Chapter 5: Frozen Pipes

Water was running off Grandma's front porch in a thin sheet and freezing on the steps.

I got the door open and stood in the hall with my shoes in an inch of it.

The pipe under the kitchen sink had split along its seam.

I found the main shutoff in the basement, wrenched it closed with both hands, and sat down on the stairs.

The living room rug was soaked through.

The afghan Maxine had slept under was a sodden brown lump on the couch.

"Mom?"

Maxine stood in the doorway in her practice sweats, out of breath.

She had run from the bus stop.

"I texted Coach," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to ask."

"You did right."

"He's coming. He said ten minutes."

He was there in eight.

He came up the walk in a canvas coat.

He carried a wet-dry vacuum in one hand and a bucket in the other.

He didn't say anything about the house.

He looked at the shut main, nodded once, and plugged the vacuum in.

For an hour the three of us carried out wet towels and soaked cushions, and nobody talked.

Maxine stacked Grandma's photographs on the dining table, dry side up.

I wiped down the kitchen floor on my knees.

When I stood up, my back popped, and he was standing at the sink with a wrench.

"You can't live here this week," he said.

"The plumber can't come until Friday."

"Then you can't live here till Friday."

"Coach Ostrow."

"Stefan," he said. "I'm not your coach in a kitchen."

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