“Walt.” She has the pinched look of someone smelling something unpleasant, although Walt smells very faintly and really quite pleasantly of pipe tobacco smoke. I catch a whiff as he walks by me into the shop. What is her problem with the man?
Walt Perkins is not tall. He’s compact with a little potbelly from the beer he has a fondness for. I’ve never seen him without a Cubs baseball cap. He’s got bright eyes that peek out sharply over a bushy gray beard, giving him a slightly grizzled appearance, like a blue-collar Santa Claus. He projects a curmudgeonly air of absolute indifference, as though he’s spent years giving the world the middle finger. He lives life on his terms and simply does not care what others think. He nods to me, then turns to Gus and Mr. Butters, who are standing behind me watching the newcomer.
“Hello, youngster,” Walt says, nodding to Gus.
“Hi,” Gus murmurs, eyeing Walt in fascination.
Walt catches sight of Mr. Butters, who is wearing a tweed vestand a tiny matching English driving cap. “That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever seen,” he announces. “Gwen, what have you done to that animal?”
Mom bristles. Mr. Butters is her baby and she takes great pride in his outfits. “Martha Stewart buys outfits for her dogs from the same company,” she tells him, looking offended. Walt eyes the dog skeptically again.
“Some people have too much time on their hands.” He turns to me, getting down to business. Behind him, Mom is puffed up indignantly. Walt is blunt, but he’s not wrong. Mr. Butters scratches his head against a shelf of gummy candies, trying to dislodge the hat.
“Heard you all had a flood?” He looks around, noting the soggy, water-stained carpet.
“Yes, in the bathroom. Let me show you the damage.”
Mom and Mr. Butters disappear into the kitchen with Gus in tow while I show Walt the burst pipe and the extent of the water damage.
“Well, shoot, how did I miss that?” he says, frowning.
“Miss it? What do you mean?” I ask, confused by the odd statement.
“Nothing.” He waves away the question but stares at the pipe as if he’s annoyed with it.
“How soon do you think you can fix all the damage?” I ask anxiously. I’m seeing dollar signs everywhere I look. Walt takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head.
“Depends on a couple of things. We won’t know till we can get this bathroom flooring peeled up and see how much damage there is. Looks like you’ve had a leak for a while now, a slow one, and I’m going to guess it’s probably rotted part of the floor under here.” He kicks at the vinyl flooring under the sink. I notice it’sbubbled up a little. Has it always been like that? For years there’s been a faint odor of mildew in this bathroom, but I always attributed it to being so near the bay and our wet climate. Looks like a slow plumbing leak didn’t help matters.
“But you can fix it?” I clarify.
“Oh, sure.” Walt nods. “Just about anything is fixable if you throw enough time and money at it.”
The two things we don’t have. I called our insurance agent yesterday and was informed that the water damage won’t be covered under our policy because the flood was caused by poorly maintained plumbing that wore out over time. The fact that the pipe had been leaking a little for years means we are on our own to cover the cost of repairs. I worry my lower lip between my teeth, thinking. “Any idea how much it will cost?” I ask tentatively.
Walt grunts and shakes his head. “Not till we get in there and see what’s going on. Might be just a couple of thousand for the pipes and new carpet and such. Might be more depending on what we find.”
“Okay,” I sigh. I guess we don’t really have a choice. “Do what you have to do.”
“Now, I can speed things up if I hire someone to help me,” Walt offers. “I’ve got a guy—good worker and not too pricey. Pay him the same as me, and we can get it done quicker.”
Quicker is good. “That sounds great,” I tell him. “As long as we can try to keep the cost down and do it as quickly as possible.”
Walt nods. “Okey dokey,” he agrees, hitching up his jeans and following me from the bathroom. “I’ll give my guy a call. Plan on us starting this afternoon.”
He pauses by the fudge display case near the register and gives me a sly look. “How about I take that first quarter pound of fudgein advance?” he asks. “Go ahead and make it that vanilla walnut stuff.”
“Coming right up.” I measure out a generous quarter pound of fudge. I see him eyeing the scale, making sure I’m not shorting him. I hand him the wrapped package just as Mom returns from the kitchen, walking slowly with the help of her cane, Mr. Butters waddling behind her. In his tweed outfit, he resembles a portly member of the English landed gentry, like he belongs in a doggy version ofDownton Abbey.
“Gus is having a granola bar and an apple before school,” she tells me.
“See you later, Emmie. Gwen.” Walt gives a little salute to me and an elaborate sort of half bow to Mom on his way out. He looks at Mr. Butters again and shakes his head, guffawing as he goes. I lock the door behind him, and turn to find Mom wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, hiring that man,” Mom says with a little disapproving frown, gazing out the window in the direction Walt walked away from the store. “And I hope he doesn’t come to work pickled as a herring. He used to drink like a fish.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I tell her. “Walt says it’s probably a pretty straightforward plumbing fix and water remediation. What have you got against Walt, anyway?” I ask curiously.
Mom crosses her arms and her lips thin with displeasure. “We have a lot of history, Walt and I. He was a friend of your father’s when they were young men. Walt was always wild, always getting Bert into trouble.” She shakes her head at the memory. “After we had you, I had to put my foot down. There was an…incident. Walt took your dad fishing out by Blake Island, but they capsized and had to be rescued by the coast guard. They wereboth almost hypothermic by the time they were rescued from the cold water, and also both three sheets to the wind. There were empty beer cans floating all around them when the coast guard pulled them to safety. That was the last straw. I told your father he needed to find new friends. And yet here Walt Perkins is again, turned up like a bad penny.”
