The Fixer Upper (23 page)

W
hile we’d been steaming up the windows in Tee’s shed, the temperature outside seemed to have dropped a good twenty degrees. I ran through the boxwood garden and stood expectantly by the back door. “Hurry,” I urged, as he fumbled with the door to the utility room. “I’m freezing.”

“Keep your pants on,” he muttered, jiggling the door handle. He glanced back at me and laughed, as I hopped up and down, wearing nothing more than panties, a flannel shirt, and a pair of his old shoes.

“It’s not funny,” I said, my teeth chattering. “I think my fanny’s getting frostbite.”

“The damned thing’s stuck,” he announced.

“Let me try,” I said, nearly shoving him aside. I jiggled and pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge. “What about the front door?”

He grimaced. “Don’t you remember? I locked the dead bolt.”

“What?”

“As I recall, you were worried about Dad dropping in on us.”

“And now I’m worried I’ll freeze to death out here,” I said. “Don’t you have another door into the house? How will your dad get in if the dead bolt’s set?”

“There’s a door from the garage into the kitchen,” Tee said.

“Fine. Show me the way.’

“Can’t. The only way into the garage is with the automatic clicker thingy.”

“In your pants pocket, right?”

“My jacket pocket,” he said sadly. “Which I think is in the living room.”

“Shit!” I cried through lips that were rapidly turning blue. “You did this on purpose.”

He crossed his hands over his T-shirt-covered chest. “Swear to God. It never occurred to me. Baby, I was in such a hurry to get into the house and your pants, it didn’t dawn on me that you’d need to make a fast getaway.”

“Now what?” I wailed. “How am I going to get my clothes?”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “We go back to bed, where it’s nice and warm. Dad’ll be home in a couple of hours. He’ll let us in.”

“Oh no,” I cried. “I can’t face your father like this. What’ll he think?”

Tee gazed down at my bare legs. “He’ll think I’m one lucky sumbitch.”

I thumped his chest. “Not funny.” I turned around and headed back toward the potting shed, walking as fast as the oversize shoes would let me.

“Now you’re talking,” Tee said, hurrying to catch up with me.

Inside the shed, I pulled aside the covers on the bed. I searched the chair beside the bed, then got down on my hands and knees to look under the bed.

Tee stood in the doorway, watching the spectacle with obvious enjoyment. “Whatya lookin’ for?” he asked.

“The clicker thingy,” I said. “I’ll bet it was in your pants pocket, along with your car keys. I definitely remember those keys jingling when—”

“You were peeling me out of my britches at the height of your animal lust?”

I shot him a dirty look.

“I’m just sayin’.”

I finally found the khaki slacks on the back of the chair by the computer.

“Aha!” I said, triumphantly holding up the car keys. “Now will you take me home?”

“Sure,” he said, taking the keys from me. “But you’re gonna have to give me back my shirt and my shoes first.”

“There’s not a key to the house on this key ring?”

He shook his head sadly. “Sure. But there’s that dead bolt thing…”

“Dammit, Tee,” I fumed. “This really isn’t funny. You’re just gonna have to give me some pants or something to put on for the ride home.”

“Okay,” he said. He went into the closet and came out with a pair of drawstring flannel pajama bottoms. They were hot pink, decorated with red cartoon cupids. He tossed them to me.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Christmas present from an aunt in Florida,” he said. “She might be senile.”

I stepped into the pants and snugged the drawstring as tight as I could, but the bottoms were still so big they looked like clown pants. “All right, funny guy,” I said. “Take me home.”

Tee hummed happily as he drove through the predawn darkness. I shot him another dirty look, which he pretended not to notice.

“Do you really think your dad spent the night out with that woman?” I asked, trying in vain to finger-comb my hair.

Tee yawned widely. “Who knows? Dad’s not one to kiss and tell.” He picked up my hand and kissed the back of it. “And neither am I.”

“That’s sweet,” I said, softening. “But before I spend another night with you, I want my own set of keys, and my own clicker thingy for the garage door.”

He grinned. “So…there’s gonna be a next time?”

“Do you want there to be?”

He looked surprised. “Dempsey, what did you think was happening back at my place tonight?”

I blushed and looked away.

“Hey.” He pulled the Prius over to the side of the road, but left the motor running.

