Maggie Moves On(47)

“You remind me of my lovely wife. Very smart. Very good at what she does. And very, very bad at remembering that getting ahead of the to-do list isn’t the only way to be successful.”

“Your wife sounds like someone I’d like,” she mused.

They heard a snarled curse as the hose attached to the power washer whipped off the porch.

“I imagine she isn’t the only one in the family you’d like,” Morris guessed. “If it isn’t getting better, I want you to go in for an X-ray. Now, what are we going to do this weekend?”

She sighed. “Rest. Ice. Elevation. Anti-inflammatories. Pout.”

“It’s a beautiful spring weekend. Might I suggest enjoying the view with a glass of wine and a good book?”

She didn’t know what was odder, the suggestion or the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that.

“Sounds great,” she said lamely.

He patted her knee. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go ask Silas for a quick tour of the grounds. His mother and I are very proud of his work.”

She opened her mouth to volunteer to lead the tour—after all, it was her yard—then shut it again when her toe throbbed in protest.

“Of course. Make sure he takes you up the path in the backyard.”

“It was delightful meeting you, Maggie,” he said, producing a lollipop from his backpack with a flourish.

She couldn’t help but smile as she accepted the candy.



After a long, leisurely pout, Maggie gimped inside, following the sounds of arduous labor into the dining room. There she found the determined Cody steaming a section of god-awful plaid wallpaper between the windows. She flopped down on one of the dusty chairs and, because physician assistant’s orders, propped her foot on the mahogany table.

“How’s it going?” she asked. He’d made good progress in the hour he’d been at it.

Cody looked up from the steamer, his expression guarded. “Okay.”

His attention returned to the task at hand. He’d made some slow, methodical progress, she noted. His patience had him making steadier gains than she would have. She’d been known to get frustrated with decades-old glue and take a belt sander to entire walls.

“Good. Hey,” she said casually as she shifted to dig her phone out of her pocket, “the lighting’s pretty good in here. Mind taking a picture of my gross toe so I can post it?”

If the kid thought it was a weird request—and who wouldn’t think it was weird?—he didn’t say anything. Instead he took the phone, tapped the screen a few times, and angled the lens this way and that.

“That work?” he asked, handing it back.

She glanced at the screen and felt the urge to do her “I was right” dance. But it would only further anger her toe. “Yeah. That works.”

He’d screwed up, showed up when he said he would, accepted a half-assed punishment without complaint, and was doing a decent job. It made the decision an easy one in her mind.

“Dean!” she shouted in the direction of the hall.

“What do you want, woman?” he hollered back.

“Can you come down here?”

He came down the stairs grumbling. “What’s your problem, Magpie?”

She handed him her phone.

“Gross. But great shot,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “Cody took it.”

He looked up at the kid. “Are you into photography?”

“I guess.”

“I scrolled through his Instagram account last night,” she told Dean. “He’s good.”

He managed to look both suspicious and hopeful. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Maggie turned back to Cody. “How would you like a job?”

Cody dropped the steamer to his side. “I have one,” he said slowly. Then his lips quirked. “It doesn’t involve wallpaper.”

She grinned. “Wallpaper removal sucks. What do you do?”

“I work a couple nights a week at a gas station in town.” He said it while looking her in the eye, as if daring her to judge.

She nodded instead. “Must make you tired for school,” she mused.

He gave a jerky, one-shoulder shrug, as if it didn’t really matter.

“Dean and I could use some help around here. After school. On the weekends. Not construction,” she clarified. “Pays fifteen dollars an hour to start. You’d be helping out with the technical stuff. Videos, photos, social media posts. Maybe some editing.”

She saw the hunger, the hope when she named the pay. It made her feel impossibly sad for the boy already used to not belonging. But she could do this for him. And while it would cost her a little, it would be worth far more.

“We’ll be in town at least three months,” she told him.

“Probably closer to five,” Dean cut in.

He was probably right. And five months would give the kid a lot more pocket change than night shifts at a gas station. More options after they were on to the next job, too.

“I’ll take it,” Cody said quickly.

“Do you need to talk to your parents?” she asked.

He shook his head, but she didn’t miss the hardening in his eyes. “Nope.”