. Eli was still crying, and as a number of emotions danced over Brantley’s expression, I could see he was torn on how to react.

“I just wanted to watch Kawi paint,” Eli sobbed, hiccupping halfway through the sentence.

“What happened?” Brantley demanded, turning to Ellie.

My eyes widened a bit.

Boy, that was hard.

Even I wanted to tell him what happened and he wasn’t talking to me.

“Eli hit me first!”

“No, he didn’t,” I interjected. I put the roller in my tray, folded my arms over my chest, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Did he, Ellie?”

She sniffed. “He pushed me over.”

“And why did he push you over?” Brantley asked. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the red handprints on the wall now, would it? The wall Kali has spent all day painting.”

“It was Eli!”

Brantley turned over her hands. “Really,” he said flatly.

Ellie shrunk back.

“You have ten seconds to tell me the truth before I go and put blue handprints on your walls and see how you like it, young lady.” He dropped her arm and pulled Eli into his side. He’d almost stopped crying now, but he looked like he’d gotten in a fight with a Smurf.