Not Quite Perfect
Page 54
Her smile humored him. “You don’t have to—”
His glare stopped her from continuing.
“Okay. I guess we should take some pictures.” She lifted a handful of papers from her desk. “I’m looking for my insurance information to put in the calls.”
“I’ll grab your insurance from the car, start taking pictures downstairs. Then I’ll help you up here.”
“All right.”
She didn’t look all right to him. Instead of harping on her opening up about how she was feeling, Glen left the room.
He heard Mary talking under her breath to herself once he was out of sight. “Things were just going too good . . . something had to happen.”
He hesitated at the top of the stairs, glanced over his shoulder.
Mary felt as if a freight train had run over her by the time the sun had set.
The homeowners insurance took about an hour on the phone, with the promise of more time in the morning during normal office hours. The car insurance didn’t give her fifteen minutes of conversation before letting her know that her homeowners policy would be responsible for her car because it was parked in her garage at the time of the vandalism. When Mary called the home insurance people back about her car, they couldn’t confirm or deny coverage on it.
While she sat on the phone, Glen swept up broken dishes, put anything that survived the crash into the dishwasher or washed it by hand. Mary kept the phone to her ear and helped him put things back where they belonged. Not that there was much left. The sugar everywhere made it even more fun when their shoes started sticking to the floor.
It looked like she’d be doing some serious shopping just to replace her essentials.
She started one of the many loads of laundry needed. The thought of wearing anything that the man who had done this might have touched gave her hives.
Mary made the necessary calls to her Monday afternoon clients last. Stating a personal emergency, she apologized and rescheduled three of them, leaving messages for the other two. One being Mrs. Golf. Even though she couldn’t point a finger at Jacob directly, he was the only person who came to mind when the police started asking questions about people in her life acting irrationally.
The crazy thing, even for her, was that some of her clients had priors in the past . . . two she could name who had vandalized an ex’s home . . . but she didn’t think for a minute either of them had done this to her.
She stood in the entry to her living room with her hands on her hips. “I’m going to need a huge garbage can.” The couch was slashed, along with the chairs. Refinishing them would cost more than replacing. The lamps were busted, well, one of the two . . . and the coffee table had glass in the center that was spread all over the carpet.
“I haven’t lived on cardboard boxes for years,” she said with half a laugh.
Glen pulled the garbage can he had rolled into the kitchen beside her.
“Builds character.”
He was attempting to make her smile . . . and she did.
She knelt with a dustpan as Glen swept in the glass. “Did he have to smash all the glass?”
“Apparently.”
“Probably a good thing all this carpet is going. I’m bound to find glass in it for years if I kept it.”
“Good way to look at it.”
She had to, or she’d be in tears.
And she didn’t cry.
A knock on the front door had Mary jolting upright.
“Hey, guys?” The voice belonged to Walt.
Mary slumped. “Come in.”
Walt opened the door, pushed back the tarp, and waved his thumb out the door. “We have dinner in about ten.”
Mary started to protest.
“Dakota said, and I quote, ‘Don’t let her say no. She doesn’t like to cook on a good day, and today sucks.’”
Mary found her smile. “Fine.”
Walt waved a hand in the air. “Ten!”
“We’ll be there,” Glen said.
Walt closed the door behind himself.
Mary scooped another tray of glass into the trash and dusted her hands on her pants. “I guess this is as good a place to stop as any.”
They walked out the door eight minutes later, locking it as they left. “Seems useless,” Mary said, looking behind her.
“Unlocked doors invite problems.” He placed his arm over her shoulders. She took the moment to lean her head into his shoulder.
“I didn’t invite this . . . and the doors were locked.”
Glen kissed her forehead. “I know, hon.”
Mary soaked up his support while she had it.
Dakota and Walt’s home felt like heaven compared to her own. Everything was in its place; nothing was broken or sticky. The police hadn’t left smudges of black dust just about everywhere.
And there was baby Leo.
If the scattering of baby paraphernalia didn’t remind her he was there, his tiny cries would.
“Perfect timing.” Walt handed her the baby the second she stepped into the room. “I’m pouring whiskey. Glen, what are you drinking?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Mary, white or red?”
Mary wiggled her face in front of Leo’s, letting her hair feather up beside his cheeks. His cries turned into tiny giggles.
“Mary?” Walt asked again.
“Oh, white.”
The sound of Dakota’s gimpy gait walking down the stairs approached. “Now look who is holding the baby.”
