“I didn’t think you’d—” He put his hands over his face. “I didn’t think you’d ever actually—”
The doorbell rang.
All three of us jumped.
Through the front window, I could see a white pickup in the street. Magnetic sign on the door. HOLLIS HOME REMODELING. A man in a tan work jacket was standing on my porch with a clipboard and a laser measure.
I opened the door.
“Morning!” He had a big, easy smile. “Rick Hollis. Here to get final measurements on the den entry. Mrs. Mercer said we could swing by before the Monday start.” He looked past me, saw Diane in the kitchen, and waved. “Morning, Diane!”
Diane didn’t wave back.
“I’m Mrs. Mercer too,” I said. “And there’s no job.”
His smile wobbled.
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s no Monday start. There’s no den entry. Nobody is cutting a door into my house.”
Rick looked down at his clipboard. Then at me. Then at Diane.
