99 Percent Mine

Colin sulks. “Not yet.”

“Oh really, Mr. Paperwork?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to order him to get them in by five. But I won’t. I’ll stay behind the line that Tom drew for me.

I can’t help but notice that Colin looks kind of cool, standing up there against the white wall background. I pick up my camera and take a quick shot. I frown at the screen. I can do better than that.

I adjust the settings, reframe, and the second shot is a lot better. Like, a lot. “How’d you like to be my muse?” I ask Colin. He doesn’t bother acknowledging my existence.

I put the camera aside. Two pictures of a human face among the shots of electrical outlets and cracked skirting boards. Tom might be proud of me for that. How weird that it’s awful old Colin that’s inspired me.

I press my palm against the first tile in the row. It feels completely sacrilegious, but I put the edge of the crowbar on the top of the tile and it just . . . pops off. I’m too slow to catch it and it shatters at my feet.

Tom’s head almost instantly appears at the doorjamb.

“Be careful.” He’s regretting this big-time. “Yeah, wait,” he says to someone else. It’s an impressive juggling act: supervising an entire worksite, and personally supervising my every move.

“I’m fine.” I pop off more tiles into my palm and drop them into a cardboard box. “I’m one of the guys now, right?” I say to Colin, who laughs without humor and says sure. “Bye, Tom. See you later.”

He gets my unsubtle hint and walks off again.

The impromptu Underswears shoot ruined the little candy-hug truce we’d just achieved. When I walked Truly out to her car, there were crews of guys hand-carrying wood down the side of the house, Colin had his arms crossed, and Tom was furious. He’d admitted his participation was voluntary, and had promised to not blame me for it, but it feels an awful lot like another strike against me.

I tried to help carry timber too, but the moment I bent down, he was bumping me back like I’d strayed too close to a cliff.

He’s starting to be more Valeska than man.

It’s got to be the stress that’s turning him into an animal. If I talk to one of the delivery guys? He’s coming up the front path with a snarl on his lip. If I make a spare sandwich for bozo Alex, who’s so far forgotten lunch every single day? Tom’s leaning on the bench, jealous eyes on my profile until I pull out the cheese and lettuce.

The guys on the crew are starting to walk sideways around me. I’m starting to feel like a land mine. If Tom touches me again I’m probably just going to explode on him. Hence my permanent fever sweat.

To the bathroom crew, I say, “I’ve known Tom since we were eight. But some days I wonder if he’ll ever speak to me again after this.”

“Renovations are very stressful,” Ben says diplomatically. “And so is starting your own business. Aldo has been making things difficult for Tom, especially getting staff.”

“He didn’t tell me that.” I wonder what else he’s lying awake over.

“Payroll. Insurance. Workers’ safety. Subcontractors. Contracts,” Colin drones from up on his perch. He snaps his fingers at me, and I know that means to hand up his cordless drill. I’m only slightly above Alex in the pecking order.

“I don’t respond to that.” I click my fingers back at him. “Use your words.”

“Site security. Suppliers. Rental equipment. Invoicing. Budget.” Colin gives me a very meaningful look and finishes with, “Client management. Pass me that drill.”

I hand it up. “You’ve made your point. He’s got it all handled.”

“I don’t think so. He’s very distracted,” Colin says in between annoying drill buzzes. He hands down a vent to me, getting gray dust in my hair. “Trash.”

Feeling mildly persecuted, I toss the vent in Alex’s box. “I want to argue with you that he’s got everything handled, but I’ve recently been advised that it’s none of my business.” I return to my tiles, unsettled. Tom sat on the back step last night with his head in his hands. As soon as he heard my approaching footfalls, he’d smoothed everything back into that competent façade.

Is it the renovation, or Megan, that is tormenting him?

I find my rhythm again. Pop, smash. Pop, smash. I’m getting handy with my crowbar. I should give Alex a break on the trash task.

I bend down and lift the box, and my heart decides to shit its pants.

It feels like a rush of palpitations that seem to bubble upward, into my throat, graying my vision. I lean my shoulder on the wall. Okay, that does it. I think I need to go in for a quick review of the old heart situation, but Jamie always comes with me. I’m still little-kid Darcy, too scared to go to one big-girl appointment on her own.

It’s weird. I haven’t gotten used to Loretta’s absence in my life, because she feels so close I half expect to look out the window and see her bossing someone around.

Sometimes it feels like Jamie’s the one who died, because the void just keeps getting bigger. And my heart beats more lopsidedly than ever.