So, I nod.
“A farm!” the girl exclaims, like she just related the worst news in the world. “He shovels shit all day. Literal shit. Gross.” She shudders, and I pretend to scratch my nose to cover my widening grin. And she’s not even done. “Then there’s chickens, like, everywhere. Not today, Satan. I have enough animals in my life, thank you very much. I’d rather electrocute shit.”
“We don’t do that.” It’s not clear if Roderick is reassuring me or informing his sister.
Tanya sighs big, like her brother just refused to buy her cupcakes. “Sure.”
“Tanya.” The chiding tone the big werewolf uses is funny to me, and I bite my lower lip hard to keep from giggling. “What are the rules?”
She rolls her eyes, but then recites them as if reading a textbook. “I don’t touch the live wires. I don’t pretend to electrocute myself. My job is to hand you tools and stay quiet.” She turns a set of overly large, saddened eyes to me. “Do you see how he stifles me?”
This is amazing.
As an only child, I’ve never gotten to take part in the constant bickering and joking that siblings enjoy. To watch it happen and know that this firecracker of a girl is driving Roderick Jameson mad is better than any movie playing at the town’s two-screen theater.
“I’m so sorry, Tanya.” Tucking my humor behind a sympathetic frown, I pat her shoulder. “Working with him must be torture.”
“I get by,” she admits as if the struggle is real.
“Your fuse box?” Roderick asks again, pointedly.
You’d think his overeager sister would have cramped his air of professionalism, but he pulls it right back on.
“I did check it, but I’ll show you.” Waving for the pair to follow me, I lead them to the hall closet. I only have one coat that needs to be pushed aside to reach the fuse box, and I make a mental note to check the secondhand store for a winter coat. That was one of the things I left behind in Bear Valley.
Roderick stares at my single jacket for a beat, as if he thinks it might be causing the electrical issue, and then he focuses on the fuses as I give him space.
A moment later, he decides he needs to climb up into my attic.
“It’s a dusty mess up there,” I warn. “I haven’t even tried to bring any kind of order to it.”
“Sure, I’ve seen worse,” he responds before pulling down the ceiling latch and extending the folding ladder.
I wonder if he’ll even fit in the space. The attic is big enough to store boxes—not that I have any—but it’s not really for walking around.
Still, a few seconds later, his boots disappear into the hole.
“You’re new to town?” Tanya sits on the toolbox like it’s a bench and examines her nails.
“Moved here a few months ago, so, yeah, still new.”
“Where did you live before here? Anywhere interesting?”
Her question is innocent enough, and I try not to let my muscles tighten in defense.
“Oh, nowhere too interesting for a while.” I wave a hand in a noncommittal way. “Kind of hopped from place to place. But I grew up on the East Coast.”
“Where? Boston? New York?”
I give her a wide smile. “Delaware.”
“Delaware? That’s … cool.” She sounds the exact opposite of excited.
“It was nice. Delaware is a chill state.” I glance upward as I talk, searching for signs of life from Roderick. “It’s a decent jumping-off point for a lot of big cities. I took the train to New York to see Broadway shows, drove to Philadelphia for concerts. Went camping on the Appalachian Trail and white-water rafting in West Virginia.”
The happy memories lend a pleasant buzz to my chest. I had a good childhood. My grandparents raised me when my mom died in a car accident and my dad wasn’t interested in fatherhood. Luckily, I was super young when that all happened, so it only hurts in a soft-ache kind of way. But my grandparents filled my childhood with love to make up for it. The two of them gave me a happy home and freedom to explore.
Then, during my senior year of college, they passed away within a month of each other. My grandmother had a stroke. I think my grandfather had a broken heart.
