The Book of Lost Friends(34)
I wish I’d recorded every bit of that speech on cassette tape. Or better yet, VCR. I’d play it for the kids, over and over and over until something changes.
“Granny T?” I catch her before she makes her way through the door.
“Mmm-hmm?” She hesitates, lips puckered again as she cranes upward.
“Have you thought any more about coming to my class to talk to the kids? It really would be good for them to hear your story.”
Once again, she fans off my idea like a giant, annoying gnat. “Oh, honey, I ain’t got anything to say.” She’s quickly out the door, and I’m left with banana oatmeal cocoa pooperoos. Which is more than I had a few minutes ago. So, there’s that.
I’m also late to meet Wonder Woman and get my roof repaired. I put the new cookies in my Ding Dong security vault, otherwise known as the top file drawer, lock it, and hurry home.
Aunt Sarge is already on the roof by the time I pull into the driveway. There is a stepladder propped next to the porch, so I climb it and stand on the top step, my hands keeping balance on the roof, which is still at about the level of my front pants pockets.
I say hello and make my apologies for being late.
“Not a problem,” Aunt Sarge mutters around a nail protruding from her mouth like a cigarette. “Didn’t need you anyway. All the work’s outside.”
I perch there a moment, watching with no small bit of admiration as she slides the nail from between her lips and whacks it into a shingle with four efficient hammer strokes. A small package beside her appears to contain additional shingles, which worries me a little. There’s more involved here than just roofing tar, clearly. This looks costly.
The ladder wobbles underfoot as I hook a knee onto the roof. Fortunately, today is laundry day, and I have on my oldest pair of work slacks, which I’ve decided need to go into retirement anyway. I ascend with all the grace of a performing seal trying to mount a circus pony.
A bothered look flicks my way. “You got something else you need to do, no worries. I’m fine up here.” There’s a sharp defensiveness, as if she’s used to battling for the ground she stands on. Maybe it’s a military thing. An adaptation to surviving in challenging work environments.
I wonder if that’s true of the kids in my class. Could it be that their apparent disdain for me is nothing personal? The thought flutters around the edges of my mind, unexpected and appealing, a bit revolutionary. I always assume people’s behaviors are a reaction to something I’ve done, not that they’re just doing their thing.
Hmmm…
“Roof won’t leak when I’m through,” Sarge assures me. “I know construction work.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it for a minute. And I couldn’t tell one way or another, anyway. I have zero experience with roofs, other than living under one.” I crawl up and sit. This thing is steep. And higher than I thought. From here, I can see the entire cemetery and across the orchard to the farm field beyond. It’s quite a view. “Maybe if I watch, I’ll know how to fix it next time. But I thought we were only talking about putting some tar around the pipe or something.”
“Needed more than that. Unless you want it to leak again.”
“Well, no. I mean, of course not, but…”
“You’re looking to have a slipshod job done, I’m not your girl.” She sits back on her heels, regards me with her head tilted away and her eyes narrowed. “If we’ve got some other issue, spit it out. All this”—she swirls the hammer like it’s a plastic dinner fork—“squirrel trailing around is a waste of time. Something needs to be said, just say it. That’s how I operate. Other people don’t like it, that’s their problem.” A chin wag gives weight to the words. I’m immediately reminded of LaJuna. Tough shells must run in the family.
“The money.” She’s right, it does feel good to just put it out there. I motion to the nails and the shingles and so forth. “I can’t afford all this. I thought we were going to patch it a little until I could get in touch with the landlord,” which may not be anytime soon. Finding Nathan Gossett is like chasing down a ghost. I’ve also tried to reach his two uncles via the offices of Gossett Industries. The Gossetts and Gossett Industries have a thinly veiled aversion to outreach from school personnel, as such communications usually involve requests for grants, donations, and sponsorship money.
Sarge nods, then goes back to work. “Already taken care of.”
“I don’t want you to do it without getting paid.”
“Tracked down your landlord. Got the money out of him.”
“What? Who? Nathan Gossett?”
“That’s right.”
“You talked to Nathan Gossett? Today? Is he here?” A hopeful pitter-patter rises in my throat. “I’ve been trying to contact him—or either of his uncles at Gossett Industries—all week.”
“You’re not rich enough for Will and Manford Gossett to bother with, trust me.” There’s a chill in the summer air all of a sudden. She relents a little when she adds, “Nathan’s not so much of a jerk. He’s just…not into the whole Goswood thing.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“Not right now. But, like I said, roof’s taken care of.”