Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (31 page)

     Once it was done, Harry pulled out his iPhone. “Now I’m sure you need Josh Baxter.” Before Greg could object, Harry hit the Call button. “Hey, Josh, any chance you got a few minutes to come by? You remember Greg Singer from the Bible study group? His water heater’s gone out, and he’s getting a new one. Thought you might give him some tips about installing it.”

     Harry listened. “Sure . . . Sure, I understand. . . . Okay. I’ll tell him.” He ended the call. “Josh is busy right now, but he’ll drop by tomorrow about noon.”

     Chagrinned, Greg said, “Appreciate that.”

     “Hey, you want a ride to Bible study this evening?”

     Greg sighed. “Think I’ll take a pass tonight. I’m whipped. And I need to get up to Home Depot and buy the new tank. But I appreciate you asking.”

* * * *

Nicole could tell Greg was uptight. He didn’t even finish his dinner before pushing back from the table and announcing he had to go to Home Depot. “They’ve got the water heater I want in stock right now, but there’s no guarantee they’ll have it tomorrow. The way things have been going lately, it’d be just my luck for someone else to buy it out from under me.”

     Nicole watched him head out the door.

     What else could go wrong? Seemed like everything was falling apart—and not just the water heater either. They needed help. They needed prayer. They needed . . .
wait
. Earlier in the day, Estelle Bentley had seen her out front and invited her to drop by Grace Meredith’s house at seven that evening. “We’ve been prayin’ with a couple of the neighborhood sisters on Tuesday nights. Why don’t you join us?” Nicole had dismissed it at the time, but . . .

     Would they mind if she brought Becky and Nathan? She could take a couple of books and some study pages for them to do. Wouldn’t hurt them to have a little “homework” even if it was summer. If it seemed awkward, she could just excuse herself and meet with them some other time.

     But Greg certainly needed some prayer, and . . . and so did she.

     After hurrying the kids to finish supper, she collected some things for them to do and left Greg a note:
“Just down the street at a friend’s. Be home about eight.”

     Nicole and the kids were turning into Grace Meredith’s walk when she heard Lincoln call from the end of the block. “Hey Nikki, how’s it going? Is that project coming along okay?”

     She pretended she hadn’t heard him. “Hurry up, kids. Let’s go on in. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

     There were only three other women there: Estelle, Grace, and a young girl named Ramona who was staying with Grace. She’d expected Michelle Jasper to be there, but she wasn’t. Grace was glad to set the kids up at her kitchen table and gave them both a glass of juice.

     Nicole sank onto the couch. Even though she didn’t know any of the women very well, they seemed glad she’d come, and no one pushed her for details when she said it was being really hard for Greg to get his business going. “I’m really grateful Harry could stop by this afternoon and help with that hot water tank. He got the water back on for us too.”

     But no way could she bring up her confused feelings about Lincoln Paddock. After all, he was their neighbor too. What would they think if she confessed what happened the other night? It may not have been anything more than a daydream, but . . .

* * * *

Home Depot still had the tank Greg wanted, but delivery was another matter. Somehow the computer had been wrong. The delivery guys were booked for the whole day Wednesday.

     “Oh, man, what am I gonna do now?”

     “Suppose you could rent one of our trucks and take it yourself,” suggested the sales associate.

     “This evening?”

     “No. We don’t let out trucks this late, but if you’re here first thing in the morning, it should work. We’d be glad to help you load the water heater.”

     Greg bought the water heater and was back the next morning by eight o’clock. An hour later he stopped the truck in the alley behind his house. Scavengers had already carried off his old tank, so he knew he’d better not leave the new one out there lest someone think he was throwing it away. Instead, he wrestled it off the truck and “walked” the thing into his garage on the wood frame that enclosed it. He stared at it, already bushed. Well, he’d return the truck and then figure out how to slide the tank down into the basement.

     It seemed to take forever to finish with the truck’s paperwork and get back home . . . just as an old beater of a car pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Josh Baxter.

     “Hey, Greg, I made it a little earlier than I thought.” Josh climbed out of the car with his hand outstretched. “Hear you lost your water heater.”

