Page 17 of One More Chapter
It’s just shy of seven in the morning, and I’m not sure if Penelope is awake or not. I don’t want to steal her last few days of sleeping in, so ringing the doorbell is my last resort. Mom has the spare key, but I’m supposed to be headed that direction anyway to work on the house with my dad all day. By the time I drive to them, come back for what I need inside, and drive back, I’ll have lost precious time.
I call her as a last-ditch effort, but it does the same thing it has since I stood her up at the bar: Rings once, then goes straight to voicemail. Sighing, I debate scrapping all of my plans for the day as I round to the front door. Light in the sunroom makes me pause.
Sheisawake.
I do a full body exhale, clutching my chest as I ring the doorbell. She looks perplexed when she answers me.
“Why are you ringing the doorbell at seven in the morning?”
“Would you believe me if I said I forgot my keys?” I wince.
“One hundred percent.”
She shakes her head, but steps aside to let me in.
“Sorry. Forgot to switch out my key rings,” I say over my shoulder. I change out of my gym clothes into working ones, not bothering with a shower since I’ll be getting sweaty again anyway. I find Penelope back in her office and knock lightly on the French doors. She turns to look at me, quickly clicking out of her Word document.
“I won’t be home most of the day. I’ll be working on the house. See you for dinner maybe?”
“I’ll be locked in the writing cave all day, so probably not.”
I guess it was too soon for me to expect us to be in the same book, let alone the same chapter. I nod, tightlipped, and turn to leave, when she says something inaudible.
“What was that?”
“I said I, uh… You can text me again. Butonlyfor key emergencies. Abuse the power and I’m blocking you again.”
Her words are stern, but soft. Her brows are drawn together, but her eyes are wide. It’s like parts of her are warring, and that gives me the stupid thought that I might still have a fighting chance.
I give her a two fingered salute, an, “Aye, aye, boss,” and snag my toolbox from the garage before heading across town.
I am the black sheep of the family in more ways than one. For starters, my parents had me before they got married—and Dad wasn’t part of my life for the first two years. Besides that, I am the only one of my siblings not interested in taking over the family business. While “construction” and “Ellis” have gone hand in hand since my great-great-grandfather first started Ellis & Sons, I’ve never seen it as my permanent career. I always had a heart for teaching.
That doesn’t mean I don’t like getting my hands dirty, though.
When I roll up to my property, Dad and the guys are already getting started. Today, we’re finishing the siding. I opted for the first story to be bricked, and with the array of light colored pieces already mortared, we’re just installing the final walls of a distressed Oxford blue siding. By the end of the day, I might be able to look at the outside of my house as a home instead of a half-baked project, andthathas my little brain bees buzzing with a need to get things done. Once I have a goal in mind, it’s hard to focus on anything else.
“She’s looking good,” Dad says, sipping his morning cup of Joe while gazing over the work being done.
“She is,” I nod. Resting my hands on my hips, I take in the quiet ambience of drills and saws and blue collared workers joining the birdsong. “You gonna miss this?”
My pops tries to cover the way he gets choked up with a deep inhale, but I know him too well.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll miss it. I’ll miss my knees more though,” he chuckles. He replaced one last fall, and the other is following close behind thanks to all the ups and downs of a lifetime in the trades. “Ian will take good care of her for me. Grant’ll end up on the numbers side of things. You sure you don’t want to give up teaching and join ‘em?”
It’s such an easy no, which is what makes it so hard to say. How do I tell my dad that teaching fulfills me so much more than working with my hands?
“I’m sure they’ll do a better job than I ever could.”
My brothers, Ian and Grant, are slated to take over the business when my dad retires, and are already in the thick of the transition. They were born for the family business. I just took a different path in life, one I don’t see myself changing anytime soon.
With the head start the guys had when I pulled up, we wrap up earlier than expected. I’m tempted to text Pen. Let her know I’ll be home for dinner. See if she wants to hang out. But if she’s in a writing zone, I don’t want to annoy her. Instead, I head to my parents’ and let my Mama feed me a home-cooked meal.
When I arrive to an empty house later on, I notice a new addition to the door leading into the garage. It’s one of those whiteboard/cork board combinations. In lime green swoopy lettering, Penelope has writtenDON’T FORGET ME!!!with a giant arrow pointing to the cork board. Tacked into the cork is a looped hook, and a Post-It is pinned beneath it, reading (Put Keys Here).
I smirk, shake my head, and rest my keys on the hook, trying to convince the bees to stop heading to my heart at the sight.
eight