Giving the rail a few good pulls, it's sturdy enough to pass even the toughest city inspector. Looking up, I see a couple of loose trim pieces dangling down from the ceiling, and a few holes scattered across the walls.
Grabbing the ladder, I climb up, sticking a cluster of nails between my teeth. Pressing a nail to the wood, I strike it with the hammer and miss completely, crushing my thumb instead.
“Fuck!” I call out, shaking my hand hard as if that will stop the throbbing.
I never miss a nail. I'm frustrated, but it's not at the missed nail or the stripped screws I'm dealing with, it's at my brother. We should have never let this place fall apart the way we did. I know we made a decision years ago, but our decision put Heather's safety at risk.
And I regret it. I regret ever allowing her to live here like this.
I lose myself for the next few hours in more repairs. I fill the holes and sand them smooth. Now I'm adding a clean coat of white paint to the walls. This place is already unrecognizable, and I've hardly done a thing. Everything's been cosmetic, easy shit that any homeowner can do without a professional.
Standing on the ladder, I'm covered in blotches of paint. There are smears on my arms and speckles on my hands and face like freckles.
“Hey,” Heather says from beneath me.
“Don't get too close, this wall is wet,” I say, not bothering to look down.
I'm stuck in my own head. Even all this work hasn't been enough to make me stop thinking about my brother. There's this feeling of betrayal that I just can't shake. No matter how much I feel what I'm doing is right, I still feel like I stabbed him in the back.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Giggling, I see her fiddling with her hands from the corner of my eyes. “So,” she says, her voice upbeat, “I was able to get a gig tonight down at Newby's. I'd really love for you to be there.”
Stopping what I'm doing, I take the time to finally look at her. “Newby's, that's a better place for you.” I don't want to dismiss her. I know how much she wants to make her music dream come to life. But even I can hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. “So, good for you.”
Heather doesn't acknowledge the tone I'm giving her, but if she slapped me right now, I would deserve it.
“Yeah, they had someone cancel, and called me to fill the open spot.”
“It's more your scene, I think you'll do great there.” I try to sound more positive, it's weak, but hey, at least I'm making an effort.
She smiles coyly, biting on her bottom lip. “I'll do better if you’re there with me.”
Pulling her bottom lip in, she nibbles on it. It's fucking sexy as hell. Her lips are a pale pink, shiny from a layer of gloss. Her lashes are coated in thick black mascara, making them stand out. The shadow on her lids makes her eyes pop like a firework in the pitch-black sky.
Not today beautiful, I can't be your cheerleader.
“I've got stuff to take care of here.” Turning away from her, I dunk the paintbrush into a small bucket of paint.
“You don't have to take care of everything at once. Maybe just take a quick break and come have a beer.” She stands quiet, and I know exactly what she's waiting for, but I can't give it to her.
So, I give her the only answer I have. Nothing.
“Fine, do what you want. Stay here by yourself all night sulking, and paint the walls that aren't going anywhere.” With her guitar in the case, she throws it over her shoulder and turns to leave. Looking back at me one last time, she says, “I go on at nine-thirty if you change your mind. I hope to see you there.”
She probably doesn't realize, and thinks I just keep on painting, but I don't. I watch her leave. I watch her walk out the door, wishing I had shown her more excitement, wishing I had hugged her and kissed her and given her everything she deserved right then.
But I didn't. I let her go without a fight.
She doesn't deserve this either. She doesn't deserve to be pushed away.
Dropping the brush into the bucket, I climb down the ladder, and wipe my hands off. I'm not going to let her down again, I can't. I did that once already.
Showering, I clean the paint off my skin and get dressed. Spritzing some cologne on my chest, I grab my keys off the table and head to the bar.
Heather is right, people do change. I'm not the same person I was when I made that pact with my brother. I was just an angry kid back then. I'm a grown fucking man now, who deserves to be happy.