“Then get over here!”
“No.”
Silence.
I heard Mom in the background.
“What did she say?”
Dad lowered his voice.
“Audrey, this isn’t the time.”
“For what?”
“For whatever little point you’re trying to make.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
“I am not making a point.”
“The roof is leaking!”
“Yes.”
“Because you left it unfinished!”
“No.”
His breathing changed.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I covered the exposed section with a properly secured tarp before I left.”
“Well, obviously you didn’t do it right.”
There it was.
Even now.
Even with water running into his bedroom.
It still had to be my failure.
“Dad, is the tarp still attached?”
“How would I know?”
“Then you don’t know the water is entering through the section I was working on.”
“Where else would it come from?”
“The section over your bedroom had visible flashing damage before I started. I told you that on the first morning.”
Silence.
I remembered pointing it out.
The old flashing around the chimney had lifted.
Several shingles were curling.
There were dark marks beneath the eaves.
I had told Dad that section needed professional attention because I was not comfortable rebuilding chimney flashing alone.
He had waved me off.
“Do what you can.”
Now the storm was doing what storms do.
Finding the weakest place.
Dad’s voice became hard.
“You need to come here.”
“At twelve-thirty in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“During a thunderstorm?”
“Yes!”
“To climb onto a wet roof?”
He hesitated.
I waited.
Finally he said, “At least do something.”
“I am.”
“What?”
“I’m telling you to call an emergency roofing company.”
“We can’t afford emergency rates!”
I closed my eyes.
On their kitchen table, I could still see the glossy itinerary.
First class.
Paris.
Florence.
Nice.
Barcelona.
Six weeks.
Private transfers.
Luxury hotels.
“We couldn’t afford both.”
Mom’s words.
I spoke quietly.
“Then you have a decision to make.”
Dad went silent.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You told me you couldn’t afford a roofer because you were broke.”
“We are not discussing Europe right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because our bedroom is flooding!”
“And you have money.”
“That money is already committed.”
“So was my time.”
Nothing.
“So was my labor.”
Silence.
“So was my body.”
“Audrey—”
“You had enough money to choose first-class airline seats over a safe roof.”
“That trip is your mother’s dream.”
“And this house is your responsibility.”
He inhaled sharply.
“Family helps family.”
I almost smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because I had finally heard the sentence clearly.
Family helps family.
In our house, it had always meant Audrey helps everyone.
Never the reverse.
“Then call Lauren.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Call Lauren.”
“She doesn’t know anything about roofs.”
“Neither did she need roofing knowledge to laugh at me.”
“That was a joke.”
“Good night, Dad.”
“Don’t you dare hang—”
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking.
For a moment, I felt twelve years old.
Then sixteen.
Then twenty-five.
Every version of myself that had learned love could be secured through usefulness seemed to be sitting on the edge of that bed with me.
My phone rang again.
Lauren.
I answered.
“What?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I almost admired the efficiency.
No hello.
No are you okay.
“What happened to the family emergency?”
“There wasn’t one.”
“You lied?”
“Yes.”
She made a disgusted sound.
“Mom and Dad have water pouring into their bedroom because you threw a tantrum.”
“I left because they lied to me.”
“They were joking around.”
“No. They told me they couldn’t afford a roofer.”
“They can’t.”
“They’re spending six weeks in Europe.”
“That is completely different.”
“How?”
“The trip was already booked.”
“Exactly.”
She went quiet.
I continued.
“They knew what the roof needed before they booked it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I inspected it.”
“Okay, fine, but what are they supposed to do now?”
“Call a roofer.”
“They said emergency service could cost thousands.”
“Then they’ll have to decide what matters.”
“You’re really going to make them cancel Europe?”
I looked toward my rain-streaked window.
“I am not making them do anything.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Lauren. That’s actually the whole problem.”
She stopped.
“They made a choice. They wanted the trip and the roof. They decided the way to afford both was to make me provide one for free.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“You’re right.”
She missed the point.
“I mean what you’re saying isn’t fair.”
“Did you know?”
Silence.
My stomach tightened.
“Lauren.”
“What?”
“Did you know about the trip before I started the roof?”
Another pause.
Too long.
I felt something inside me settle.
“You knew.”
“Mom mentioned it.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Before I started?”
She sighed.
“Yes.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“You knew they told me they were broke.”
“I didn’t know exactly what they told you.”
“You posted a comment under Dad’s video.”
“Oh my God, Audrey.”
“You called me ‘Roof Barbie with a savior complex.’”
“It was funny.”
“Was it?”
“It wasn’t that serious.”
“Then why didn’t you volunteer?”
She stopped talking.
I waited.
“Why didn’t you climb the ladder?”
“Audrey, I work.”
“So do I.”
“I have kids.”
“And?”
“I have responsibilities.”
“So do I.”
“You know I’m afraid of heights.”
“And you know I was doing twelve thousand dollars of labor for free.”
Nothing.
I heard the rain.
Then, very quietly, Lauren said, “They said you offered.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course they had.
“I didn’t.”
“Well, that’s what Dad said.”
“He told me they couldn’t afford the labor.”
She breathed out.
For the first time, the anger in her voice weakened.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.”
Then I hung up.
At 1:03 a.m., I received another message.
Not from family.
From my contractor friend, Miguel Santos.
You awake?
I called him.
He answered from his truck.
“Your dad called my emergency line.”
I almost laughed.
“He has your number?”
“You gave it to him when we priced the roof.”
Popular Posts
→- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
Recently Viewed
Stories you read recently will appear here.
