Read Online Fixing Delilah by Sarah Ockler - Free Book Online

before we leave. We may sell it furnished, but we’ll probably need at least three estate sales to clear out the rest of the junk.”
    I think of all the stuff upstairs and wonder where it will end up—the fabric and thread and patterns, and from the closet, the coats and shoes Nana walked around in for all the winters of her life. Images of Mom’s bedroom back in Key flit in front of me like gnats. I swat and blink them away.
    “I’m going to do as much as I can,” Mom tells Jack, “but as my sister and Delilah know, I’m somewhat chained to my desk. For major decisions or issues, check with me or Rachel. Otherwise, I trust your judgment. You’ve been doing this a lot longer than we have.”
    Jack nods.
    “No problem, Miss H,” Patrick says.
    “Are we all on the same page, Delilah?”
    The same page? I don’t think we’re even in the same library , but no need to bring that up. I nod.
    “Great,” she says. “Starting tomorrow, I think it would be helpful for you to follow Patrick around with a notebook to assess the exterior. Whatever he tells you to write, you write. I need you to stay close to the house—got it?”
    “Sure, Mom.” There are worse punishments than tailing Patrick all summer. Don’t contractors usually work without shirts?
    “Okay, then.” Mom claps her hands together once—her version of Go, team! “Any questions?” Apparently, her annual bonus depends on our ability to complete this mission on time and under budget.
    “No,” Jack says. “But Claire—and Rachel and Delilah, too—I just want to say again how sorry I am about Liz.” He pushes a casserole mushroom around his plate. “She was—”
    “Thanks, Jack. We appreciate all you’ve done for her.” Mom’s gentle nod sugarcoats her interruption, but she’s got the face. The You’re Skating on Thin Ice, Delilah face. Only this time, it’s meant for someone dead.
    Jack nods and pops the mushroom into his mouth, eyes fixed on the now-empty plate before him as if he can’t remember how it got that way.
    “All right,” Rachel says, clearing the dishes. “Who’s ready for some coffee cake?”

Chapter nine

    “We’ll start here and work our way around,” Patrick says, propping a ladder against the back of the house. “The gutters are probably the worst of it—they look pretty nasty.”
    I stand near the ladder as he climbs, pencil poised to catch his running commentary. It’s manual labor, but I’m glad to be out in the sun, away from the kitchen and day two of the seemingly endless paying of condolences by the coffee-cake bakers of Red Falls.
    “Sorry about last night,” I say, squinting into the sun to see him. “I mean, my mother. She gets a little demanding sometimes. Well, most times.”
    Patrick pokes around the gutters, dropping a pile of leaves behind him. “No biggie. My dad has his moments, too. Write this down—back gutters stable. Need cleaning.”
    I scribble down what he says. “Parents, right?”
    “Tell me about it. So what would you be doing all summer if you didn’t have the honor of inspecting gutters with me?”
    “Oh, you know. Typical summer stuff,” I say, avoiding all the taboo topics: Finn. Cell phone pictures. Seven Mile Creek. Google-stalking my father. I kick at the dirt with my flip-flop but don’t get much traction and stub my toe on a rock instead.
    “Such as?” Patrick asks, still poking around the muck of the gutter.
    “Movies. Hanging out. Reading. Whatever. Not much going on in Pennsylvania.”
    “Yes, but in Pennsylvania, you’ve got a friend.”
    “Huh?”
    “The slogan—you know?” Patrick puts his hand on his heart and sings, straight out of the old tourism commercials. “You’ve got a friend, in Penn-syl-van-ia!”
    “What about Vermont?”
    “It’s ‘Vermont, naturally.’ No song, though.”
    “Naturally.” I laugh.
    “Hey, I didn’t say it was good, friend . Look out,” he says, dropping his shirt from high up on the ladder. “It’s