for three days straight, though, so if you don’t sit down and rest your feet this instant, I will pin you down and sit on you. Evie, I brought you General Tso’s chicken. If you want it, you will have to do what normal people do and have conversations. With other human beings. Away from the basement. And Mrs. Lewis, you’re the most positive person in the group right now, so if I lose you, too, I’ll lose everyone. Tell ya what, tonight we’ll take nil off the table.”
“Nil!” Birdie protested. Her tapping foot stopped. “But that’s my only skill! You know how badly I overbid otherwise.”
“Just give in now and cut the deck, Birdie,” Mrs. Lewis said. “I’ve known Bree since she was a little girl, and I’ve never seen her lose her argument when she put her mind to it. She once convinced her grandmother, God rest her soul, to take her out to the flea market, and they came back with a pet flying squirrel.”
“Nana loved Puddles,” he heard Bree say defensively.
“Of course, dear. And Puddles—aptly named for all those puddles it left around her poor house, if I remember correctly—running off through that open window the week you left for school was entirely coincidental.”
The conversation continued as Chip gave the screw one more turn and the wire slipped out from the panel.
A moment later, Birdie spoke and his ears perked.
“I just can’t imagine why Mr. Richardson would think about remodeling the Barter,” she said. “It’s absolutely perfect as is. Maybe expand the dressing rooms—convert that empty room into a second dressing room so we won’t be so cramped—but the auditorium itself? It’s gorgeous.”
“Well,” Mrs. Lewis said, “Clarence has always been a peculiar fellow. Has been since I taught him back in grade school. He must’ve had a new lunch box every other week for the whole year, always declaring whatever new color or cartoon figure it had on it was his real favorite. Not that his parents couldn’t afford for the boy to have thirty-seven lunchboxes.”
“If that’s the case, I’m surprised he didn’t decide to remodel the place earlier,” Bree said.
“He’s not going to shut it down to do it, is he?” Birdie said, her tone pitched high. “Surely he would’ve said so when he told us about changing to Singin’ in the Rain—”
“He’s not going to shut the place down, Birdie,” Bree said. “Theo said it would be done during the break between seasons. But I’m sure we’ll know everything we can when it hits the paper next week. Let’s eat before it all gets cold.”
Chip reached down for the wire cutters as the conversation was buried under the clatter of flatware being pulled from a drawer and dishes being placed on the table. So. The Barter was getting a facelift. He could feel the wheels in his brain starting to turn.
Some minutes later, Mrs. Lewis said, “Oh, I forgot about my young man.”
There was a pause.
“Your young man . . . ,” Bree said, “whom you keep in the basement?”
“Where else would I keep him?” Mrs. Lewis retorted. “You know everything keeps better in a cool, dark place.”
Chip smiled to himself as he continued cutting out the wire.
“You doing okay down there?” Mrs. Lewis called from the open door at the top of the stairs.
“Doing just fine,” Chip called back, reaching up to snip around the stapled wire.
“Is that—?” Bree’s voice lowered to inaudible murmurs.
“Yes, he’s come to work on my porch light.”
“But . . . he’s in the basement.”
“Yes, because the problem seems to be a short in the circuit.”
Another pause. A rather long pause.
“Should we . . .” Bree dropped her voice again.
The rhythmic thud-thud-thud began again. “How can you be sitting here, Bree, talking about food and spades and men in basements? I honestly haven’t slept in three days.”
“It’s all very simple, Birdie. I can’t tap-dance. I have accepted the fact that I can’t tap-dance. So I’m going to find another job.”
Even through thick layers of hardwood, subfloor, and floor joists, he heard the gasp. “Find another job?” Birdie exclaimed. “You can’t leave and find another job.”
“Sure I can. My half of the bills are cheap—right, dearie?”
Evie gave her patented grunt. The crinkling of bags, along with the sound of several chairs scraping against the floor, told him they had all sat down with their food.
“But who will sit with me at dress rehearsals?” Birdie sounded desperate. “Who will whisper stories to me when we’re stuck sitting on logs for hours