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Chapter 10
Dana
* * *
“Again?”
I’m greeted with a friendly smile from behind the counter.
Ginny runs Nuts & Bolts, the town’s hardware store, which she inherited from her late father, Will Collier. I’ve known Ginny all of my life, we’re both Silence natives, but she was a year or two behind me in school. Her dad frequented The Kerrigan, but Ginny rarely shows her face at the pub. It could have something to do with the fact her father found solace in the bottle after her mother died when Ginny was still in high school.
“I keep forgetting things,” I explain. “But this time I made a list.”
I slide the scrap of paper take-out bag I scribbled my notes on across the counter at her.
My problem has been, every time I open a door or walk into another room, I discover more things that are missing, broken, or needed. This past week I’ve been in here at least once a day, sometimes twice.
I’ve also come to realize, for someone who is hoping to fix up a whole house, I am very poorly outfitted. I think I had a couple of screwdrivers and one hammer to my name at my apartment, and I’ve borrowed a few things from my father, but I think I’m just going to need to bite the bullet and invest in some decent tools to start with.
“What on earth are you working on now that you need a new washer? Didn’t you just buy a whole new faucet the other day?”
“Yes, but that was for the downstairs powder room. This is for the kitchen.”
“Didn’t you say you were going to redo the kitchen as well?”
“I am, but I’ve decided it’s easier to work on things if I actually move in, so I want the kitchen at least functioning.”
Ginny laughs as she shakes her head at me.
“You are all over the place, aren’t you?” she notes. “You’ve been darting all over that house like a chicken with its head cut off. Hell, you’ve added twelve new doorknobs to your list, when you don’t even know if the walls those doors are in are staying up or not. You need to focus on one project at a time, my friend, or you’ll end up with nothing done. Trust me on this. Make a plan, set a timeline that works with your schedule, and don’t start anything new until the previous project is completely finished because you will likely never return to it.”
“But there is so much…” I groan.
I know she’s right, and I did have a plan to at least get as much of the outside clean up and repairs done before the winter. But then it rained nonstop these past days, forcing me to look for stuff to do inside. There really is a lot of work to be done, it’s been overwhelming, and I’ve had a hard time zooming in on one area or one task.
“And it won’t get any less if all you do is fill a hole here, change a lightbulb there, or put in a new washer. From where I’m sitting, you’re wasting a lot of energy and time on things that won’t make a dent. You need a plan,” she repeats. “By all means, move in, it’ll help you focus on areas you need to tackle first and give you a better idea how to manage your time.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a side job as a project manager, now would you?”
She barks out a harsh laugh. “No, thank you. I have my hands full trying to get my own shit sorted. You’re on your own.”
When I wheel the large cart through the door and out to my vehicle forty-five minutes later, I’m hit in the face with a warm beam of unexpected sunshine.
I can’t believe it finally stopped raining.
Tossing my purchases in the hatchback, I’m suddenly in a big hurry to get back up the mountain. I want to open the windows and let the breeze blow through, while I do some work outside at the front of the house.
Tonight I start packing up some things at my apartment, and maybe give Nate, Savvy’s husband, a call to see if he has any time in the coming days to help me get a few pieces of my furniture moved over with his truck. No reason to wait.
I had electricity to the house hooked back up this past Tuesday, and a guy came by yesterday to fill and check the water cistern and make sure the pump is working properly, which is how I discovered the kitchen faucet is dripping. I also have a propane tank out back I’d like to have someone check out before the shut-off valve is opened. I should get that done sooner rather than later, or I won’t have hot water or heat in the house.
I believe I have to give my landlord one full month’s notice, which would be December first, giving me plenty of time—about six weeks—to clear out the apartment. It’ll be a little sad and scary, leaving the place I’ve called home for over ten years now, but I think I’m ready to take that leap.
On my way out of town, I stop at the grocery store to stock up the newly cleaned, old fridge I plugged in this morning at the house. I already have the single-cup Keurig coffee maker Mom bought me for Christmas one year sitting on the chipped granite kitchen counter.
I mentally organize the plain-wood kitchen cabinets as I navigate my car up the mountain. Slowly, butterflies of excitement take flight in my stomach.
The first thing I see, when I make the final turn of my driveway and the trees open up, is an older SUV parked in front of my house. An uneasy feeling replaces the butterflies, and for a brief moment I consider turning around, but then I see Rick coming around the side of the house.
