Yeah, I’m definitely in my element.
The dingy little detached garage is more of a workspace than any place you would park a car. Rakes and shovels are leaning in the corner, and an old rusty snowblower is in the back far-right recesses.
I find buckets, pails, old holiday decorations—the big plastic kind my nan and granddad used to put on their lawn ’cause Nan was obsessed with holiday decorations and had to outdo the neighbors.
I dig him out and set him near the workbench for some reason. Nostalgia has me whistling and popping open the music app on my phone.
The snowman puts a smile on my face as I wipe it down with the rag, then decide to take one of the newly found buckets and fill it with water and soap, then begin scrubbing anew.
I wipe down decorations and shelves. Resume hunting for treasures.
Find two more boxes but turn up nothing good.
One more and I’m closer—it’s a lawn game. The kind with big darts for tossing and two hoop targets that aren’t legal anymore. I find a croquet mallet behind another shelf, but only one, wondering where the rest of them might have gone.
I toss a busted pink flamingo in the large trash bin.
A gnome that’s been repainted and ugly as fuck follows it.
Take a bike down off a wall rack that’s about forty years old for garbage day.
I’m about to give up when I pull a blue tote from the top shelf. Leaves and dust and who-knows-what-else fall in my eyes when I heave it down. Cracking open the lid, I reveal a net.
No, not a net.
A hammock.
“Sweet,” I mutter, pleased with myself for not being a quitter.
I take the hammock out and spread it out on the lawn, then unwind the hose and spray it off. Hang it on the porch railing to dry in the sun while I go back inside and warm up the leftover pizza from last night. Two slices.
No, three.
Posey has it wrapped up all nice like. It’s easy to zap in the microwave and tastes just as delicious as before. All three pieces go down easy.
I feel gross.
Dirty and tired after scavenging all morning, I rise to set my plate next to the sink and napkin in the trash, arm hair coated in a light smattering of dust.
Bored, I look at my watch. “Shit, I should take a shower.”
I have a conference call with Eli and his assistant at four and could stand to take a nap before then.
Doing nothing has me turning into a lazy fuck. I should probably set up a home gym while I’m here, now that I’ve cleaned out the garage. I doubt Posey would mind, and besides, Eli and Molly told me their home was my home.
Anyway, it’s only two weeks. I’ll be out of Posey’s hair before she knows it.
Humming to myself as I start the shower water and strip down to my birthday suit (which is one hell of a birthday suit, by the way), I step into the hot spray. Thankfully, the showerhead is high enough because most times, they aren’t.
The sound of the water is my only company, and that’s exactly how I want it.
4
posey
As soon as I enter the kitchen through the back door, I listen.
Since Duke was nowhere to be found outside, I can only assume he’s somewhere in the house doing God-knows-what because he does whatever the fuck he wants, when he wants.