Pen Pal

4

In his pause, I feel him looking me over. Reading the stiffness in my body and the artificially bright tone of my voice. Maybe he’s empathetic too, because he takes pity on me and changes the subject.

“Well, that leak in the roof is a bummer. It’s coming from the roof deck by the turret, which means you’re gonna have to remove the shingles and cut away the wood to repair the leak. Between the gables, the turret, and the steep pitch of the roof itself, it’s gonna be a major job, I’m sorry to say. You’re definitely gonna have to bring in a specialist.”

My heart sinks. Anytime a specialist gets involved, the price goes up. “I tried calling three different roofers before I found you, but couldn’t get hold of anybody.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, don’t know why, but roofer guys are notoriously flaky. I’d give you a recommendation, but I don’t know anybody I trust with a job like this.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway. I’ll just keep trying. I was hoping to avoid calling a firm from Seattle because they’re so pricey, but I guess I have to.”

After a beat, he says gently, “If you want, I can look at the quote you get. You know, so you don’t get ripped off.”

Because I’m alone, he means. Because I won’t have a man around to negotiate for me.

Because someone in my position—grieving, disoriented, desperate—is a target for scams.

When he smiles, I know he’s not trying to flirt with me. He’s just a genuinely nice guy trying to help someone out who he can tell is in distress.

If only the whole world were made up of such kind people.

“That’s very sweet of you, Eddie. But I can handle it. I come from a long line of ball-busting Jersey girls.”

His smile turns into a laugh. He has a crooked front tooth, which is oddly endearing. “I knew one of those once. She was only four-foot-ten, but she scared the living s**t outta me.”

I smile at him. “Even small dragons can still breathe fire.”

“True that.”

“So how about the electrical? It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He shrugs. “No. Everything checked out.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “What do you mean it checked out?”

“I mean there aren’t any problems. The current’s strong, breakers aren’t tripping, can’t find any frays in the wiring, there’s no arc faults, hot spots, dead outlets, or loose connections…” He shrugs again. “Everything looks groovy.”

“That can’t be right. What about the flickering lights?”

“Could be a problem with the local power grid. You might want to ask a neighbor if they’ve got the same thing happening. Parts of the network around here are over a century old. Whatever the cause, it’s not coming from inside the house.”

“And the exploding light bulbs? That’s definitely not normal.”

“It’s more common than you think. Either the manufacturer didn’t put enough insulation in the base so the filament overheated, or there was a loose connection between the bulb and the socket that made the current jump. Just make sure you don’t buy cheap bulbs from now on, and also make sure they’re screwed in real tight.”

I’m getting a little exasperated. Did he even check the wiring or was he up in the attic smoking pot this whole time?

“Okay, but the doorbell rings when nobody’s there. And what about the burning smell when I run the dryer? How do you explain that?”

He hesitates. I sense him carefully choosing his words.

“I mean…you have been under a lot of stress lately, man.” He adds sheepishly, “What with your husband and all.”

For a moment, I don’t understand. Then I get it, and I have to take a breath before I speak so I don’t bite off his head. “My mind isn’t playing tricks on me, Eddie. I’m not hallucinating electrical problems.”

Uncomfortable under my stare, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful. All I can tell you is that when I was in a bad place, I thought I heard whispering voices and saw shadows move.”

“Did any of that happen while you were under the influence of mind-altering substances?”

His expression is pained, which I take as a yes.

Either way, I think our business relationship has reached its conclusion. Maybe whoever I get to do the roof can recommend an electrician who’s sober. “Never mind. Thanks for coming out to check. What do I owe you?”

He stuffs the small power meter into the back pocket of his jeans, bends to pick up his toolbox from where he left it on the floor, then straightens and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“No, that’s not right. You should be compensated for your time.”

His smile is lopsided. He flips his long hair over his shoulder. “I appreciate it, but it’s my policy that if I don’t find a problem, the visit is free.”

I have a sneaking suspicion he just made up that policy on the spot because he feels sorry for me. “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage.”

“Nah, we’re cool. But maybe if one of your friends needs a handyman…?”

“I’ll recommend you. You bet. Thanks, Eddie, I really appreciate it.”

He grins at me, flashing that crooked tooth. “I’m outta here, then. You take care now, okay? And call me if you want my doc’s name. He’s really the best.”

I force a smile and lie. “I will. Thanks again.”

“I’ll let myself out. See you around.”

He leaves. When I hear the front door open and close, I go after him to make sure it’s locked. Then I go into the kitchen for a glass of water, but stop short when I see the envelope sitting on the table.

Even from halfway across the room, I can see the LOVE stamp in the corner and the neat block printing in blue pen spelling out my name.

My breath catches in my throat. My heart starts pounding. My steady hands begin to tremble.

Then all the overhead lights in the kitchen ceiling grow brighter.

With a sharp buzz of noise, they flicker and go out.