Free Bayou My Love: A Novel by Lauren Faulkenberry Page B

bird with long feathers that trailed
down his bicep. Black and grey with hints of green. I was dying to get closer
and see what kind of bird it was, since I’d been too preoccupied to get a good
look the day before. The feathers rippled as Jack turned a page, and I quickly
averted my eyes.
    Once
again, he’d caught me staring. The tiniest smile touched the corner of his
mouth, and I raised my section of paper to shield myself from his gaze.
     
    ~~~~
     
    After
an hour and a half, Grant handed me a list of things not up to code. He seemed
a little too chipper about the number of shortcomings.
    “It
looks so solid, you wouldn’t think it would have all these problems,” he said.
“Sorry to be the messenger with bad news.”
    “Give
me the three most critical,” I said.
    He
pulled a pencil from behind his ear and marked his list. “Mold in this
downstairs room, dry rot in the west corner of the roof, leaky pipe in the
downstairs bathroom.”
    “Any
estimate on that?”
    He
shook his head. “I couldn’t say, ma’am. But it’ll need a new roof too. Probably
before the end of the year.”
    The
dog trotted over and stopped at his feet. She looked at him, then dropped
something from her mouth.
    Grant
stared at the tiny object by his shoe.
    “What
is that?” I asked.
    He
picked up a small fabric pouch tied with string. “It seems somebody lost their
mojo,” he said.
    I
stared at the little bag in his hand. It looked like something that might
contain a piece of jewelry, some souvenir a tourist would take home.
    He
placed it in my hand before I could object. I cringed at the dog drool and laid
it on the porch rail.
    Grant
handed me the bill and smiled like he was at a funeral. Perhaps he’d picked the
right car after all. “You have a good day, now. Good luck with the repairs.”
    I
sighed as the hearse sputtered and wheezed down the driveway. I’d known the
house would need some work, but this was more than I’d expected. My plan was to
come down and spruce the place up with some paint and a few upgrades—not
repairs that would run into thousands of dollars. I could call my father, but
as soon as he heard the word “mold,” he’d be down here moving like his tail was
on fire. He’d come in and take over everything. He was no doubt hoping I’d call
him in such distress that he would have to send a crew to rescue me from my own
ambition.
    It
would take more than a few mold spores and leaky pipes to make me give in.
    “It’s
OK,” I said to the dog. She was lying under the hammock again, staring at me
with narrowed eyes. Grant had given me the phone number of a “mold guy” and a
plumber, and said, “Just tell ’em I sent you, and they’ll fix you right up.” I
had a bad feeling this was going to take the entire budget and leave me
justifying it to my father. But I’d have to push that aside for now. Like that
old saying, Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
    Problem
was, I didn’t want to ask for either.
    Jack
came back to the porch—this time with a plaid shirt—and leaned on the banister.
    “So
what’s the damage?”
    “You
don’t want to know.”
    He
frowned. “Sounds like my to-do list just got a little longer.”
    I
needed him more than I’d anticipated, but I hated to tell him that. With the
number of repairs piling up, it would take serious effort to finish in six weeks.
As much as it pained me to admit it, I couldn’t do it without Jack.
    “Guess
we better get started then.” I tried to sound nonchalant.
    He
sipped his coffee, barely hiding a smile. “We might need to renegotiate the
terms of our agreement.”
    “First
let’s see how efficient you can be.”
    He
slid his fingers along the porch rail. “Fair enough. I like a challenge. What’s
first on your agenda today?”
    “We’ve
got a couple more rooms left to paint.”
    “What’s
this doing here?” He stepped to the corner of the porch and picked up the tiny
bag the dog had brought up.
    “Who
knows? The