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Each tile is 5 inches which is 2.54cm per inch which is 12.7cm.
Born to be wild.
Wait, it should be square area 12.7cm x 12.7cm =
Born to be wild.
That’s it. I’ve had enough. I slam out of the house and march over to Labri Catch.
Even before I get to the door, I see her through the window, dancing around while arranging things. A crazy wild happy ballet, she swoops down like a bird to get things out of a cardboard box then twirls around to the shelf, hair flying around her face. Sometimes, she just hugs something to her chest and smiles blissfully with her eyes closed. The woman is insane, even for a LeFevre.
I bang on the door louder and louder before she hears me and comes to open. As soon as she sees me, her grin drops.
“Can you turn that down?”
She frowns then goes to a Bluetooth mini speaker against the far wall and presses a button. The volume comes down to a manageable level. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear, what did you say?” she turns back to me.
But now, my attention is on something else.
“Where did you get those stones?”
She glances at the dozen or so grey stones holding up the shelves. Stones that look very familiar.
“Um…” Her glance flickers between me and the stones. “They were…outside.”
“They were not yours to take. And…” The wood too. “My floorboards.”
“Wereyour floorboards, you threw them away. They were going to the recycling dump.”
“But you didn’t take them from the recycling dump. You went into my front garden and helped yourself.” True we piled a lot of wood and stone outside the house, but I hadn’t made my mind up about re-using some of it. And even if not, the last person I’d want taking anything more from my family would be a LeFevre.
“I only took a dozen. You have hundreds.”
“Not hundreds. 129 to be exact. I counted them. 141 including the twelve you took.”
I had been planning to make an arched gate into the garden which is where the stones would have been used. Did I need all of them? It depends on the size of the arch.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She has the nerve to huff. “You make it sound like I broke into your home and ripped them out of the walls.”
“You might have done me the courtesy of asking. I’m right next door.” I point an arm towards my house.
“I thought you didn’t want to be neighbourly.”
God, how I hate smart replies like that. They always make me lash back. “Just because I don’t want to share coffee mornings and a gossip across the garden fence, doesn’t give you the right to steal from me.” My own words are sharp with the memory of being called a thief myself, once. Unlike her, I’d been innocent, but no one believed me. “Or is thieving your idea of being neighbourly?”
“Fine.” She swivels away from me. “You want your stones? Take them. Take the wood too.” She starts removing jars off the shelves.
Her hands shake and she drops a plastic container on the floor, it bursts open spilling a small square of honeycomb; she ignores it and goes on clearing the shelves with fast angry motions. “I have nothing to display but that’s fine. I’ll just line up jars on the pavement by the side of the road for passers-by.”
Her voice cracks a bit. “In fact, why don’t I just fill big barrels and invite people to shove their hands in and lick?”
Is she about to cry? Oh, for God’s sake.
I stand in the middle of the room like a lamppost while the spilled container oozes honey on the floor, making a mess. My hand goes to the bridge of my nose to push my glasses up. It’s a nervous move which previous girlfriends always teased me about, claiming that I do it because I know it makes me look sexy. I couldn’t feel less sexy, just now when I’ve made someone cry.What the hell is wrong with me, picking a fight over a dozen stones?
There’s a box of Kleenex nearby, I pull a few tissues and crouch down to wipe the sticky mess.
“Don’t,” she snaps. “I can clean up my own shop.” She bends down and actually tries to snatch the tissues from my hand.
