Page 17 of Just The Way You Aren't

After that, I go back to the kitchen and, lo and behold, the stove starts to heat up and the microwave clock blinks twelve o’clock, waiting to be properly set.

Doris shuffles over and claps in delight. “How wonderful! Thank you, Damien.”

“What? What’s happened?” Irving asks from the phone that she left back in the living room.

“Damien has fixed my stove! Now I won’t need to call that odious Mr. Powers,” Doris yells toward the sofa.

“As if he’d actually come,” Irving snorts.

We all walk back into the living room. “Well,” I say, edging my way toward the door. “It’s been lovely to meet you, but Willow and I really must leave.”

“So soon?” Doris asks sadly.

“Don’t worry about him, my lovely, I’m still here,” Irving says.

Doris’s smile returns. “Shall we watch Family Feud?”

“Yes, dearest. Let’s,” he responds.

Willow frowns at me, but walks out when I pointedly hold the door open for her. “I would have liked to stay longer.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re kind of a killjoy, you know that?”

“Yes,” I reply tersely. “And this killjoy needs to get some work done today, so if you don’t mind, can we get on with it?”

“Mrs. Baumgartner was our last stop.” She smiles at me. “Itwasn’t too difficult, was it? Plus, you got to be the hero of the day.”

Reluctantly, I have to admit I was rather proud of myself. “Yeah, well, before the wiring was redone in our family estate, we’d blow fuses quite often. It got to the point where Mother, Father, and I all knew how to change one. The Langley estate is quite old, you see.”

“Ah.” She didn’t comment, but there was something disapproving in her tone. “All right. You wanted to start planning the fundraiser. Let’s go back to my office and start planning.”

“Finally.” I sigh. I get in the van. She hops in behind the wheel.

Willow turns the key, but nothing happens.

“What?” I ask when she glares at me.

“I told you not to insult Bessie.” She gets out and opens the hood.

“What is it?” I ask again when she groans.

“I think it’s her alternator, or maybe the poor girl needs new spark plugs,” she says.

Jesus Christ. Will this day never end? I stifle a growl and pull out my phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asks.

“A taxi. And a junkyard,” I respond angrily. “This is unbelievable.”

Willow gets back into the van. She pulls my phone away. “Let’s just talk here, then. I’ll call Abby and she’ll send someone. And Carl has always been good about coming to get Bessie and fixing her up. Just settle down.”

Settle down? I squeeze my eyes shut and count backward from ten. Then twenty. Then thirty. “Fine.”

She smiles and calls Abby to make arrangements. Then she turns to me. “So, about the fundraiser…”

Left with little choice now, I listen to her enthusiastic ideas, nodding along. Most of them are surprisingly good. The woman might not be able to keep to a schedule to save her soul, but she’s certainly creative and able to think outside the box. “We’re going to have a silent auction for crafts our clients have made,” she says excitedly. “And a raffle for, well, I haven’t quite figured out what for, but I’m getting there. The only problem is the caterer.”

Her phone dings and she picks it up, her smile fading as she reads a text. “Okay, the catererandthe venue.”

“What’s wrong now?” I ask, leaning in to see her phone.

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