"It was beautiful dark wood, intricate carvings, brass fixtures that had aged to a soft green patina. It's late 19th century. Hi, grandmothers. I need the door realigned and the back panel restored. Can you do that?
Wyatt ran his hands over the wood feeling for the grain, checking the joints. Good craftsmanship. Solid work. It would take a few hours, but nothing he couldn't handle. Yeah, he said.
I can fix this. How much? 350. That includes materials. Victoria nodded.
That's reasonable. Can you start now? Wyatt glanced at Ruby, who had already settled onto the white leather couch near the window. She looked small against all that space, fragile. Her face was flushed and her eyes had that glassy quality that meant fever.
"I need to get her medicine soon," Wyatt said. "But I can work for a couple hours." "Fine," Victoria said. She checked her watch. "I have a call at 3:00.
I'll be upstairs. If you need anything, just make noise, I suppose." She left without another word, her heels clicking against the marble like a countdown timer. Wyatt unpacked his tools, laying them out on a drop cloth. He'd brought pliers, sandpaper, wood glue, small brushes.
He worked methodically, checking the alignment of the door, examining the back panel for water damage. Ruby curled up on the couch, her backpack beside her, her eyes half closed. Wyatt kept glancing over at her, making sure she was okay, making sure she was still breathing. It was a habit he developed after Lisa died. The constant checking, the need to confirm that the people he loved were still there, still alive, still his.
The house was too quiet. That particular kind of wealthy silence that felt oppressive, like the air itself was expensive, and you had to ration your breathing. Wyatt heard heard Victoria's voice drift down from upstairs, muffled but urgent. She was on the phone speaking quickly, the words indistinct, but the tone unmistakable. Anger, frustration, something jagged underneath the polished surface.
Wyatt focused on the cabinet, removed the back panel, started sanding down the rough edges where water had warped the wood. His hands moved with muscle memory, the kind of work that let his mind wander. He thought about Ruby's fever, about whether he'd have enough left after rent to take her to the doctor if it got worse, about the fact that he'd been doing this, barely scraping by for 6 years now, and sometimes it felt like running on a treadmill that never stopped. Behind him, Ruby shifted on the couch. Wyatt turned to check on her and saw that her eyes were closed now, her breathing slow and even.
Asleep or close to it? He smiled faintly. The girl could sleep anywhere. On the back of his bike when she was a baby, strapped into a carrier that Hank had juryrigged with extra padding. In the truck, in waiting rooms, in the garage while Wyatt worked, in the radio played low, footsteps on the stairs, Victoria coming back down.
Wyatt heard her pause in the foyer and then her voice again quieter this time, but still sharp. I don't care what he said. We had an agreement. If he's not going to hold up his end, then we need to handle this differently. A pause then.
No, I tried that already. He refused. Another pause longer this time. Wyatt kept his head down, focused on his work, but his shoulders tensed. There was something in her tone, something cold and deliberate.
Fine, Victoria said. Then we moved to plan B. But this is on him. He had his chance. The sound of her heels on marble.
She was walking back into the living room now. Wyatt didn't look up. Just kept sanding. Kept his face neutral, kept his breathing steady, but his instincts, the ones that had kept him alive through more bad situations than he cared to count, were screaming at him to pay attention. What Wyatt didn't see, because his back was turned and he was focused on the cabinet was Victoria moving toward the large wooden jewelry box that sat on a side table near where he was working.
What he didn't see was her opening it with careful, deliberate fingers. What he didn't see was her removing a necklace platinum chain with a diamond that caught the afternoon light like a small star and slipping it into her black Hermes handbag. But Ruby saw. Ruby, who was not quite asleep, who had learned young that grown-ups said more when they thought you weren't listening, who had her eyes closed, but not all the way, just enough to see through the small sliver of light between her lashes. Ruby saw the woman with the blonde hair open the box.
Saw her take the shiny necklace. Saw her put it into her bag. Saw her glance around the room checking, making sure no one was watching. Saw the small, satisfied smile that crossed her face as she closed the box and stepped away. And Ruby, who was 6 years old and didn't yet understand the full weight of what she was witnessing, filed it away in the same place she filed all the strange and confusing things that adults did.
Not as evidence, not as a secret, just as a fact, something that happened, something that felt wrong in a way she couldn't quite name. Victoria stood near the window now, her arms crossed, watching Wyatt work. How much longer? Wyatt checked his watch. 5:45.
The pharmacy closed at 7:00. He needed to get Ruby home, get her medicine, get her fed and into bed. I'm about done with what I can do today, he said. I'll need to come back tomorrow to finish the realignment and apply the varnish. Two more hours, maybe three.
That's fine, Victoria said. Her voice was different now, cooler, like a door that had been cracked open had just closed. What do I owe you for today? Nothing yet. I'll bill you when the job's complete.
I prefer to pay as we go, Victoria said. She pulled a checkbook from her bag, the same bag where the necklace now rested. How about a hundred for today's work? That's generous, Wyatt said, though something in his gut told him it wasn't generosity. It was something else.
Something transactional. She wrote the check with quick, efficient strokes and handed it to him. Their fingers didn't touch. She made sure of that. Thank you, Mr. Brennan, Victoria said.
Tomorrow at 2. Tomorrow at 2. Wyatt agreed. He packed up his tools while Victoria disappeared upstairs again. When he turned to wake Ruby, she was already sitting up, her small face pale and drawn.
She didn't say anything, just slid off the couch and put her backpack on and took Wyatt's hand when he offered it. They walked out of that house together, through the stone paved driveway, past the perfectly manicured lawn, and climbed into Wyatt's truck. He started the engine in the familiar rumble of the old Ford felt like coming home after too long in a foreign country. "You okay, baby?" Wyatt asked.