Page 37 of Rebel Summer

“When did your house get turned into a duplex?” I asked him, casually taking a sip of his Coke he’d left on the counter.

He moved back under the golf cart, a tool in hand. “Keith helped me do it about five years ago.”

“It didn’t used to be a duplex, though. Right?”

“Nope.”

I inched closer. “Is anybody living there right now?”

“Nope. I’m planning to repaint and tile the bathroom this summer.” His voice sounded strange, like he was feeding me a line.

“In all your free time?”

“Yup.”

I stood, biting my thumbnail, waiting until he rolled back out from under the cart and stood up. I tried not to show him all my cards, but it was probably difficult with the near feral look in my eyes.

“What’s with the weird?—“

“So, are you, like…looking for someone to rent it? Or help you with painting or something?” My finger reached up to twirl a loose curl before I shoved my hands in my pockets.

Light dawned in his eyes. “Oh… You got something you want to ask me, Books?”

“I mean, if you needed a part-time renter, I could…help you out.” I wanted it so badly I was almost bursting out of my skin. The tension between my dad and me in my childhood home was at an all-time high. My exit plan had been blown to bits by my sentencing, but maybe some form of escape was still possible. “In exchange, I could paint it for you or retile…” My voice drifted off on the last one.

Dax leaned forward with great interest.

“Retile it? Really? I’d love to know what experience the senator’s daughter has in tiling floors.”

“Okay, maybe not tiling, but I’m an excellent painter,” I began.

Side note: I was not any sort of painter.

“I’ll wash the windows. I’ll be the best tenant you’ve ever had.” I leaned forward, my hands in praying position.

He considered me, which lulled me into a false sense of security. “Why do you want it so bad?”

I thought about not answering. I didn’t want to say why, but I didn’t think Dax would accept any answer but the truth. And I think he already knew.

“I’m currently living with my dad. It’s a campaign year, and his daughter just got a DUI. Everything about him is toxic to me. It would just be for the six weeks I have left here.”

Dax eyed me for a long moment before he spoke. “I originally changed the home into a duplex so I could rent half the space out and not have a mortgage. I had a renter there for about a year, but it turned out I forgot one important thing.”

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t really like people all that much.”

There was a beat of time when I didn’t know what to say before a small laugh broke free.

Folding my arms across my chest, I asked, “How long have you been telling people you’re going to repaint and retile that apartment?”

He mirrored my stance, arms folded and a smile playing at his lips. “About three years.”

I nodded, resigned to my fate that was the senator’s house. “Okay. I get it.” I moved toward the lobby, feeling awkward at his admission and unsure of what to say next.

“Fifty hours.”

I stopped and looked at him in confusion.

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