His glare stopped her from continuing.
“Okay. I guess we should take some pictures.” She lifted a handful of papers from her desk. “I’m looking for my insurance information to put in the calls.”
“I’ll grab your insurance from the car, start taking pictures downstairs. Then I’ll help you up here.”
“All right.”
She didn’t look all right to him. Instead of harping on her opening up about how she was feeling, Glen left the room.
He heard Mary talking under her breath to herself once he was out of sight. “Things were just going too good . . . something had to happen.”
He hesitated at the top of the stairs, glanced over his shoulder.
Mary felt as if a freight train had run over her by the time the sun had set.
The homeowners insurance took about an hour on the phone, with the promise of more time in the morning during normal office hours. The car insurance didn’t give her fifteen minutes of conversation before letting her know that her homeowners policy would be responsible for her car because it was parked in her garage at the time of the vandalism. When Mary called the home insurance people back about her car, they couldn’t confirm or deny coverage on it.
While she sat on the phone, Glen swept up broken dishes, put anything that survived the crash into the dishwasher or washed it by hand. Mary kept the phone to her ear and helped him put things back where they belonged. Not that there was much left. The sugar everywhere made it even more fun when their shoes started sticking to the floor.
It looked like she’d be doing some serious shopping just to replace her essentials.
She started one of the many loads of laundry needed. The thought of wearing anything that the man who had done this might have touched gave her hives.
Mary made the necessary calls to her Monday afternoon clients last. Stating a personal emergency, she apologized and rescheduled three of them, leaving messages for the other two. One being Mrs. Golf. Even though she couldn’t point a finger at Jacob directly, he was the only person who came to mind when the police started asking questions about people in her life acting irrationally.
The crazy thing, even for her, was that some of her clients had priors in the past . . . two she could name who had vandalized an ex’s home . . . but she didn’t think for a minute either of them had done this to her.
She stood in the entry to her living room with her hands on her hips. “I’m going to need a huge garbage can.” The couch was slashed, along with the chairs. Refinishing them would cost more than replacing. The lamps were busted, well, one of the two . . . and the coffee table had glass in the center that was spread all over the carpet.
“I haven’t lived on cardboard boxes for years,” she said with half a laugh.
Glen pulled the garbage can he had rolled into the kitchen beside her.
“Builds character.”
He was attempting to make her smile . . . and she did.
She knelt with a dustpan as Glen swept in the glass. “Did he have to smash all the glass?”
“Apparently.”
“Probably a good thing all this carpet is going. I’m bound to find glass in it for years if I kept it.”
“Good way to look at it.”
She had to, or she’d be in tears.
And she didn’t cry.
A knock on the front door had Mary jolting upright.
“Hey, guys?” The voice belonged to Walt.
Mary slumped. “Come in.”
Walt opened the door, pushed back the tarp, and waved his thumb out the door. “We have dinner in about ten.”
Mary started to protest.
“Dakota said, and I quote, ‘Don’t let her say no. She doesn’t like to cook on a good day, and today sucks.’”
Mary found her smile. “Fine.”
Walt waved a hand in the air. “Ten!”
“We’ll be there,” Glen said.
Walt closed the door behind himself.
Mary scooped another tray of glass into the trash and dusted her hands on her pants. “I guess this is as good a place to stop as any.”
They walked out the door eight minutes later, locking it as they left. “Seems useless,” Mary said, looking behind her.
“Unlocked doors invite problems.” He placed his arm over her shoulders. She took the moment to lean her head into his shoulder.
“I didn’t invite this . . . and the doors were locked.”
Glen kissed her forehead. “I know, hon.”
Mary soaked up his support while she had it.
Dakota and Walt’s home felt like heaven compared to her own. Everything was in its place; nothing was broken or sticky. The police hadn’t left smudges of black dust just about everywhere.
And there was baby Leo.
If the scattering of baby paraphernalia didn’t remind her he was there, his tiny cries would.
“Perfect timing.” Walt handed her the baby the second she stepped into the room. “I’m pouring whiskey. Glen, what are you drinking?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Mary, white or red?”
Mary wiggled her face in front of Leo’s, letting her hair feather up beside his cheeks. His cries turned into tiny giggles.
“Mary?” Walt asked again.
“Oh, white.”
The sound of Dakota’s gimpy gait walking down the stairs approached. “Now look who is holding the baby.”
