Dear Debbie, page 24
I came out here after I lost my teaching job. I had this idea about living off the grid for a little while, but then I discovered what living “off the grid” actually meant. As much as I enjoy roughing it a bit, I very much did not want to build my own septic system. So here I am, not living off the grid—I have electricity, running hot and cold water, and a working landline telephone—but I do not have a television, and I look back with disdain on the days when my smartphone was glued to my right hand. I sold the phone before I came out here.
Living off the grid is great. As long as you can still use the toilet. Oh, and you definitely need a roof.
I grit my teeth. “I want my roof fixed, Rudy.”
I wish I were anywhere else but here. I especially wish I were back in Boston, in front of my classroom. I miss my students. I would have done anything for those kids.
Except that’s what got me into trouble.
“Just hold your horses, little lady,” he says. “I can’t fix the roof now. That storm is coming.”
I clench my fists. I know there’s a thunderstorm coming tonight. There will be buckets of rain and winds strong enough that I’ll likely lose power. I’ve mentioned it in every single one of my increasingly urgent phone calls to Rudy.
“Yes,” I say in a clipped tone. “That’s why I want you to fix it.”
“Yeah, but I don’t got my tools,” he points out. “Or a ladder.”
“Why the hell not? I told you my roof needed to be fixed.”
“I had to check it out first, didn’t I?” Rudy takes another drag from his cigarette. “I’ll fix it when the storm is over, okay? Next week.”
He doesn’t give me a specific day or time, which is par for the course. Undoubtedly, he’ll call me with an hour’s notice, and if I happen to be out, then my roof just won’t get fixed that day. I’ll have to annoy him as much as I can to make sure this gets done.
“And one other thing…” I add.
Rudy grunts impatiently. “There’s more?”
I shoot him a look. On a scale of one to ten, Rudy gets a two on the landlord scale. Not only does he never answer my messages, but he refuses to believe there’s a problem with anything. When the refrigerator randomly stopped working a few months ago, his response was, Well, it was working when you moved in.
“I’m worried about that tree,” I tell him.
Rudy cocks his head in the direction I’m pointing, at the tree on the edge of my property. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, but the trunk is wider than three of me, and it towers over the cabin.
“And why are you worried about the tree?” he asks me in a patronizing voice.
I stomp over to the culprit in my waterproof boots and press my palm against its bark. In response to the pressure, the tree groans threateningly and shifts over about two inches.
Rudy frowns. “So?”
“So trees aren’t supposed to move like that.”
“Sometimes they do.”
“No, Rudy. They are inanimate.”
He takes a long drag from his cigarette, then blows out a giant cloud of smoke. “Fine. I’ll call a landscaper. Happy?”
No. I’ll be happy when the tree is gone. I’ve been worried about it for the last month, and now that a storm is coming, I’m really worried.
I look up at the roof of my house. It will probably hold. And the tree probably won’t fall down. I probably won’t die tonight.
And if I do, the good news is that nobody will miss me.
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ALSO BY FREIDA MCFADDEN
The Intruder
The Tenant
The Crash
The Boyfriend
The Teacher
The Coworker
Ward D
Never Lie
The Inmate
The Housemaid
The Housemaid’s Secret
The Housemaid Is Watching
Do You Remember?
Do Not Disturb
The Locked Door
Want to Know a Secret?
One by One
The Wife Upstairs
The Perfect Son
The Ex
The Surrogate Mother
Brain Damage
Baby City
Suicide Med
The Devil Wears Scrubs
The Devil You Know
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
#1 New York Times, USA Today, Washington Post, Publishers Weekly, and Sunday Times internationally bestselling author Freida McFadden is a physician specializing in brain injury. Freida is the winner of both the International Thriller Writer Award for Best Paperback Original and the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Thriller. Her novels have been translated into more than forty languages. Freida lives with her family and gray cat in a centuries-old three-story home overlooking the ocean.
Freida McFadden, Dear Debbie
