Deck the Halls

He glanced at the front of the dry cleaners.

“Well, if it’s not a conflict of interest for you, I need someone to do my laundry.”

She blinked.

“Laundry?”

“Yeah, you know, dirty clothes and shop rags, some linens, that sort of thing.”

The clouds were beginning to lift from her eyes, but her tone was tart as she retorted, “I know what laundry is, but why should I do yours?”

She buckled her safety belt, and Vince put the transmission in gear, turning away so that she wouldn’t notice that he struggled with a sudden grin.

“Garages are dirty places,” he began, nosing the car into traffic, “and I own all the uniforms that the guys wear. I thought I could do the washing myself, even bought a top-of-the-line, extra-capacity washer-and-dryer set, but it just doesn’t get done in a timely manner.”

“And you want to pay me to do it.”

“Something like that.”

She flipped the end of her ponytail off her shoulder, obviously thinking.

“I get it. You’re talking about a barter arrangement, basically.”

He nodded and signaled with the blinker that he was moving the car over into the next lane.

“Unless, like I said before, it’s a conflict of interest for you, given that your regular job is with a dry cleaner.”

“Not a problem. Mr. Geopp stopped taking in laundry a few months ago after his wife died.”

“That’s too bad, about his wife, I mean.”

“Yeah, she was a good lady,” Jolie said lightly, but something about her tone let him know that she honestly grieved the woman’s passing.

“Were you friends?”

“Not really,” Jolie replied, looking away. “About the laundry…”

He took the hint and dropped the subject.

“I have to warn you, there’s lots of it.”

“Good. That means I’ll get the debt worked off sooner rather than later.”

He nodded, signifying that they had come to an agreement in principle at least.

“Okay, so all we have to do is negotiate the particulars. I understand that laundry costs are figured by the pound or by the piece.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t have any way to weigh it, so I say we go by the piece, then, if that’s agreeable to you.”

She named a price that was very much in line with what he’d expected, given that he would be providing the equipment and the necessary supplies. He proposed drawing up a debit sheet so she could mark off her work and subtract the cost of it from the repair bill, which would reflect the fifty-percent reduction that she’d been promised and that would include some extra repairs to her car that he felt were necessary but which he had not yet done.

“I only have two days a week to devote to this,” she warned him.

“And what two days would those be?”

“Sunday and Monday. Those are my days off from the dry cleaners.”

He shook his head.

“Sundays are for church. I’ll be content with Mondays.”

“No matter how long it takes for me to work off the debt?” she pressed.

“No matter how long it takes,” he assured her.

She stared out the window for a long time, her expression hidden from him. He waited, confident of her decision. Finally she looked straight ahead.

“Okay, it’s a deal.”

He let her see his smile.

“Let me show you where you’ll be working, then.”

“Might as well.” She sat up a little straighter.

“Obviously this street is Hulen,” he pointed out, slowing to make a right turn. “We’re going to take the Interstate up here and head west for about a mile.”

She nodded, obviously making mental notes as he drove and talked her through the route.

When he turned the car down his street, she drew her brows together and said, “This can’t be right.”

“What do you mean? It’s right up here.”

“Here?” she echoed uncertainly, indicating the neighborhood around them with a wave of her hand.

The development was brand-new, not even half occupied yet, but that didn’t explain her confusion to him. He let it go long enough to pass by the two empty lots between the corner house and his own at the top of the rise.

“This is it.”

He couldn’t help the note of pride in his voice.

By some standards, it was a modest home, but it was everything he had ever wanted, bright, roomy, well-appointed and undeniably attractive with its gabled metal roof and exterior of natural stone and rich red brick. He’d labored over every detail, probably to the point of driving the architect and builder nuts, but this was the place where he intended to live out the bulk of his life and, he hoped, one day raise a family.

Most folks didn’t look at a first house as a long-term home, but Cutlers weren’t the sort who “traded up.” They were the kind of people who put down roots, sank them deep and let the years roll by in relative contentment. They believed in God, family, personal integrity, hard work and generosity, all notions that he’d once found boring and mundane. He’d gotten over all that, and he hadn’t questioned his values again—until he saw the look on Jolie Wheeler’s face as he turned her old car into his curving driveway.

She hated the place; he could see it on her face, and his gut wrenched. Disappointment honed a fine, defensive edge onto his voice.