Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(29)

“You should be wearing a mask. Old pressure-treated lumber is full of arsenic.”

“It’s not asbestos, Trish. Arsenic leaches into the soil; it doesn’t float in the air. Besides, there’s not much left of it. I’m not even sure it was pressure-treated. Oh, yuck!” Liz jumped back from a rotten board as a handful of black ants scurried away.

“Are those carpenter ants? You’d better have the house sprayed while you’re here. Just last week I saw a show where this guy’s house was eaten right out from under him by termites. Literally, his La-Z-Boy fell right through to the basement with him in it.”

“Termites don’t live this far north.” Liz kicked the board aside with the others and grabbed her hammer and crowbar. It was Thursday morning. She’d been hard at work for two days, cleaning, scraping, weeding and raking and had no intention of adding a single item to her ‘to do’ list. “Once I get rid of this rotten wood,” she huffed, “the ants will leave.”

“I know a good exterminator.”

“Fine. Leave the number on the counter.”

“By the way,” Trish popped the baby over her shoulder and began patting her energetically. “I think I can convince Dad to gut the kitchen now that you’ve torched it. Just say the word. He’s still pretty loopy on painkillers. He’d agree to anything.”

“Mom and Dad can’t afford a remodel. And I don’t have time for one. I’ll just get some paint, cover it up, and get it on the market.”

Trish sat at the picnic table and stared back at the house. “I don’t know how you can be so detached about this,” she accused. “This is our childhood home they’re selling out from under us.”

“Selling out from—? What are you talking about? You couldn’t wait to move out!”

“And you hung around any longer than you had to?”

“That was different. I had plans for my life.”

“And I didn’t?”

Liz closed her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” Trish said, tucking the baby back under her shirt.

Liz flumped onto the bench next to Trish and reached for her bottled water. “I didn’t hate living here,” she said. “I actually like the house. It always seemed so Waltons, you know? I just…” She sighed and took a sip of water, looking out over the back fields. “I knew I wanted more out of life. The ways things had become, everything going on with John… I was afraid if I stayed in Sugar Falls I’d end up unhappy like everyone else. I didn’t hate it here, I just couldn’t wait to move on, you know?”

Trish harrumphed. “Who could? I got so sick of Dad’s disappointed looks and Mom’s making excuses, I took my first ticket out of here. Getting knocked up by Russ was easier than getting into college, anyway. Or so I thought.” Trish pulled her shirt down again as baby Clara flapped it around in her fist.

“You’re not unhappy, are you?” Liz asked.

“No. I got lucky. I may make Russ get snipped after this one, but I’m not unhappy. Not like some people.” Trish gave Liz a look.

“I’m not unhappy!”

“Sure. You’re single, attractive and rake in more dough than you know what to do with, and yet you live with an ugly cat in an apartment you hate. Why? I’ll tell you why. You’re waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, marry you, and carry you off to your little Walton-esque, white picket-fenced house.”

“I am not.”

“Why are you here, then? Why are you not off using your vacation time like a normal single person—traveling to hot, sandy islands where the men don’t remember how fat you used to be?”

“Okay. You know what?” Liz said, standing up. “I’m getting back to work. And for the record, I was only a little plump.”

Trish grabbed her elbow and yanked her back down. “You know I’m just kidding. It’s the postpartum hormones talking. They make me bitchy. I’m just jealous because you don’t have any baby fat to work off. I ate like a horse with this one, and I’ll be lucky to get the weight off by the time she graduates high school. I’m just saying, ripping out rotten decks on your vacation doesn’t seem right. Even for you.”

“Maybe I wanted to come home. My tenth reunion is next week, you know.”

“Ugh. Reunions are hell. Everyone secretly hates them.”

“It might be fun. Besides, I’ve committed to go.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain guy whose initials are carved into the inside doorframe of your closet, would it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know, the C.M. carved above E.B. with a plus sign between them?”

“You’re imagining things. Postpartum hormones can do that to a person.”

Trish nodded sympathetically and pushed off the picnic table as if still pregnant, the baby asleep across her chest. “Right. Well, I’ve gotta go. Preschool lets out in ten minutes. Call me?”

“Sure.”

Liz watched her sister drive away then scurried to find a piece of sandpaper before the house revealed any more embarrassing secrets. Who ever said coming home made you feel good?