Christmas Sparks (Stonewater Stories Book 1) Page 8

  “You’re pissed,” he said, the words without sarcasm or disdain. Margaret strained not to roll her eyes. “Didn’t I take the kids that day? Ain’t I been helping schlep them around while you putz around with that Kramer guy?” She sighed, opting not to strangle him.

  “Yes, Earl, but we need to talk about the fire.” She adjusted the paperwork in front of her. She hoped they’d agree to something verbally about the damages. More lawyers would prolong the problem, and she wanted her kids home for Christmas.

  “You don’t believe what your boyfriend said about me, do you? Those Kramers have always been fishy, scheming, tricky people. That’s why I fired ’em.”

  Ah, an opening. “Let’s talk about it,” she said, grateful for her conflict resolution training at school. “What happened?” Maybe she should’ve recorded the conversation. But the deal she wanted to negotiate had to be quietly decided between her and Earl alone.

  “That Ted. He told me I needed this kinda wire and that kinda insulation and these vents and stuff because of the fireplace unit. My buddy has the same one. Never had a problem. I told him he was full of shit, and he got big-chested and haughty with me. Asked me when I learned about construction. I told him the reason I hired him and his loser family was you’d never let me do it myself.”

  She smiled lightly, trying to hide an “I told you so” expression. “Why did you think that?”

  Earl huffed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, ankles crossed. No hostility there. “You gotta always be by the book. Get a contractor, get a certified electrician, get references. You always gotta have your Is dotted and your Ts crossed. Ain’t no one got time for that. We saved a bunch by me firing them. And you didn’t know nothing…” He halted, hedging.

  “Yeah, you fired them. You said it in front of Ryan Kramer, and there’s no taking it back. Let’s talk about it. He has proof the Kramers left the job early. Did you hire someone else? Do you have any proof of who finished the job?”

  His brow furrowed. “Told ya. I did it. I closed up the wall and hooked up the stuff, the lights, TV, cable, and the fireplace. No biggie.”

  He didn’t understand. “The electrical wasn’t complete, Earl.”

  “Looked done to me.” He shrugged. “They shoulda finished it.”

  She leaned toward him. “You fired them.” She spoke calmly, though her jaw clamped down on the last word. He sputtered, and her patience hit the wall. She held up a hand, and he actually stopped. “Let’s focus on the situation we’re in now.”

  Earl, the nervy asshole, laughed. “What? You gonna sue me?”

  “I realize you no longer own the house, but there’s the real possibility the insurance won’t cover anything.” The words seemed to have no effect on him as she expected.

  “And?” He rolled his wrist in a circle.

  “And we have to pay for it. Out of pocket. It’s Christmas.” She hissed out the last word. Sometimes, she had to spell it.

  “No, I don’t. You gotta pay for it. It’s your house now.” He smirked, thinking he’d one-upped her.

  Margaret grimaced. “But you’re responsible for the fire. Your children live in that house. You should help me fund the repairs.”

  “Guess we’ll need to renegotiate custody again. Did you file the paperwork, or did it burn up in the fire?” He winked.

  Narrowing her gaze, she blasted him with the full brunt of her wrath. She was sick of the games, tired of playing with him, the Kramers, Ryan—everyone. Selling the house as-is and moving the kids to a new town, like Ballston or Ilion, sounded like a good solution to this mess. “I went back into the fire specifically to find it.”

  “You what?” A tremor of fear polluted his words. “You went back in for the custody stuff?”

  “I worked hard to get the terms I wanted.” She slapped the papers next to her. “You wanna renegotiate with me?”

  He stared at the charred papers and swallowed hard. Finally, the man understood how Momma Bear she could be.

  “I want full custody of the kids. You can have visitation once a month. No more. And it has to be here in Stonewater.”

  “You think you can negotiate that shit now? We spent weeks at the lawyers in paperwork hell. You think…”

  She cut him off, standing. “I think your negligence caused a fire in the home where your children live. I have proof and witnesses to your confession. I’ll go to my lawyer and redo the forms with the new information.”

