Husband Under Construction Read Online Free PDF Page A

hole myself up in my bedroom and never come out. Until Aunt Mae—she was Mom’s older sister—threatened to pry me out with the Jaws of Life. So I figure the least I can do for Charley is return the favor.”
    â€œWhether he likes it or not,” Noah said, even as he thought, How do you live with that brain and not get dizzy? Because he sure as hell was.
    â€œAs I said. And the bathroom’s the second door on the right.”
    To get there Noah had to pass a small extra bedroom that, while tidy to a fault, still bore the hallmarks of a room done up for a teenage girl, and a prissy one at that—purple walls, floral bedspread, a stenciled border of roses meandering at the top of wall. None of which jibed with the woman standing five feet away. Except the room made him slightly woozy, too.
    â€œYou like purple?”
    She snorted. “Aunt Mae wanted pink. I wanted black. Purple was our compromise. Didn’t have the energy to fight about the roses.”
    â€œSomehow not picturing you as a Goth chick.”
    A humorless smile stretched across her mouth. “Honey, back then I made Marilyn Manson look like Shirley Temple. But…guess you didn’t notice, huh?”
    A long-submerged memory smacked him between the eyes, of him and his friends making fun of the clot of inky-haired, funereal girls with their raccoon eyes and chewed, black fingernails, floating somberly through the school halls like a toxic cloud. One in particular, her pale green eyes startling, furious, against her pale skin, all that black.
    â€œHoly crap—that was you?”
    To his relief, Roxie laughed. “’Twas a short-lived phase.In fact, I refuse to wear black now. Not even shoes.” Grimacing, Roxie walked to her bedroom doorway, her arms crossed. “I put poor Mae and Charley through an awful lot,” she said softly, looking inside. “I even covered up the roses with black construction paper. Mae never said a word. In fact, all she did was hug me. Can you imagine?”
    His own childhood had been idyllic in comparison, Noah thought as a wave of shame washed over him. Man, had he been a butthead, or what? “What I can’t imagine, is what hell that must’ve been for you. I’m sorry. For what you went through, for…all of it.”
    â€œThanks,” she said after a too-long pause.
    â€œSo you gonna paint in there or what?” Noah said, after another one.
    Roxie turned, bemusement and caution tangling in her eyes. “Why? Not gonna be around long enough for it to matter, God willing. So. The bathroom?”
    Yeah, about that. Nestled in a bed of yellowed, crumbling grout, the shell-pink tiles were so far out of date they were practically in again. As were the dingy hexagonal floor tiles. And way too many vigorous scrubbings had taken their toll on the almost classic pedestal sink, the standard-issue tub bearing the telltale smudges where a temporary bar had been installed. And removed.
    There was way too much pain in this house, like a fungus that had settled into the rotting wood, lurking behind the peeling wallpaper, between the loose tiles. Noah pressed two fingers into one pink square; it gave way—probably far more easily than the bad vibes clinging to the house’s inhabitants.
    At least he could fix the house. The other…not his area of expertise.
    â€œSince the tile’s crap, anyway—” He flicked anotherone off. “Why don’t we do one of those all-in-one tub surrounds? Although it wouldn’t be pink.”
    Roxie leaned against the doorjamb. “I sincerely doubt Charley would miss the pink. Although…could we install grab bars at the same time?”
    Noah got the message. “They’re code now, so no problem.”
    â€œOh. Good.” Roxie sighed. “Charley’s far from decrepit, heaven knows, but I know he wants to live on his own, in his own house, as long as possible. So I’d like to