“Hey,” he said it softly, putting his hand under my chin and turning my head toward him so that I had no place else to look. His dark eyes glittered. “I’m falling for you, Dempsey. Do you not know that?”

I felt a lump in my throat. I swallowed hard. “Do you really know what you’re getting into here, Tee? We had fun tonight. But maybe we should just leave things like that. Just fun.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “I wasn’t kidding earlier when I told you I’m the slow and steady type. Fun’s good. Fun’s great. But I want more than that. I’m not some oversexed frat-boy type like Jimmy Maynard, Dempsey. I want you. And I think you want me too.”

“You don’t know me,” I said, tears springing up unexpectedly. “You can’t know what I want. I don’t even know that.”

He sighed deeply. “Have it your way then.” He put the Prius into gear and pulled back onto the road. His shoulders had that tensed, squared-off look again.

Five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway at Birdsong. The house was dark. A light blinked on in the upstairs bedroom, and then off again, just as quickly.

“Oh God. Ella Kate’s spying on me,” I fretted. “She saw me leave earlier with Jimmy. What’s she gonna think when she sees me coming home with you? Looking like this?” I pulled at the fabric of the pink flannel pajama bottoms.

Tee shook his head. “She damned sure ain’t gonna think any worse of you than you already think of yourself.” He got out of the car and came around to my side and opened my door.

I climbed out of the Prius and reached for his hand, but he held it stiffly by his side. He left me at the bottom porch step. “I’ll get your clothes back to you today,” he said. He walked rapidly away, and in a second was swallowed up in the predawn darkness.

I fell into my bed dressed in the clothes I’d come home wearing, and went right to sleep. I didn’t dream of Tee, or Jimmy Maynard, or even Alex Hodder. I dreamed about the house. I dreamed I answered the doorbell, and Mitch and Pilar were standing on the doorstep with the twins and a mile-high stack of luggage.

In my dream, I was showing Mitch all the work I’d done on Birdsong, but everything was changed. We walked into rooms I’d never seen before. They were ugly, crowded with trash and ruined furniture, windows streaked with dirt. Mitch was speechless with anger and Pilar
was screaming because she couldn’t find the boys, and all the doors had suddenly disappeared.

I awoke suddenly, my heart pounding, the flannel shirt drenched in sweat. I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was only 6
A.M.
I knew I wouldn’t sleep anymore.

I showered and dressed in my work clothes. Down in the kitchen, the harsh yellow light from the bare overhead bulb seemed somehow reassuring. Here was the floor I’d refinished. There were the cabinets I’d stripped. It was all there, even the strong chemical odor of stripper. I could see and touch and smell the concrete results of my hard work. I brewed a pot of coffee and poured myself a huge mug. I gulped down the coffee and went back to work.

With the iPod buds lodged firmly in my ears, and the protective plastic goggles strapped on my head, I set the first cupboard door across the sawhorses and fired up the palm sander.

I’d finished the first three doors and was about to tackle the fourth when my sander suddenly went dead on me. I picked it up and flicked the switch off and then on again. When I turned around, I saw Ella Kate standing by the counter, holding the unplugged orange extension cord in her hand.

She was dressed in Uncle Norbert’s bathrobe and wore an expression that said she was mad enough to spit nickels.

I flipped the goggles off and unplugged the earbuds. “Oh, hi,” I said weakly.

“What in h-e-double-ell do you think you’re doing here?” she sputtered. “Do you know that it’s not even daylight outside? People are tryin’ to sleep.” She waved toward the back door. “People can hear that goddarned contraption of yours clear over next door.”

I put the sander down. “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess, I just thought, well, you’re usually up way earlier than me every morning. It didn’t occur to me that you’d still be in bed.”

“In bed?” She flung the orange cord to the floor in disgust. “Of course I’m in bed. I was up all night the night before last with a sick dog. Then, I seen you go out the door with one man last night, dressed to kill, and I wake up to see you come sneakin’ in like a thief in the
night—dressed in another man’s nightclothes! What kind of a trollop are you? It ain’t decent!”

I blushed down to the roots of my hair. “Ella Kate,” I stammered. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I swear.”

