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Barely audible muffled thuds from upstairs. That was weird. And when they’d pulled up in George’s car, the light to the attic had been on. Troy, having another bad dream?
None of your business.She took her boots back to her bedroom and put them in the closet, then looked at the bed, neatly made now, of course, with no sign of everything that had happened in it last night.
She needed to go to bed. It was almost midnight, and she was running in the morning.
More faint noise from upstairs. Footsteps, maybe.
Talk to him tomorrow,she told herself. She hadn’t imagined his rigid posture, or his rigidface,earlier. He’d been furious. She’d read it wrong, clearly. But they could talk it over tomorrow. After her run. Oh, and waffles. And before food prep, and dinner at her parents. Sometime in there, at some mythical moment when there was no Janey or Troy around and they could just …
She walked to the base of the stairs and looked up. Darkness up there, too. She’d go to bed. She’d …
Up the steps in her stocking feet, walking carefully, avoiding the creaky spots.
One open door—bathroom—and two closed ones. And the steps to the attic. Therewassomebody walking up there. Somebody not five years old. Somebody in work boots.
She headed up there and opened the door. And blinked.
All the lights were on, plus an extra one. A work light on an extension cord, aimed at the back corner. Where Beckett was applying a coat of something to the wall.
Thefinishedwall.
He turned around. Still not smiling.
She could all but hear her heartbeat in her ears as the moment stretched out. Finally, she said, “You hung drywall.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“By yourself? In onenight?”
“It’s one room. And Janey held the sheets for me.”
“I would’ve done that.”
“You weren’t here.”
She crossed her arms, and he turned around again and kept applying the … whatever. She said, “You did the … the other steps, too. I thought that took days.”
“Taping and mudding doesn’t take days if you use quick-set joint compound,” he said without turning around. “I can sand it and put on the third coat tomorrow, but I can’t prime and paint it until next weekend. Needs to dry.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s something I can take off your hands, at least. Painting. Though I’m sure I could learn to do the other stuff, too, and of course, you didn’t have to.”
“Seems you can do everything by yourself,” he said. “And that you’d rather do it. I did it anyway.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she asked, “Where’s Troy?”
“Sleeping with Janey. The dust wouldn’t be good for him even if I’d finished sooner.”
She shivered. That was because he’d opened the windows. Or maybe it was the expression she’d seen on his face. “Look,” she said, “I—”
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “we’ll skip this bit. The explanations. The excuses.”
Wait, what? “Theexcuses?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, turning around at last. “Isn’t that what you were about to do?”
“Excuse me,” she said. “Maybe I was going to say, can’t we be modern about this. We were a bit … overcome last night, or I was, but obviously, you’re still my tenant, and we’re still friends, and …”
“No,” he said. “We’re not friends.”
