in the right place. She hadn’t got the dates confused. She’d talked to Connie last week, and all was a go.
Was there even water?
She hurried to the hallway bathroom, which actually had a sink and a toilet, if not a tub. She turned on the faucet and heard sputtering and a great wheezing of air in the pipes. That was it.
Seriously?
“Right. Okay,” she explained to Callie, who still had her face rooted in Alexi’s neck. “All I have to do is go to the basement, find the main water valve and turn it on.”
But first—she looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. All three were there, though Bryn was fiddling with the latch on the fence gate. She started toward the back door but then heard Matt call from the fire pit, “Hey, Bryn. Look!”
It was a stick. Bryn loved sticks. Had invented a million uses for them, and sure enough he changed course for Matt, who’d always known not to run after someone ready to bolt.
Callie pointed to them.
“Do you want to go play?” Fixing the water would go a lot easier without Callie.
Callie squirmed to get down.
“Okay, hold on. Let me carry you across this yucky floor first.” The second Alexi opened the back door, Callie shot outside. The paint fumes must be near lethal for her to leave Alexi. A good thing for once that Callie wasn’t able to tell stories. Alexi didn’t want the kids, namely Bryn, alerted to the state of the house until she got the water running.
Alexi called to Matt to watch Callie, who was already toddling toward the others. Bryn was now holding the stick, an unusual one, smooth and tapered like a baseball bat. Bryn examined it, and then squatted to rummage through the pile of firewood. Good, that should buy her time. She headed for the basement stairs, placing a call that switched to voice mail as she started down the stairs.
“Connie, this is Alexi Docker. Your tenant. I just arrived at the house, and it’s—it’s unacceptable.” She resisted saying more. The situation demanded a face-to-face meeting. “Please call me. Immediately.”
In the split second she glanced from the steps to the phone to end the call, she slipped and stumbled down the last steps onto the concrete floor, the phone skittering across the cement, screen down.
No, no, no. Not the phone, not the phone. It held everything.
She scrambled after it on hands and knees, turned it over and—yes! A smooth screen wallpapered with a shot of the kids on monkey bars. She kissed it in relief.
She stood and nearly screamed from the sudden pain in her left ankle. Great, a sprain. All she needed. She limped around the basement until she found the furnace room with the copper water pipes.
Now, which valve and where? She tapped her phone against her chin and then realized a better use for it. After a quick internet search, she reached over and twisted a likely valve. There was a sucking pull and then—water.
She’d done it. Only when she stepped out of the furnace room did she hear exactly what she’d done. Water gushed and slapped against the upstairs floor. The other valves were already open. Alexi rushed back into the furnace room and cranked the main valve shut again.
She leaned her sweat-damp back against the concrete wall. This. Was. Insane. She’d moved to a place with a lake and didn’t have a drop to drink. She ran her tongue inside her dry mouth. Okay. Think. Figure out which pipe went where. She traced the looping paths of the hoses and pipes. Right. Another internet search.
First, time to check on the kids.
She hopped upstairs into the kitchen in time to see Bryn climb the deck stairs to the back door, stick in hand. He would flip out if he saw the inside of the house. She needed to prepare him.
Alexi intercepted him on the back deck.
“That’s a great stick.”
“Yes, I’m going to put it in my room.” He stepped to get around her.
Who knew what shape the bedrooms were in? She stepped with him. “How about I do that for you and you can look for more sticks?”
He shook his head. “I’m thirsty.” He shifted the other way. She followed.
“How about I bring out a pitcher of water while you get more sticks?” An offer she had no idea how to fulfill.
He frowned and ducked, caught her wide-open on her weak side and darted inside. When she joined him, he was standing stock-still, his feet glued to the floor...and perhaps, considering the condition of the plywood, that was actually true. He was doing a slow scan of the place, eyes wide, jaw dropped.
Alexi held her breath. It was a disaster for Bryn if the toaster was not square to the coffeemaker. She’d spent the past week showing him pics of the place (before it was gutted), explaining over and over how it would be the same. “We have a kitchen sink. The new place has a kitchen sink. We have a fridge. It has a fridge. You have a bedroom. It has a bedroom.”
Behind her, she heard the thumping of the other kids’ footsteps on the wooden deck stairs, and then they, too, were inside.
There was a collective, shocked silence. Callie clutched Alexi’s jeans, and Alexi automatically picked her up.
“What happened?” said Matt.
“I don’t know,” Alexi said. “I’ve left a message with the landlady.”
“The place stinks,” Amy commented. “It’s giving me a headache.”
“What are we going to do?” So like Matt to quickly move to solving the problem. Except she didn’t have an answer.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t cook, couldn’t keep food cold. Could hardly breathe. She couldn’t return to Calgary. New tenants were moving into their old place even as she stood in this disaster. What had she done?
At that moment, Bryn broke free of his trance and screamed, “I want to go home!” He shot out the back door, stick raised.
“Bryn! Stop feet!” she called after him and moved to follow, Callie’s legs banded tight around Alexi’s waist. Pain tore through her ankle. “Matt! Get the back gate.”
Matt was already on it. Bryn dropped his stick and stripped off his shirt. Matt darted past him to get to the gate first, flattening himself against it. Bryn registered that, grabbed his stick and swerved in the opposite direction to the front of the house.
“I’ll open the van for you,” Alexi called to Bryn from the back door. “Then we’ll go home.” If she could get him in the van, lock the doors, then she could talk him down.
If she could open the van before he got there.
She set down Callie and did a limping run to the front door, opening it, just as Bryn, now completely nude, stick in hand, reached the van. Where were her keys? There, in the box. She double clicked on the remote and threw open the front door. Too late. She watched Bryn reach the corner of the block, turn a sharp left and disappear from sight.
“Matt!”
He was there.
“My ankle is twisted. You go. Stay with him. I’ll get Amy and Callie, and follow in the van.” A real nuisance with the U-Haul still attached and a bum tire to boot. She was snapping Callie into her car seat when Matt came tearing back, fear stark on his face.
“Mom! A man stopped his truck and Bryn got in. Then he drove off!”
* * *
SETH GREENE HADN’T lived his entire life in a lakeside tourist town not to have seen his share of young sidewalk streakers with mortified mothers in pursuit. Usually it was closer to the lake, or right on the beach. This was the first time one veered across the street in front of his truck. He slammed on his brakes, and the kid took advantage of the stoppage to dive into the cab.
“Drive!