  “Huh, blackmail from you. That surprises me.” He narrowed his gaze, his fingers twitching.

  “Not blackmail. Reality. Take responsibility, one way or another.” She paused. “I think we’re done here.” She made a pretense of organizing the paperwork. The pile represented more than the custody paperwork. It included estimates for the damage, a rough one from a guy at the box lumber store. The man gave her a list of materials—the price astronomical.

  “Where the hell do you think I’m going to find the money?” Earl twitched all over now. Money had always been a sticky issue in their marriage.

  “I don’t care. It’s not blackmail, Earl. The fact is, the insurance company won’t come through if you were negligent. The Kramers aren’t responsible. So, you’ll have to pay. And if you don’t, I can go to the lawyers and have them taken away. Who’s going to allow a man who caused a fire in his children’s home to have custody?”

  She paused, watching him fidget. He hated being wrong, hated when she knew more and argued better. But as she was no longer his wife, she didn’t care about hurting his ego. Giving him a minute to absorb her words, she went on.

  “The claim doesn’t have to go in,” she said. “I can forget to submit it.”

  He stood from his chair and began a furious pace around the room. “You’re winning either way. I don’t help, you get the kids. I do help, you get the kids. You got me pinned and you love it.”

  “Earl,” she said quietly, her gaze down on the papers in front of her. “Be honest. Custody of Jill and Mikey… is it something you really want? Do you want to drive here every weekend to collect them? Do you want to shuffle them to school from Albany every Monday morning? It’d be tough to make it work on a good day. Weekend custody without you living in town is difficult at best.

  “Take the once-a-month option, and I’ll let you off the hook for the fire.” She folded her hands on the table. Earl always required think-time. As a kindergarten teacher, she knew full well the value of allowing someone to work out a problem on their own.

  “Yer saying if I do the one weekend, I don’t gotta pay for the damage? Horseshit. You’ll come after me some other way and empty my bank account like you always do.” He huffed, turning away.

  Using her gentlest new-student voice, she said, “Earl, you know I’ve never asked you for much in the way of money. And when I do, it’s for the kids. Please, let me have this, and you won’t be responsible for thousands of dollars in damage. Not to mention the gossip from the whole town about your role in the fire. Let me mop it up, and you can walk away.”

  He sat down again, hard, his chin in his hand. “I didn’t mean to do it,” he whined, as if he wanted to say sorry but couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.

  If Margaret had a dollar for every time that tone spilled from his lips, she’d be rich.

  “I know,” she conceded, pushing the custody paperwork toward him. “Sign and initial where I indicated, and the lawyer will take care of the rest.”

  He turned to her, his face drawn. He loved their kids but had a hard time expressing it. Grabbing the pen, he flipped pages of the document. “And you won’t ask for money for the fire?” He held the pen poised to sign.

  “Nope, I’ll take care of it.”

  The pen hit the table. “How?”

  Sighing, Margaret dug in. “I can do after-school classes, teach summer school, do some babysitting in the neighborhood. I’ll handle it.”

  Earl took up the pen again, rolling his eyes all the while. “Fine. I'll sign it, but I ain’t
sending any extra money down the road.” He scrawled his signature on the document.

  Margaret snatched it from him before he changed his mind. “I’d settle for the child support you owe me.” She smiled at him, a nasty one, and didn’t care she was being a bitch. “I think we’re done.” The finality in her last word reverberated through the room.

  “Typical Margaret. Sweet one second, a total cunt the next.”

  She had no more patience. “Yeah, yeah…”

  “I want something in return.” Earl screwed his face up, either thinking or trying to look mean. Margaret was done.

  “What? Getting out of thousands of dollars in repairs isn’t enough?”

  He huffed. “I want those tools I left in the garage. And the lawnmower, and the snowblower, and…”

  She held up a hand to cut him off. “Hold up there. You can’t just raid my garage. Let’s go over to the house and you can choose a few things to take. A few.” He pouted but agreed.

  They took separate cars, leaving the kids upstairs, watching their movie. Margaret figured a quick trip back home, clean out the junk in the garage, and get rid of Earl at the same time.

