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Before I read too much, I rush into the bathroom. Does Donnelly know about the vault? This diary? I want to tell him about it, and without knocking, I push into his room.
“Donnelly!” I exclaim excitedly, but his bed is made, a new white comforter replacing the floral one. He’s taken down most of the grannie décor in favor of his own style. A Van Halen tour poster is tacked to the wall, along with the signed Bass poster from the convention.
The only thing he left was Jane’s oil painting.
I’ll find him.
It’s a desire, a need, an obsession, possibly, but mostly, it’s a yearning to simply exist with him. And I really want to exist with Paul Donnelly.
48
PAUL DONNELLY
On this hazy,chilly winter morning, I stand on the shingles of a very well-built roof. Sturdy. Robust. “You beautiful shingled bastard, don’t let me down on the ground,” I say and squat to grab a heap of colorful Christmas lights I brought up here.
Goal:Don’t slip. Don’t fall.
I balance well enough.
Shingles still beneath my boots, I smile. “Good, roof. I knew we were friends.”
Been on many roofs, even helped a friend of a friend with a roofing project back at Yale for a free meatball sub and case of beer. So I feel equipped for this task at the Hale House.
I look out at the still, quiet neighborhood. The road is empty of cars, and only a few birds are chirping. It’s really early. I came here to sign contracts at security’s mansion, which is on the other street. I’m in a transitionary period between both companies at the moment while paperwork gets filled and filed.
Since I’d been in the literal neighborhood, I wanted to see if Lily needed any help around her house. Thought it’d be a nice thing to do since she’s still on crutches.
I didn’t account for her being at her sister Rose’s house this morning.
I also didn’t account for Xander’s dad answering the door. Still, show must go on, and so I asked Loif there was anything that needed to be done.
He gave me a ladder and a cardboard box of badly twisted lights, then sent me outside.
Think maybe he believed I’d fight with the ensnared strands and quit, but these tedious tasks are calming to me. It took me less than an hour to check all the bulbs, replace the busted ones, and detangle the lights.
The Hales deserve a happy holiday, after all they’ve been through. They’ve been so preoccupied the past month, they haven’t put up any decorations, and it’s five days till Christmas. Even the fir tree in the front yard looks barren and pitiful.
Gonna fix that too. There might be ornaments and ribbons in their attic.
Going to the lake house is a typical Cobalt, Meadows, Hale family tradition this time of year. But plans for the holidays have been up in the air. I’ve heard they’re leaving on Christmas Eve, then it changed to the week after New Year’s, then the week before. Don’t know what it’ll land on yet or if the trip will get scrapped altogether.
The roof clips are in place, and I’ve already plugged in the multicolored lights, so they’re lit in the detangled spool at my feet.
I start systematically hanging the strands, and midway into my work, Xander’s dad emerges to check on me.
He stands on the front lawn and hoists a coffee mug to his lips, one that saysWorld’s Mightiest Dadbeside a caped superhero.
I ask him, “How’s she look?” I gesture to the lit dangling lights.
“Crooked,” he says dryly.
I survey my work. “You need your glasses?”
“Where’s your coat?” Lo suddenly asks, his brows pinched like I’m nuts. He looks warm in a red fleece jacket, whereas the long sleeves of my thin T-shirt are rolled up to my elbows.
“I like the cold,” I say. “Makes my nipples hard.”
He glares, then touches his chest. “Luna’s dad.”
