This, according to his fellow QVC viewers in the media room, was not a shared opinion.
“They’re glamorous, I’m getting one right now,” said one defender.
“Me too,” another added.
“Go ahead and decorate your room with pot scrubbers,” Delbert scoffed. “There’s a reason they’re on sale.”
J.J. interrupted his QVC commentary with an introduction. He said he remembered her brother and all the small-town connections were immediately touched upon.
There was a shorthand to living here their whole lives, and they both knew the language.
Luckily for J.J., Delbert Treach’s patience for the television shopping channel and his fellow residents had been exhausted. She figured that was the only reason he agreed to chat about his cottage.
She knew her best play with Treach was to lay her cards on the table before dinner was served and she lost his attention to the cornbread on the menu.
“I need it for the summer,” she explained. “I’ll take good care of it. You know I will.”
“The idiot renters last summer loved it so much they stayed and stayed. They put in that bubbler, and then boom. I’m facing damages.”
“That’s terrible.”
A bubbler was a machine that added oxygen to the lake water around a dock. It prevented ice from forming around the pilings and allowed a dock to stay in all winter. It saved a person time putting a dock in and out with the seasons.
But it also made the ice near it unsafe. A perfectly safe frozen lake could be made treacherous by roiling water underneath.
“You know, and I know, how dangerous that is. Of course, I wouldn’t use a bubbler.” J.J. was happy to play along and agree with whatever opinions Delbert wanted to espouse about any topic.
“Well, the muckity muck that rented last year didn’t, and then Fred Furlong goes walking across, and then the ice breaks thanks to the bubbler, which I didn’t know about. I got a call from the lawyers. Furlong got frostbite on his baby toe, which hurts like hell. And well, he’s lucky he didn’t drown.”
“Awful.”
“Right. They’re still wrangling in pretrial about it. I’m going to lose my studio here and have to go down to one bedroom if I keep having to pay that lawyer. Much less if it goes to court.”
“I get it. You don’t want the hassle.”
“Right.”
“Well, you know I’m a local. No parties. I don’t even have a boat, for crying out loud. I need a place to stay. Summer only.”
“I got a boat. It’s in the outbuilding.”
Delbert was on the fence, but if he felt the need to tell her he had a boat, maybe he was thawing like the bubbled winter lake.
“I can keep an eye on things. Keep renters or kids from exploring. You know, an empty place just adds a whole different level of trouble.”
“True, now that Irish Hills is the cool place. Ugh. Country music fans and hipsters. I hate ‘em all.”
“Right…well, I’ll keep the place ship shape, and it’s one less thing you need to worry about.”
“Yeah, I’m going to have to sell to pay the lawyers.”
“Then you should let me rent. I’ll dust. Mow the lawn. Easier to sell at the end of the season if it’s not mothballed.”
“Clean up goose crap?”
“Yep, all of the above.”
“Okay, okay. It’s yours, but only because you’re a local girl and because Dean gave me a good price on that roof he did.”
