He eases back on his haunches and studies my expression so intently I squirm. Then he pauses, mental wheels spinning as he thinks.
Don’t let the small-town-boy persona fool you. He’s always been so much smarter than he lets on. It’s camouflage. Blending into a world that expects a certain persona from him, and as long as he projects it, he can coast and fit in.
I know all about that, don’t I?
“I’m fine,” I say firmly. “Can we just take a look at that leak?”
He nods and puts the mangled bandage back on. “We’ll fix your foot later. If you won’t let me drive you to the doc, then let me patch you up properly.”
He rises as I pull on my sock and shoe, and he walks to peer up at the leak.
“Speaking of patches, you’ve done a nice job here.”
“Only because it stopped raining.”
“Well, let’s get her fixed up. Then your foot. Then that window.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ve removed the patch,and I’m examining the hole. Below, Tom’s holding the ladder and chattering away, a light stream of conversation that ebbs and flows with the enviable rhythm of a natural storyteller. I remember this about him, too. Memories of hot summer days, sheltered under a live oak tree, positioned exactly right to catch a breeze, my eyes closed as he talked.
“Dad says I talk too much. He calls me Chatty Cathy. Says I talk as much as a girl.”
I open one eye to peer over at him, his face shadowed, knees drawn up, a soda bottle wedged between them.
“Do girls talk more than boys?” I ask.
He shrugs. “He thinks so. But you hardly talk at all.”
I take a draw on my orange soda. “What does your mom say?”
“Tells him to shut up. Says she likes my stories.”
“I like them, too.”
He’s talking about the neighbors now—naming the kids and explaining how I can tell them apart. I ask a few questions, and he answers, but mostly, I just listen as I used to.
Then he asks, “You met Liam yet?”
I nod, realize he can’t see it and say, “Yes.”
“Thoughts?”
“I... am reserving judgment.”
He chokes on a laugh and says, “Well, at least you didn’t say he seems like a nice guy. Don’t bother reserving judgment, Daisy. Whatever intuition he’s sparking, lean into it. You know those lawyers you see on TV, ambulance-chasing sharks? That’s him.”
“Huh.”
“Liam’s daddy was local, a lawyer who worked out this way. So folks consider Liam a local boy done good. Which he’s not. He just plays on that to drum up clients. That’s how he got Maeve’s business.”
“He was her lawyer?” I say.
“Yeah, Liam handled the estate. Against my advice. I’m never afraid to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. Maeve liked me and usually listened to me, but she shushed my concerns on Liam. The old bird might have been half-blind, but she could still spot a good-looking man at thirty paces.”
I smile at that. “I bet he can be charming, too.”
“Yep, and she was not immune.” He purses his lips. “Well, no, I think she knew him for what he was, but she was past caring. It wasn’t as if there was an estate he could con her out of. Just the house, and as you can see, it’s in lousy shape.”