     “Yeah, quite a mess last night, but I got a new one.” Funny that Josh showed up at just that moment. “Uh, it’s still sitting out in the garage. Any chance you could help me slide it down the steps?”

     Turned out the job took more than Josh just helping him move the tank down into the basement. Even though the new water heater was the same size and height as the old one, the inlet and outlet pipes were in different positions, and Josh ended up adding a couple of elbows in order to align the connections.

     “How’d you learn how to do all this stuff?” Greg asked, watching him work.     Josh grunted. “Had to. I’m the property manager for the House of Hope—it’s connected to the Manna House shelter for women, except it’s for single moms and their kids.” He laughed. “Ha. This is nothin’ compared to the stuff that breaks down in an old six-flat.” He finally stood up. “There, that oughta do it. Let’s turn on the water.”

     Though Greg assured him he knew how to light the tank, Josh still hung around until the burner roared to life and the water was actually heating. Greg offered to pay him for his time, but Josh brushed him off with a wave. “Gotta run. Glad I could help.”

     After cleaning up a few things, Greg went back upstairs and announced, “It’s done, honey. Should have hot water in an hour or so.” Finally he could get back to work.

     “That’s good. Okay for me to take the car now?” Nicole was already gathering her purse. “Mom’s sick, and I want to check in on her.”

     “She’s sick? She never gets sick.”

     “Well, she’s sick today. Sounded terrible on the phone. Hopefully just a summer cold.”

     “Yeah, go ahead.” Greg turned on the computer and called up email. “Seems like it never rains but it pours around here,” he muttered.

     “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “Oh, you know. The business isn’t coming along like I’d like, and then the water heater burned out, and now your Mom’s sick.”

     “My going to see Mom shouldn’t make anything worse . . .” Then Nicole sighed. “If you want, I’ll take the kids, though I was hoping not to expose them to whatever she has.”

     Greg waved his hand at his wife. “Go ahead, leave ’em here. Makes sense. Just don’t stay too long, okay?”

     Nicole had only been gone five minutes when Nathan appeared in the archway between the living room and the hallway. “Can I watch TV?”

     Tempting. That would keep them entertained. But . . . “It’s still damp down there, Nate. Why don’t you play up in your room today?”

     “There’s nothin’ to do in my room. I don’t care if the floor’s damp. It’s not flooding anymore, is it?”

     Greg frowned. He was trying to write an email to Ethel Newhouse, his boss’s old secretary, to get contact information for the last of the former Powersports’ employees he hadn’t yet tracked down about repping for SlowBurn.

     “Dad . . .?” Nate still stood there. “Can I?”

     “Can you, what? Can’t you see that I’m busy here?” His voice was getting louder without him even trying. “How am I supposed to support this family if I can’t even get a decent day’s work done? Go on! Go on, get outta here. Do whatever you want. Just let me work.”

     Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his son slink away. Greg sighed. He’d probably been too harsh, but if he was going to work at home, the kids had to show some respect for his time.

     He’d typed only one more sentence when the house phone jangled from the kitchen. He doggedly let it ring until the answering machine kicked in with Nicole’s instructions to leave a message. It was a little hard to hear from the other room, but the voice that recorded the message suddenly got his full attention.

     “Nikki, how’s it goin’?” Lincoln Paddock. “Hey, I just wanted to call about the other day when you came over. After you left, I realized it must’ve seemed kinda strange to you to find a woman in my house. But it wasn’t what it looked like. Karen’s my kid sister. She’s headed to graduate school at the University of Michigan and had a bunch of things to do here in Chicago. She’s been so busy lately, I hardly get to see her anymore. But I should have introduced you. Uh . . .”

     There was a long pause as though the man didn’t know what to else say but didn’t want to end the call. Greg rose and crept toward the kitchen, holding his breath so as not to miss any words. Finally, Paddock continued. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Okay, give me a call when you can.”

     Greg breathed again and looked around the kitchen as if he needed someone to confirm what he’d just heard. The red light blinked on the answering machine. He pressed the button and played the message again.

     What was the guy saying? Why should he care what Nicole thought of him? Did they have some kind of an affair going on? Was he trying to reassure her that she was the only one?

     His jaws hurt from clinching his teeth so tight. He played the message one more time.

