Chapter 23: No Wall

"It isn't load bearing," Caleb said.

He stood in my bedroom with his palm flat on the plaster, the same place he'd touched it the day he first patched the bay.

"I checked the plans on Wednesday. It's two by four framing, one layer each side. It was never holding anything up but the idea."

"What idea?" Owen asked.

"That they were two rooms."

Warren stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, and I watched him look at the wall he'd refused to fix for five years.

"Take it down," he said.

"You sure?"

"I cut corners on it, and then I used it to listen for fourteen months. I want it gone."

Caleb handed me a pair of safety glasses.

"You first."

I took the sledgehammer in both hands.

It was heavier than I expected, and the handle was worn smooth by years of his palms.

"Where do I hit?"

"Anywhere you want."

I swung.

The head went through the drywall with a crack, and a cloud of white dust rolled out.

Graham coughed and laughed and said, "Jesus, Tessa."

I swung again.

The hole opened wider, and through it I saw the den, the poker table, the leather chair, the empty fifth chair beside Warren's.

My heart did something odd.

"Give me that," Graham said.

He took the hammer and knocked out a plank-sized piece in one pass.

He handed it to Owen, who held it.

"Do I just throw it?"

"Dumpster's in the drive," Caleb said.

Owen carried it down the stairs with enormous care, and we all heard him lay it gently in the bin.

Warren swung next.

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