Page 6 of Something Like Shelter

“I mean, if you have time for the job, if you’re going to do the shower, I would like to get it how I want it if it has to be fixed.”

“Okay. We can do that. If you don’t have ideas, I can bring some books and samples tomorrow.”

“Is the water going to be off until tomorrow?” she asked, eyes going wide and panicked.

“No, no,” I said, holding up a hand. “The actual fix will take just a few hours. Then the water can be back on. But the ordering of supplies and the work…”

“Okay. That’s all right then. I have other bathrooms to use. It’s not like I’m showering much these days.”

“It’s gonna get noisy,” I warned her. “I have to cut into that wall…”

“That’s okay. She seems to hate silence almost as much as she hates noise. So it’s not going to make a big difference.”

“You good with me starting now?”

“Yeah. Just, you know, move freely. Like usual.”

Except on usual trips, she was typically at work, and didn’t look like she was one small piece of bad news away from a breakdown.

“Okay,” I agreed.

Then I went to my van to gather supplies, walking as quietly through the house as possible, despite knowing the sawing was about to shake the damn walls. But there was nothing I could do about that. Nor the way the baby wailed as I got started.

Eventually, though, the worst of the noise-making was over, and I cleaned up as best I could before bringing in the fans and dehumidifier.

The damn room sounded like a wind tunnel when I was finished setting it all up. But when it came to water damage, the most crucial step was drying things out as quickly as possible.

I needed to talk to Willa about ordering a dumpster so I could finish ripping down the walls around the shower, so I moved out of the bathroom. Only to stop short when I saw a baby lying on the center of the king-sized bed, wrapped up like a burrito.

But out cold.

The walk-in closet door flew open, bringing out a wide-eyed Willa. Like she was terrified the baby stopped breathing because she was finally quiet.

She’d changed out of her soaked clothes, changing into a plum-colored matching pajama set with a snap-down front for, I assumed, easy nursing.

“She’s alright,” I said, my voice calm.

Willa froze, looking between me and the baby.

“I think she likes the fans,” Willa said.

“Makes sense. White noise. My sister used a white noise machine in all her kids’ nurseries.”

“She doesn’t like it,” Willa said, looking over at me. “I’ve tried. I guess I need to invest in loud fans.”

“These will be here for a few days until all the moisture is gone. I can’t do much else, repair-wise, until it’s dry. The last thing you want is to trap the moisture behind new wall and tiling.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

“I’m going to need to order a small dumpster to do the tear-outs.”

“Of course. You can have them put it anywhere.”

“Until I can do the actual work, I should probably stop by here and there to check how the drying-out is going.”

Really, I only needed to do that once. Maybe twice. I had no idea why the hell I suddenly wanted to drive out to her neighborhood to check on the progress.

I tried to tell myself it was because the dehumidifier was going to need to be emptied, and I didn’t want to overwhelm her any more than she already was. But it wasn’t exactly a lot of work to pull out the compartment and dump it down the drain.