Chapter 6: The Hour

I texted Lacey back: Busy.

She sent a heart.

At two o'clock on Thursday, Brent walked into the studio with a ladder on his shoulder.

He handed his phone across the counter without being asked.

I put it in the desk drawer and locked it.

"Where's the sign?" he asked.

"Wanda has it in the back. It's heavy."

"I'll get it."

For twenty minutes, he was the husband I had married.

He held the ladder steady for Davis, then climbed it himself, with the drill in his teeth.

He measured twice, marked the brick, and hummed under his breath.

It was the old tune he used to hum while he painted our first kitchen.

I stood on the sidewalk with a clipboard and watched him bolt my name over the door.

For a moment, I let myself forget everything.

Then the drawer buzzed.

It buzzed again, and again.

The sound came through the wood, loud and angry.

Brent froze on the ladder.

"Don't," I said.

"It's just a call."

"It's your hour."

The drawer kept buzzing.

Nine times, then a pause, then nine more.

A man walking past with a dog slowed down to look up at Brent on the ladder.

Brent climbed down.

"It could be an emergency. She's alone there."

"She's got a neighbor, a cellphone and a doorbell camera."

"Elise."

I opened the drawer and took out the phone.

The screen said: Lacey, 18 missed calls.

I held it out to him without looking at it.

He took it, turned away, and said, "What? Slow down."

His shoulders came up.

"I'll be right there. Don't touch it."

He ended the call and looked at me.

"The water heater's leaking. She says there's water all over the basement."

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