Page 73 of Really Truly Yours
At an unexpected sound, I incline my ear down the darkened hall. A leaky faucet? I slip backward. No, I’m next to the open bathroom and the sound isn’t coming from there.
I’ll ask forgiveness later.
I guess, given Donny’s situation, I had this kind of thing on the brain, and sure enough, right beside the bed where I assume Sydnee sleeps, right beside the cheap, particle board nightstand, sits a five-gallon bucket filled to the halfway point with water that even now drips from a frying pan-sized hole in the ceiling. Bits of dingey pink insulation litter the carpet. Some float along the water’s surface.
“What are you doing in here?” Framed by the doorway, fists at her hips, Sydnee scolds with her eyes.
“What is this?” I point to the mess, as if there might be confusion.
Her normally pretty eyes shift to the bucket. They bulge for a split second before squinting hard at me. “Get out of my room.”
“Sydnee.”
“Get out, Grayson.” Her finger wags the air.
I widen my stance. “You have a problem.”
“And I’ll deal with it.”
“How long has it been this way?” It didn’t originate with last night’s rain. She had the bucket at the ready before leaving with me yesterday.
Her gaze skips between the disaster and me. “It’s been leaky for a few weeks.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She bites her lip. “The hole got a lot bigger last night.”
Got. Bigger.
“What are you doing about it?” I have a gut feeling here.
“None of your business.” Lifting her chin, she hugs that dreary, stained sweater around her like a shield.
“Sydnee, you can’t ignore this.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Yet it’s been like this for weeks.”
“Not like this.”
I stare her down.
“It was a tiny hole.”
“Well it’s not tiny now. And the roof needs to be thoroughly checked.” The rotted out wood at Donny’s serves as a warning.
“I’ll take care of it. Now, out!”
I take a step. “I’ll have Bill come over and see what he can do.”
“No you will not.”
“Why not? He’s right across the street working. Easy fix.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Again, “Why not?”