Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(25)
“A little grease fire. It’s not a problem. I was painting the ceiling anyway.”
Valerie looked around disdainfully. “And the cabinets, too, I hope.”
Liz nodded. She was now.
Valerie continued to wander around, opening doors, peering out windows, asking questions and generally making Liz uncomfortable. Baby Clara cooed in Valerie’s arms, happily swinging the forbidden pendant as they marched toward the second floor.
Liz followed behind. “Do you want me to take her now?” she asked, feeling acutely unnecessary. Valerie stopped on the upper stair landing to look at her. “So you can take notes or something?” Liz added.
Valerie turned away. “I think I can do my job,” she said.
“I never said you couldn’t,” Liz muttered under her breath.
“Well.” Twenty minutes later, they stood outside the front door, Clara face-planted against Valerie’s generous cleavage and snoring contentedly. The traitor. “Once you get the new patio in and finish the painting, let me know and I’ll come take pictures for the listing.” Valerie arched an eyebrow at the gnome peering up at them from the edge of the stoop and heaved a resigned sigh.
“Look. I know your parents have made an effort to clear the house of personal photos and knick-knacks and things like that, but I’ll be honest with you. In today’s market, unless a home dazzles, well, your folks won’t get out of it what I know they’re hoping to.”
Liz was a little taken aback. Straight, honest, helpful talk from Valerie Stinson? The apocalypse must be near.
After decades working a factory job, though, Liz knew the house was all the nest-egg her dad had. If Valerie had any advice, Liz needed to swallow her pride and listen. “Is there anything I can do?”
“For starters, you can get rid of that.” Valerie pointed toward a black, fat-bottomed silhouette of kissing children Dad had perched at the edge of the yard.
Liz sighed. “For once, we agree on something.”
Valerie almost cracked a smile. Almost. “Just see if you can freshen the place up a little. Think light and airy.” She handed Clara back to Liz. “You were always smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“THEY WANT ME to drug him,” Trish declared miserably later that afternoon. Clara was making happy nursing noises under Trish’s shirt, the twins were running around the yard trying to tag each other and Ben, the nephew under discussion, was poking a stick repeatedly at the trunk of the lone apple tree.
Liz wordlessly handed Trish a cup of coffee. She wasn’t sure whether coffee was okay for a nursing mother, but Trish seemed to need something.
They stared out the slider as Ben’s stick broke. He kicked the tree instead.
“I’m sure that’s not what they said,” Liz placated.
“You weren’t there.” Trish took a long gulp of coffee and set the mug on the counter. “They said he’s got attention deficit, hyperactivity, doesn’t read social cues, is impulsive, disorganized, shows poor judgment, suffers from anxiety and that, considering everything, I would be ‘well advised’ to consider medication.” Trish pulled Clara out from under her shirt and flumped her over her shoulder. “Isn’t he just being a boy? Seriously, look at him! Don’t all boys do stupid, loud, impulsive stuff?”
Liz watched as her nephew body-slammed his younger brother, did a backwards somersault and then raced away. “Maybe it might help him moderate himself,” she offered.
“He’s not always like this. Being in school all day makes him antsy.”
“Has your pediatrician ever talked to you about Ben’s, er, impulsivity?”
“Sure, but I never seem to have the time to follow up on it.” She sighed. “Or maybe I’m afraid of what they might say when they start looking more closely. He’s a good kid, smart even, but his grades…” her voice trailed off and her eyes filled.
Liz patted her on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s not the end of the world. I saw lots of kids like Ben when I was in college. Can it hurt to go to a specialist to find out what you’re dealing with? Who knows if the school is right? He might have some underlying learning or memory issues that make everything else worse, and if you can just address those…”
Trish swiped at her eyes. “How do you know all this?”
“I worked as a peer tutor in college. They put us all through a training program on how to help students with various learning styles and disabilities. You may not believe this, but I helped a kid with ADHD, short-term memory and long-term recall issues go from an F to a B+ in Accounting.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. I’ll look up some info for you. Trust me. Ben’s not hopeless.”
Ben slammed into the other side of the slider from them and laughed, a giant, goofy smile lighting his facing at having startled them. “Mom! I’m hungry! Can we stop for chicken nuggets on the way home? Please? Please?”
Trish nodded and Ben whooped delightedly before charging off again. “But what if they do what to medicate him? What if it changes his personality? I don’t want him to be a zombie.”
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
CARTER THREW THE discarded beer can he’d collected by the road and tossed it into the bed of his truck with a few others. If there was one thing he hated it was trash on the roadside. It didn’t look much better in his pickup, but he figured it was one step closer to being recycled.