The first thing she noticed, pulling into the drive, was the Matrix, gone.
“Shit!” She’d have to lug the groceries in herself, then start dinner. The least he could have done was texted. Asked if she needed a hand.
She yanked on the emergency brake, shoved open the door, and ejected onto the pebbled pavement. The texture irritated her. Made her feel out of kilter in her high heels—like she was walking drunk down a gravel road. Buddy had insisted on it when they resurfaced the drive, and no matter how hard she tried, Leanne couldn’t forgive him this daily vexation.
“Bitch!” she chastised under her breath.
She fumbled open the front door, annoyed he’d left it unlocked… again… schlepped through the foyer into the kitchen, hoisting the bulging plastic bags onto the counter. Kettle. Tea.
In automaton mode, she put the water on to boil, then began unpacking the groceries. She was putting a can of diced tomatoes on the pantry shelf when the kettle began shrieking. Turning toward the stove, she caught a flash of something white through the passageway into the dining room. A note.
Strange, she thought. He could just as easily have texted.
Leanne didn’t like ‘strange’. She needed tidiness and order to negotiate her way through her busy days. She’d seen three clients that day and had two deals on the go, almost clinched: a condo on Songhees Road, looking out over the harbour; and a single family with a well-finished basement rental suite in Fernwood. She loved the showing and negotiating part of her job; hated the paperwork. The coming week would be a grind, she figured. Both deals were pretty well closed.
His note seemed out of place, something she needed about as much as a pebble in her shoe. Leanne decided to let it sit for a minute or two while I get myself organized. She had texts from both Robbie and Gloria to reply to. She’d take care of them first, then see what the Handyman wanted.
She couldn’t help smiling at his self-deprecating pseudonym—nickname, he would have insisted, correcting her upper crust tone of voice with his working man’s lingo. You don’t work anymore, she would have reminded. And as for the man part of the equation…
That would sting if she ever said it out loud so Leanne kept the remark to herself. The kids had taken to calling Buddy The Dad App, a sort of avatar they were trying to adapt to their Gen Z ways of thinking and talking.
Robbie first. He’d responded to her invitation to that night’s dinner with, “Gotta study, Ma. Heavy duty exam coming up.” She thumbed, “Take a break.” into her mobile. ”Spaghetti and meatballs. Gobble and go.”
Then Gloria, who’d accepted the invite, “Talk to your brother, love. He’s wavering. Hugs.”
Her evening sorted, tea steeped, she made her way into the dining room, her stockings swishing over the linoleum onto hardwood. She settled into the chair at her end of the table, plunked her cup down, sighed, and looked out the window into their backyard, letting things settle for a bit. Then she unfolded Buddy’s note.
Next: Leave Taking