Two years of penny-pinching, with full-time graduate school and part-time work, and she would be a degreed librarian. No more subtle condescension. Jo had every intention of ending up director of a major library system. The only drawback to moving away from the Bay Area was that she was farther from the only family she cared about: her brother Boyce, who lived in San Francisco, and her aunt Julia in L.A. But once she had her master’s degree, she could go back to California.
She’d worked until the last possible day. Today was Saturday; Monday she started classes.
In response to Jo’s suggestion, Helen said, “I start work at 9:00, too. Ginny’s bus picks her up at 8:25. I usually leave right after. I guess the three of us will be the ones fighting for the bathroom.”
Emma’s bus left at what seemed the crack of dawn. Apparently high school started obscenely early and let the kids out before two o’clock. Kathleen, too, left the house by 7:30.
“I’m looking for another job.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t seem to convince anyone that I have the skills when I haven’t held paying jobs. The fact that I’ve darn near run several charities doesn’t seem to impress anyone. Anyway, I’m going to check books out of the library so I can learn to use some other software packages.”
“I can’t do much but write a letter or send e-mail on a computer,” Helen admitted timidly.
Why wasn’t she surprised? Jo thought uncharitably, then was ashamed of herself. She had no idea what Helen Schaefer had been like before her husband died. Perhaps grief had changed her personality.
To make amends, Jo asked, “Where do you work, Helen?”
“At Nordstrom. Do you have Nordstrom stores in California? It’s an upscale department store. I’m in the children’s department.”
“So you work on commission?”
“Partly.” Her smile showed a shy prettiness Jo hadn’t suspected. “I’m actually pretty good at it.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I do?”
Jo couldn’t help smiling. “Okay. What do you do?”
The smile that touched his eyes seemed to be for her alone. “I’m a contractor. We do remodeling. Mainly residential.” With a sidelong glance at Kathleen, he added, “I would love to work on this place, but my sister won’t let me.”
“I can’t afford you.”
A frown tightened his face, and Jo knew she was forgotten. An old argument was apparently resuming. “I’m not asking to be paid.”
“I know you’re not,” his sister said gently. “But I can manage. I’ll let you pitch in on a Saturday afternoon. I won’t let you send in your team and swallow the expenses.”
“Stubborn,” he grumbled.
Yes, but Jo had to admire her roommate for not accepting charity, even if it was from her brother.
“We’re all going to help,” she chimed in.
“Uh-huh.” He spared her a glance. “My sister can’t drive a nail. What about you?”
Jo knew that frustration at having his desire to help thwarted was behind his scoffing, but she hated it nonetheless.
Her chin rose a fraction and her eyes met his. “As a matter of fact, I can. I can use a table saw and change the oil in my car, too.”
A glint of something in those gray eyes briefly softened her irritation, but then he said in a hard voice, “Can you update the wiring? Tear up the roof and replace the shingles? Fix cracks in the foundation?”
No. She’d never done any of those things and was pretty sure she couldn’t—for one thing, she was scared of heights—but Jo was fired up enough to lie. She had her mouth open when Kathleen saved her.
“Don’t pick on Jo. I’m the one who said no. If the roof leaks this winter, I’ll save my pennies to replace it next summer. The bank okayed the mortgage, which must mean the appraiser didn’t see dangerous wiring. And of course the foundation is cracking! The house is eighty-plus years old. I don’t think it’s going to fall down any time soon.”
Emma’s head swiveled as she watched first her mom and then her uncle. Eyes already too big for her face were wide, and Jo wondered what she was thinking. Did an argument, however mild, frighten her? She seemed to like her uncle Ryan better than she did her mother, so perhaps she was hoping Mom would be bested. Or, heck, in a teenager’s self-centered way, maybe she just resented living in a shabby house when she could have a gorgeous, remodeled showplace to bring her friends home to.
If she had any friends. People didn’t just become anorexic without other problems, did they? Assuming that’s what was wrong with her.
Ryan abruptly shoved back his chair, lines carved deep in his forehead. “Well, since I’m not any use here, I think I’ll get home and let you women decide which room you’re going to paint first.”
Kathleen started to stand, too. “Ryan…”
“It’s okay.” His grin was resigned. “I wish you’d get it through your head that I can afford to take a hit for you and Emma, and I’d feel happier if you’d let me. But I guess stubbornness runs in this family.” He ruffled his niece’s hair. “See? It’s not your fault, kiddo. You inherited it.”
She smiled uncertainly up at him. Ryan kissed Emma’s forehead, gave his sister a passing hug, and let his gaze linger on Jo with a certain deliberation as he said, “Good night, all. Kathleen’s right. I’m always here, butting my nose in. Call me on it if I’m a nuisance.” With a last nod, he left. A moment later, they heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.
Kathleen laughed, the sound wry. “That’s my brother.”
And wouldn’t he make life here more interesting, Jo thought, more conscious in his absence than she’d been in his presence of the way he’d seemed to charge the room with energy. Oh, hell, be honest, she told herself: with the way she had responded to him.
What’s more—miracle of miracles—she had a feeling he’d been attracted to her, too.
Maybe she wouldn’t regret moving in here after all.
She cleared her throat. “I have a proposal. What do you say we show that brother of yours what we’re made of? Let’s tackle a job next weekend. Maybe the upstairs bathroom? Isn’t that one of the projects you had in mind, Kathleen?”
“But…plumbing…” Helen protested, in her soft, uncertain voice.
“We’re smart women.” Jo looked from one to the other. “I’ll find a how-to book. How hard can it be?”
Kathleen’s smile was the most genuine Jo had seen from her. “Those sound like famous last words. But you’re right. We can learn. I’m game. Helen, what do you say?”
“It might be fun,” Helen agreed tentatively.
“Emma?” Jo asked, when her mother didn’t.
The teenager shrugged with a hint of sullenness. “I don’t know how to do anything.”
“You can learn,” Jo said.
Her mother gave a decisive nod. “Then let’s go shopping tomorrow night. We can pick out a new vanity and sink and what-have-you together. Home Depot, here we come!”
CHAPTER TWO
“UH-OH,” JO WAS the first to