  At the house, the driveway had way too many tire tracks for an unoccupied house. Margaret dismissed it as the fading light filled the sky. It looked abandoned in the snow, with its plastic sheeting and scorch marks.

  As she and Earl rounded on the garage, she heard voices outside on the lawn. Male voices and Margaret froze. There was a hole in her house, after all. Anyone could remove the plastic and walk right in. Earl must have sensed her nervousness.

  “Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll take care of it.” Cunt one second, baby the next. Earl’s logic always twisted her in knots. He tiptoed from the garage around the side of the house with something like stealth. He held a finger to his lips, then cupped his ear. She shook her head at the over-the-top machismo of the act.

  She grabbed Mikey’s wooden bat from the sports rack and followed Earl to the doorway. As usual, she’d handle the problem.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ryan glanced at his brother. Not the best way to mend fences, but they always connected better when talking shop. “What do you think?”

  Ted scratched his head. “You sure we ain’t paying for this?” Ryan nodded. “Then I think about a week, depending on scheduling. She’s already got the contract set up with Dad?”

  “Yeah, about that…” Ryan scrubbed the back of his neck. Would Margaret even take his call, much less sign a contract? He glanced at his brother. Behind him, a huge shape loomed in the twilight. Instinctively, Ryan grabbed his brother’s shirt and pulled him backward, the two of them stumbling back a half-dozen steps.

  The figure’s arms flailed, backlit by the house lights. Definitely a male, but… “What the hell do you think…” The words were cut off by the sound of a wooden bat thwacking something solid. “Hey!” the man squealed, jumping back.

  Ryan snapped his light over to highlight Earl Porter cowering next to his ex-wife. A smile spread across Ryan’s lips.

  “Jesus, Earl. It’s the Kramers,” she said. Ryan’s flashlight caught her disgusted look and the bat in her hand. Was it for him or Earl?

  “Ya didn’t have to hit me, though,” Earl complained, and Ryan stifled a laugh.

  “Please. Don’t be a baby.” Margaret raised the bat to point at Ryan and Ted. “And what are you two doing on my property after dark?” Her tone was all business. Ryan loved it. Of the four of them, she was the toughest person here.

  “I wanted to show Ted the damage and discuss how long the repairs might take. And as for dark, considering the sun goes down at 4:10…” He shrugged. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d be here.” His last words held some serious mortification. But showing a little remorse for trespassing might help. “I apologize, ma’am.”

  Margaret snorted, but Earl cut her off before she said any more. “You two shitters get the hell off my property. No one hired you. No one asked you here. Now git.”

  “Not your house, Earl”—Margaret’s only comment.

  “I mean it now,” Earl continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He grabbed the kid bat right out of her hand. She cursed in protest, but he didn’t give it back. Instead, he brandished it at Ryan and Ted. “Git!”

  Ryan slapped his forehead. What the hell? Earl acted as if he were still back in high school.

  Not to be outdone, Ted stepped up. “What’s your problem, Earl? We came here to help. To see about the damage you caused. You made the mess, and we’re trying to fix it.” Ted huffed, his chest inflating again.

  Earl edged forward until the two stood inches apart. “What are you saying, Ted? You think it’s my mess? I’m pretty sure your dad screwed up the wiring. In fact, I know he did. I had to fix it before I”—He thumped his chest—“finished the job. And now you think I’m gonna let you two touch my house? Think again.”

  Margaret repeated, “Not your house.”

  Ted stepped forward. Now the two stood toe to toe. The smell of testosterone poisoned the air. The men snarled at each other, throwing curses and insults, accomplishing nothing. When Earl twitched the bat, Ryan knew it was time to step in.

  Deftly, he snagged it from Earl’s grasp and stepped back. “I think that’s enough, boys. Stand down.” With quiet words, he tried to mimic his dad’s authoritative voice, and surprisingly, his brother relented.

  But Earl kept talking. “You were nothing back in high school, and you’re still nothing now. Trying to big a big shot. But you’re a loser. That’s why Cheryl left you. You’re the worst contractor in town and everyone knows it. And I’m gonna tell ’em how you burned my house down.” He sneered like a little kid.

