“Thanks,” she said. “You’re going to love the bathroom.”
He didn’t. When Rachel turned on the light, he grimaced.
“Fuck,” he said.
“I need a bathtub that works,” she said. “One that’s not underneath the house.”
Bucky examined the tiny room. “I can put in new subflooring and lay new linoleum and make it look pretty. Or pretty enough. But you’re gonna need a plumber to hook up the water line.”
“Do you know a good plumber?”
“Yep,” he said. “But it’s gonna be expensive. All of this. Maybe you should just burn it down and start over. Torch this son of a bitch and get a new trailer house.”
“I can’t believe you’re advocating arson,” she said. “You’re the worst fireman ever.”
“I’m honest,” he said. “Repairing this place is going to cost you. Big-time.”
“It already has,” she admitted. She thought that she might start crying.
Rachel followed him through the house and out the front door. He paused on the front porch, and she waited for more bad news. It was hatefully cold outside, but he removed a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. “Want one?”
“No,” she said. Then she reconsidered when she smelled the lit cigarette. She had quit years ago, but this was all so overwhelming. “Give me one.”
“Sure,” he said, and handed her the pack.
“I’ve got black mold,” she said. “A cigarette isn’t going to make a difference.”
They sat and smoked, her head rushing and body tingling. She instantly felt sick to her stomach, felt like she was going to shit her pants. Oh, how she missed smoking.
“I can fix the bathroom and replace all the floors for three grand,” he said. “That includes putting the bathtub back into the bathroom. The plumber is gonna be extra, and I ain’t touching the fireplace.”
“I can give you two grand and that Toyota parked outside.”
“Deal,” he said. He exhaled, and shook her hand. “I knew your dad.”
“Well,” said Rachel. “I wish I could say the same thing.” She threw her cigarette out in the yard. It didn’t extinguish, just lay there smoking on top of the hardened snow.
“Does the car run?”
“Probably not,” said Rachel.
“I’ll be back. First thing Thursday morning. Get all those clothes out of the bathtub, all right?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, and reached out to touch his arm. She was buzzed on the cigarette. “Thank you.”
“It’s a job,” he said. “No need.” He tripped his way up the path.
After Bucky left, Rachel lay down on her dirty carpet and watched the gloom through the plastic of her living room window. She would work at the bar, and not expect any thanks. This was how living amends worked. The amends would be easy. It was the living that would be the hard part.
Winter Birds
Jake pushed open the back door, and the snow immediately whipped his face and barreled into the tight hallway of the trailer house. He kept a towel on the floor for this very reason. Bert was always yelling about black mold. At seven thirty, it was growing light out. He crunched down the steps and placed his slippers inside yesterday’s trail of footprints leading to the storage shed. The door slid easily this morning and, shivering, he stepped inside the gloom and felt around for his flashlight. The beam swept back and forth among the carefully arranged stacks, and he began to pick out his clothes. He had a lot of clothes. He was paid to keep the official scorebook for every men’s and women’s softball game that was played in Quinn, and he spent the money on paperbacks, movie tickets, magazines subscriptions, and the thrift store.
He chose a camel-colored cardigan, a baby-blue T-shirt, dark brown polyester slacks, and his favorite oxfords.
He often had dreamy conversations with his mother, in which they imagined where these clothes had originated—neither had seen his purchases worn on any kids in Quinn. Maybe they had come from diminutive old men, or were brought in giant trucks from Spokane, a big city where Krystal claimed people were shorter because of their drug use. Perhaps they were shipped from Hollywood, costumes for child actors. Once, Krystal had suggested grave robbers, but the idea had struck them both as ghoulish and incredibly unhygienic.
He slid shut the shed door, replaced the padlock. The lock became necessary after Jake caught Bert, or rather Bert’s lower half, protruding from the shed doors. Bert had passed out inside. When he had been roused, he had declared that he was going to start storing his tools