He Chose Her. I Chose Divorce novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Shore Road

Maggie hides in her late grandmother's house in Marquette, her cards are frozen at the hardware store and her new neighbor Ben pays. Joanne calls: Russell has asked a judge for a welfare check.

The card reader at Lakeshore Hardware beeped twice and showed a red message.

DECLINED.

The cashier looked at me kindly, which was worse.

"Try the other one," she said.

I tried the other one.

DECLINED.

Behind me in line, four people waited with paint cans and mousetraps.

I had a blue tarp, a bucket, a space heater and a box of kindling on the counter.

It was October in the Upper Peninsula, and my grandmother's roof had a hole in it.

Both cards were on the family plan.

Russell's assistant managed the family plan.

"I have cash," I said.

I had sixty-one dollars in my wallet, all the cash I'd thought to take.

The total was one hundred and four.

I counted out bills with hands that would not stay steady.

I was about forty dollars short.

"Put back the heater," I said.

"Put it on mine," a man said behind me.

He set a hammer and a box of roofing nails beside my tarp.

He was tall and bearded, in a canvas jacket with sawdust on the sleeves, and he did not look easy to startle.

"I can't let you do that," I said.

"You're not letting me. I'm doing it."

"I don't know you."

"Ben Aldous," he said. "Boatworks, down on the harbor. I live next to your grandmother's place."

He held out a hand, and after a second I shook it.

His palm was rough and warm.

"Maggie," I said.

"Maggie Rooney," he said. "The old lady's granddaughter."

"Her mailbox still says Rooney, I guess."

"I guess it does."

He handed the cashier a card, and the machine beeped once, and it was fine.

Outside, the wind off Lake Superior pushed my hair across my face.

His truck was parked beside the old Volvo I had driven up from Chicago.

It had been parked in the penthouse garage for two years because Russell said it embarrassed him.

"You can't patch that roof tonight," Ben said, looking at the tarp. "It's going to storm by four."

"I have a ladder."

"Do you have a ladder that doesn't have a missing rung?"

"I haven't checked."

"There's a missing rung," he said. "I've seen it from my porch."

He didn't wait for an answer.

He drove behind me the whole way along the shore road, and when I turned in at my grandmother's gate he pulled in beside me and got out with a ladder of his own.

I didn't ask him to.

It began to rain while he was on the roof.

I stood in the yard holding the bottom of the ladder with both hands.

A hammer rang above me, steady and unbothered, and for the first time in three days I did not think about the coat room.

"Shingle's rotted through," he called down. "I'll tarp it. You'll need a real fix by Friday."

"I can't afford a real fix by Friday."

"Then you'll need a roofer who takes payment plans."

"Is that you?"

"I build boats," he said. "I'm cheaper than a roofer, and slower."

He came down the ladder wet to the skin and took the heater inside without being asked.

Gran's kitchen smelled of cold ashes and old tea.

He knelt at the woodstove and lit it in two minutes.

I watched his back and thought, I should say something.

"Thank you," I said. "I'll pay you back the forty dollars."

"Forty-three."

"You counted?"

"I always count what I'm owed," he said, and I almost laughed, and the laugh scared me.

I hadn't laughed since the party.

He stood, and his head nearly touched the low beam.

"You don't have to tell me why you're here," he said. "People come up to the shore to be left alone. I'm good at leaving people alone."

"Thank you."

"But your cards got declined, and you're here in October with one bag. If somebody's looking for you, tell me what he looks like."

I stared at him.

"I didn't say it was a he."

"No," Ben said. "You didn't."

He picked up his hammer and went to the door.

"Lights are on at my place till ten. Come knock if the stove goes out."

After he left, I sat at my grandmother's table with the rain loud on the tarp.

I took the white shoes out of my coat pocket and set them side by side on the wood.

They were so small.

My phone, which I had kept off since the elevator, sat beside them.

I turned it on to see the damage.

Ninety-one missed calls.

Eighty-two were from Russell.

Fourteen voicemails, and one from Joanne at nine that morning.

I called her first.

"Don't go anywhere," Joanne said, no hello. "Maggie, listen to me. He's asked a judge in Cook County for a welfare check."

"On me?"

"He told the court you're unwell, you're missing, and you're not thinking straight. I'm fighting it, but the order came through an hour ago."

The rain drummed on the roof.

"Mags, they know where Gran's house is," Joanne said. "Somebody told them."

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