settles on my silk blouse, reminding me that I need to find a laundry service. “Do you also repair stair railings?” I ask, and toss the Kleenex box onto the old rocker.
He nods. “What do you have in mind?”
“A railing,” I answer slowly because I don’t know exactly what he’s asking. “With wood… and nails.”
He cocks his head to the side and squints one eye against the sunlight. “Thanks for clearing that up. I thought you might want peppermint sticks.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Wood and nails are fine.”
Simon grabs the hat from his back pocket and slides it onto his head. “Do you want to replace it completely? Or do you want it repaired or restored?”
I understand the first option. “What’s the difference between repair and restore?”
“At least ten grand.” I stare at him, waiting to hear that he’s joking. Instead, his green eyes stare back at me from beneath the bill of his cap. “We can repair it for about four thousand. A full restoration takes quite a bit longer and costs a whole lot more.”
“Ten thousand more?”
“At least,” he repeats himself. “It’ll look beautiful when we’re done, but it won’t match the oxidized varnish on the stairs or floors. I recommend you have those done at the same time.”
“Are the stairs and floors included in the ten grand?” I rub the kink in my neck and wonder what to do.
He laughs. “No, ma’am.”
Somehow, I thought that was going to be his answer. If I replace it, Mom will complain that it’s not the same and she’ll want the old one put back. If I have it repaired, she’ll notice something’s different and want the old pieces put back. If I have it restored, it’ll cost me a lot of money. “Where can I get a second opinion?” On the upside, all three options will make Mom happy because she’ll get to see Simon more often.
“I’m in the business of giving my opinion, but you’re free to find someone on the internet.”
I guess that means he’s unwilling to suggest anyone else.
“If I were you, I’d get a plumber out here first, before some of those pipes rust out.”
The plumbing definitely needs repair. The knot in the crook in my neck gets tighter and it’s so humid my dusty silk blouse starts to stick to my skin. “I’m afraid to ask, but what about the electrical wiring?”
“I noticed the hundred-foot extension cord.” He chuckles as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his thumbs hooked over the tops and pointed at his fly.
Not that I look.
“There are two outdoor power posts, one on either side of the house. One’s about ten feet out from the library window.” He takes a hand from his pocket and points. “Making that one there about thirty feet closer than the kitchen.”
Yeah, I know. I’m bad with measurements.
“You should probably have an electrician come out, just to be on the safe side.”
I half-jokingly ask, “Are we going to burn to death in a fiery inferno?”
One corner of his mouth kicks up. “I doubt it will be an inferno.”
That’s about as reassuring as his smile, and I’ve gone from half joking to half panic.
“Y’all should be fine.” His smile turns to a grin, the same one he wore when he told me that I was sitting where “we laid poor old Jasper out.” He rocks back on the heels of his boots and adds, “The outlets will likely blow a fuse before throwing sparks.”
Fuses? Throwing sparks? “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Partly.”
“Which part?”
“The throwing sparks part.”
What does that mean? “So, will the fuses likely blow, or are we going to die in an inferno?”
He stares at me for several moments like I’m slow in the head. “No… sparks. I was pulling your leg.” I must look as skeptical as I feel, because he adds, “I’ve worked on this house for close to twenty-five years now. I said y’all should be fine.”
“Twenty-five years and the house is falling apart?” His brows lower over his eyes. “No offense.”
“Uh-huh.” He adjusts the brim of his hat. “It was always feast or famine with Jasper and restoration. When he could afford me, he’d call, and we’d get to work on his latest project.”
That would explain why some parts of the house are more time-warped than others. “Why didn’t he hire someone more affordable and get the bathrooms fixed, too?” I know that’s probably rude, but I’m genuinely curious.
He shrugs. “You get what you pay for.” He answers my