  Something inside Ryan snapped. Righteous fury exploded inside him. How dare this punk trash-talk his family. He ought to slap the stupid expression off Earl’s face.

  Instead, he put a palm on his brother’s chest. “Let me, Ted.” He turned to Earl. “My brother had nothing to do with the fire, Earl. And you know it. He did a bang-up job on the carpentry for this project and dozens of others across town. You won’t find a better guy around to fix your carpentry problems. But you wanna be a dick about it? Fine. We’re leaving. With that attitude, don’t expect Ted to ever come back. Your loss.”

  Ryan tugged at his brother’s sleeve as he turned to leave. Not how he planned for tonight to go. He’d hoped to talk with Margaret, find an understanding with her. But Earl… what an ass. Something about him fired up the fraternal love.

  “You’ve got a lotta nerve, you little shit. No one talks to me that way,” Earl snarled. Ryan barely glanced at the man as he passed the bat back to Margaret. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Earl twist. Instincts kicked in and Ryan spun. He clocked Earl in the jaw as hard as he could. He only registered Earl’s upraised fist after his own fist connected.

  Earl hit the ground with a thump, spread eagle on his back. The three stood over his prone body. Even after a minute, the man still hadn’t moved.

  “I think he’s out, little bro,” Ted said with a snicker. “You want us to remove this trash from your lawn, Ms. Porter?”

  Margaret smirked. “Nah. Leave him there. But you both should be going.” Her chin tilted up and her arms folded, the bat firmly in her grip.

  Ryan’d have to find another way to win Margaret back. For now, he’d take the points he scored for his family. He and Ted walked back to the truck, settled in, and drove from the property. They remained silent for several minutes, Ryan deep in his head about what to do next for Margaret, her house, and her kids' ruined Christmas.

  Ted spoke up, “You didn’t have to defend me there, bro.”

  Ryan spoke without thinking. “Yeah, I did. That ass wanted to trash-talk you all over town. You’re a good carpenter, bro. Everyone knows it.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve gotten some bad press and now that house…” He sighed, sounding defeated.

  “I said you were a good carpenter, Ted, not a good project manager. Maybe we could us
e some fresh blood at Kramer.”

  “You?”

  “Me.” Ryan waited for his brother’s response.

  “It might work,” he said quietly, no derision in his voice.

  Huh.

  After so many years, all he needed to do to fix family relations was to coldcock some asshole and then compliment his brother. Who'd-a thunk?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Margaret sat at the little desk in her room at the Greenview Inn. A dozen documents laid out before her, including her weekly checklist. Most items had a line through them, but a few sported huge red circles. File paperwork with lawyer—check. File adjusted paperwork with insurance—check.

  But the to-do list remained long. Re-purchase Christmas presents, get a new tree, find a repairman for the house, call parents for a loan?

  She stared hard at the last one. Staying at the Inn was a godsend, and everyone there had been overly accommodating because of the fire. But the cost during the busy holiday season exceeded her budget. And the insurance wouldn’t reimburse her. The money represented either presents for the kids, or a portion of the repair.

  Earl’d never help. His backlogged child support payments showed his lack of responsibility. So much for cable, Wi-Fi, not to mention Friday night pizza.

  Margaret sighed, her shoulders slumping as she put her head on the desk. Even if she were to max out the one credit card she owned, she didn’t have enough to pay for the repairs to the house. With Christmas and the Inn bill, she was sunk.

  The room door slammed, knocking Margaret out of her pity party. Mikey dashed inside and threw himself on her lap. “We’re going home now, right?” His wide grin warmed her heart. Margaret couldn’t blame him. Breakfast here at the Inn was enough to make the worst Scrooge smile. Of course, Mikey hadn’t seen the inside of the house since the fire.

  She'd tried to clean up some after the ridiculous confrontation between the Kramers and Earl. Such macho posturing, though she enjoyed how Ryan flattened Earl with one blow. Never mind that she hated him for screwing up her financial situation.