Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“And the roof?” I asked.
“The shingles over the nursery are dry,” Shaun said, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. “No leaks. The plaster is dusty, but it is safe.”
“We only have until Friday afternoon before he gets back,” I said.
“The repairs will be done,” Shaun said, his voice quiet and steady. “I will stay here until the water is hot and the lights work in every room.”
I watched him work, his knuckles scraped and dirty from the plumbing pipes, his movements quick and practiced. He did not ask about Ryan, but the tightness in his jaw told me everything I needed to know about his anger.
“We need to get the heat on before the temperature drops tonight,” Shaun added, reaching for his propane torch. “The basement gets cold fast.”
“I will go up and help Mom,” I said, stepping away from the kitchen sink.
“Go on,” Shaun said. “I have this part covered.”
Upstairs, the nursery windows were wide open, letting in the warm summer air to chase away the musty smell of the empty closets. My mother stood on a wooden step stool, spraying vinegar onto the glass pane and wiping it with a crumpled sheet of newspaper.
