Page 34 of Error Handling

I back out and stand. “The water’s off. But I suppose you’d like to be able to use your kitchen sink.” I look at Sarah’s forehead instead of her eyes.

“Is that considered part of this emergency call?” Sarah asks.

“Not being able to rinse fruits and vegetables is an emergency,” Christopher says.

“And not being able to fill Dolly’s water bowl. But I guess I could do those things in the bathroom.”

Christopher and Sarah look at each other and say, “Unsanitary!” in unison, and then burst out laughing.

Inside joke. And not a funny one.

“I can fix the sink,” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I have parts in the back of my truck, and I can try to suck up some of this water with my shop vac. But the cabinet needs replaced, and who knows about the damage to these floors. They aren’t part of the call.”

Christopher turns his back on me, hiding Sarah. The two whisper back and forth, but I hear everything.

“I can stay while he repairs the sink,” Christopher whispers. “I don’t want you here with some strange guy.”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Stop.”

“You stop.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No, it’s okay. I know Chris.”

Christopher’s back straightens. He spins on his heel. “You’reChris.TheChris. Yeast rolls Chris.”

More with the stupid yeast rolls.

Sarah cowers behind Christopher, her eyebrows raised like she feels guilty. Guilty about what?

“Could this get any weirder?” Christopher says.

“No. It can’t,” I say.

Sarah’s eyebrows fall.

“Um. I have to get up early tomorrow. Do you mind if I get to work on this?” I look past Christopher at Sarah. “It won’t take long.”

“Do you mind if I let my dog out while you work?” Sarah asks. “She’s friendly.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“I can turn the gas back on,” Christopher says. “I’m already dirty.”

I’m not going to argue.

“I don’t want you to get stuck,” Sarah says to Christopher.

“I know which places to avoid now,” Christopher says.

Sarah nods and Christopher heads out the front door. Which leaves me alone with Sarah, and thefeelings. I chance a look at her eyes now. She returns my gaze with a timidness she never displayed in our previous interactions. I suddenly want to fix this one small problem in her life.

“I’m sorry I mocked your celiac disease,” she says.

“Oh.” I stick my flashlight into my toolbelt. “It’s okay.”