     Halfway through, it was interrupted by a piercing scream from Nathan, the clatter of his aluminum ladder against the side of the house, and then a sickening thud.

     Greg tore outside and around to the side of the house. His son was lying on the narrow strip of grass between the side walkway and a row of bushes.

     He was not moving.

Chapter 31

“O God, no! No! No! No! Don’t let this be happening!”

     Greg knelt down beside his son. “Nate . . . Nate?” The boy gasped and his chest gave a heave. “Are you okay? No, no . . . don’t move! Just stay still.”

     Nathan slowly rolled over and sat up, which Greg was relieved to see even though he’d told him not to move. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head on the sidewalk? Did everything go black?”

     “Uh-uh. I don’t think so.” The boy took a deep breath, and then started to sob. “I . . . I j-just c-couldn’t breathe.”

     “But did everything go black when you hit the ground?”

     “N-no.” More sobs. “I heard you coming, an’ . . . an’ then you were here, an’ I knew everything was gonna be okay.” Nate started to get up.

     Greg put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “You better stay right there for a minute.” He moved the aluminum ladder out of the way, which was lying at a rakish angle across the bushes.
O God . . . what if Nathan had hit the sidewalk?
He knelt down again beside his son. “Feel your head and see if there’re any sore places.”

     As Nathan felt his head with his right hand, Greg looked for blood but didn’t see any.

     “It’s okay,” the boy said, but then began rubbing his upper left arm. “It’s just my arm. It hurts. I think I broke it.” He whimpered quietly.

     “Can you move it?”

     Nate raised his left arm, making a grimace and grabbing it again as he did so.

     “I don’t think it’s broken if you can lift it that far. Hopefully you just bruised it.” Greg steadied his son as he helped the boy stand up. “You okay? You dizzy or anything?”

     Nate shook his head, gulping air and trying to hold back the tears.

     Greg heard a noise behind him. Turning around, he saw Becky standing on the walkway, her eyes bugging in horror. “Don’t worry, honey. He just had a fall. He’s going to be okay.” But was he? Out of caution, Greg picked Nate up in his arms. “Go up on the porch, Becky, and hold the front door open for us.”

     As Greg carried his son into the house, waves of shock rolled over him at the thought of his son falling from the ladder—the ladder he’d left out there for two days. “What were you doing up on that ladder anyway?”

     “I . . . I . . .” The sobs broke through. “I was trying to clean the gutters for you.”

     “What?” Greg turned sideways to get through the door and laid the boy on the sofa in the living room. “What do you mean, you were trying to clean the gutters for me? You didn’t need to do that!”

     “But you were so mad at me. You . . .” Tears flooded out. “You couldn’t get your work done ’cause I was interrupting you, so . . . so I thought I’d help you.”

     The boy’s words felt like a sucker punch. “Ah, Nate, buddy. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t mad at you.” He knelt on the floor by the sofa and embraced his boy. “I mean, it’s not you. It’s other things like the water heater and . . . and—” And now his family was suffering.

     “That’s why I was trying to help you.”

     Greg glanced over his shoulder. Becky was standing only a few feet away, taking it all in. “Well, I appreciate your trying to help, but climbing a ladder is dangerous. I don’t want either of you kids climbing that ladder again. Understand? Next time you get an idea about helping me, ask first. Okay?”

     Nate nodded, curtailing his sobs with a frown so big it turned his mouth upside down.

     “Now you just rest here for a while. I’m going to make an ice pack for your arm. Either of you want something to drink? How about juice boxes?”

     Nate sniffed. “Grape.” But Becky didn’t say a word.

     After he got Nate settled with an ice pack and a juice box—Becky took hers upstairs—Greg went outside and returned the ladder to the garage. He shouldn’t have left it leaning up against the house. It was his fault . . . but why did everything seem to be happening to him right now? He’d gone through a time like this once before, when he was in college. He’d wrecked his little Toyota and then gotten sick with the flu, which made his Western Civ term paper late. In the hubbub, he’d forgotten to pay his tuition bill on time, incurring a seventy-five-dollar late fee—big bucks for a poor undergraduate. And then his girlfriend dumped him . . . all within one week. “Hell week,” he’d called it, and it had nothing to do with pledging a fraternity.