But she didn’t hear me. “Of all the inconsiderate, selfish girls in the world, you beat ’em all. You hear me? After yesterday, when you acted all sorry about Shorty, I thought maybe I was wrong about you. I thought maybe you had some Dempsey goodness in you. Well, I was wrong all right. You’re Killebrew, through and through.” She stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

Stung, I sat down at the kitchen table and stared into my mug of coffee. It was coated with a fine layer of sawdust. I felt my head start to pound. I got up and found the aspirin bottle. I popped three aspirin and washed them down with cold coffee and an even colder sense of guilt.

I was still sitting at the table like that when Bobby came bustling in the back door.

“Hey there, Dempsey,” he said cheerily. He picked up one of the cupboard doors and ran a calloused hand over the wooden surface. “Well now, this looks nice. Looks real nice. You’re turning into a fine woodworker. Couldn’t have done a better job myself.”

“Sure you could have,” I said dully. “A trained monkey could have done all this.”

“Ohhh,” he said. “You having a bad morning?”

“I’m having a bad year,” I said. “Don’t mind me, Bobby.”

He clucked his tongue. “I got something out in the truck that’s gonna change your whole outlook on life. Hang on a minute, and I’ll show you. I got a helper with me today, just for this very thing.”

Bobby picked up a scrap of wood and wedged the kitchen door open with it. He went out like he had come in, whistling.

A moment later, he was back, trying to wedge a huge chunk of furniture through the back door. “Hold it steady now,” he called to the unseen helper. “Turn it to the left a little, and I’m gonna back in here. That’s good. Keep turning.”

In a minute, the helper appeared in the doorway, a younger version of
Bobby, with a ballcap turned backward, and a smooth, serious dark face. He wore baggy blue jeans that sagged at the waist, showing three inches of boxer shorts, and sparkling white Air Jordans.

“Easy, son,” Bobby said quietly. “Let’s put it down right over there, in the center of the room. See where I got the pot rack hanging from the ceiling? Right under there.”

“Can I help?” I asked, moving out of the way.

“We’re good,” the younger man grunted.

“There now,” Bobby said as he pushed the piece an inch this way, and then the other way. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “What you think of that, Miss Dempsey?”

The morning’s gloom lifted away as I looked at the piece Bobby had built for me. It was the island he’d promised, of clear, golden heart pine boards. Somehow, he’d seen the picture of my dream kitchen, even though I’d never shared it with him. The island had a butcher block top at least two inches thick. There were deep drawers under the top, on the sides of it, and a shelf that ran along the bottom. The legs were shapely and turned to look like a piece of fine antique cabinetry.

“Oh, Bobby,” I cried. “I can’t believe you built this. It looks like something out of a museum. It’s perfect. Better than I ever dreamed.”

“Oh yeah,” he said quietly, pulling out a breadboard from one end of the island, and then showing me the knife slots he’d added at the other end. “It worked out kinda good, I think.” He pulled out a drawer to show me the dovetailing.

“It’s magnificent,” I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders.

“It ain’t no problem,” he said, ducking his head shyly.

I realized I was embarrassing him and let go. “Sorry,” I said. “I got carried away.”

“This here’s my youngest, Trey,” Bobby said, gesturing toward his helper. “Trey, this is Miss Dempsey. She’s fixing up this big old house all by herself. Ain’t that something?”

“Not by myself,” I corrected him, reaching out to shake the hand Trey extended. “Not by a long shot. Your dad does all the heavy lifting. He’s a true master craftsman. I just try to stay out of his way and learn a little bit.”

Trey nodded and looked around the kitchen with interest. “Hey, this is kinda cool,” he said. “Old school, right?”

“Old school, definitely,” I said.

Bobby ran a hand over the island again. “All right then. Me and Trey are gonna get up on your roof this morning, and see if we can’t get started fixing it up. I see you’re coming good on those cupboard doors.”

I made a face. “Not that good. I got up early and started sanding ’em down, and woke up Ella Kate and half the neighborhood. You might want to stay out of her way today. She’s on the warpath for sure.”

“Aw,” Bobby said. “She don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“She hates me,” I said. “Pure and simple. I know I made her mad this morning, but I still can’t figure out why she’s hated me since the minute she laid eyes on me. She keeps saying I’m Killebrew—like that’s some kind of poison.”