Chapter 4 - The Rain Found The Part We Missed
It rained that night.
Not a storm.
Ordinary summer rain.
At 11:20, Sarah shook me awake.
“Daniel.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“Listen.”
At first, nothing.
Then:
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Water.
We followed it down the hallway.
The guest-room ceiling had a dark spot near the exterior wall.
I stared.
Sarah did not say anything.
She didn't need to.
I went into the attic access with a flashlight.
I wasn't going onto the roof at midnight in rain.
I wasn't that angry.
But I could see damp wood near the addition.
Not pouring.
Enough.
When I came back down, Sarah stood beneath the stain holding a mixing bowl.
“This was the room we repainted.”
“Yes.”
“With the money we didn't have.”
“Yes.”
She placed the bowl beneath the drip.
I called Caleb.
He answered on the second ring.
“What?”
“The roof is leaking.”
Silence.
Then:
“Where?”
“Guest room. Addition side.”
Another silence.
“I’ll come over.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“You want me to fix it or not?”
I looked at Sarah.
She shook her head.
“No.”
Caleb sounded confused.
“What?”
“You're not climbing on my roof in the rain.”
“Daniel.”
“Tomorrow.”
He exhaled.
“I know what it probably is.”
That sentence made me angrier.
“You know?”
“Could be the flashing.”
“The flashing the inspector flagged.”
“Yes.”
Sarah heard.
She took the phone.
“You told us it was corrected yesterday.”
“It was.”
“By who?”
“My roofer.”
“Which roofer?”
Caleb went quiet.
Sarah looked at me.
I knew what was coming.
“Caleb.”
“My regular guy was booked.”
“Who worked on our house?”
“A subcontractor.”
“Name.”
“Ricky Salazar.”
“Licensed?”
“He works under a licensed company.”
“That was not what I asked.”
Caleb's voice tightened.
“Sarah, don't turn this into—”
She ended the call.
I stared.
“What?”
“I’m done learning things from him at midnight.”
She handed me the phone.
Fair.
We put towels down.
Moved the guest bed.
At 12:10, the leak slowed.
Sarah sat on the floor against the hallway wall.
I sat across from her.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Then she said:
“Do you know why I wanted this house?”
That wasn't what I expected.
“What?”
“When we bought it.”
“We both wanted it.”
“I know.”
She looked at the ceiling stain.
“My parents moved nine times before I was sixteen.”
I knew that.
“Every time rent went up or somebody lost a job, boxes came out.”
She rubbed her hands over her knees.
“I wanted one address.”
I looked around our house.
Eleven years here.
Paint colors.
Scratches.
The small burn mark on the kitchen counter from our first Thanksgiving.
Sarah continued:
“When the insurance inspection came, I heard something irrational.”
“What?”
“If we don't fix everything, they're taking the house.”
I stared.
“I knew they weren't.”
“I know.”
“But it felt like that.”
I leaned back against the opposite wall.
“That's why you kept saying yes to every repair.”
She looked at me.
“You were saying yes too.”
“Yes.”
“For a different reason.”
I knew mine.
A homeowner fixes the house.
A husband protects the asset.
A man who spent twenty-five years in construction does not lose insurance because his own property looks neglected.
Pride had been wearing a tool belt all summer.
Sarah said:
“When Lisa told us the siding had to go, you said we'd figure it out.”
“Yes.”
“When the roof estimate came in, you said we had no choice.”
“Yes.”
“When I asked whether we should get another insurance company before spending that much—”
I remembered.
“I said every company would want the same thing.”
“You didn't know.”
“No.”
We had both been afraid.
We had just called it different things.
At 7:30 the next morning, an independent roof inspector named Martin Shaw arrived.
Not Caleb's guy.
Not Lisa's.
Ours.
He spent an hour checking the roof and attic.
Then he came down.
Sarah stood with her arms crossed.
“How bad?”
Martin wiped his hands.
“Most of the roof is fine.”
I breathed.
He continued.
“Flashing at the addition needs to be reopened and redone properly.”
Cost?
Maybe three thousand.
Maybe less.
Annoying.
Not catastrophic.
Then he asked:
“Who pulled the permit?”
“Caleb Mercer.”
Martin looked at his tablet.
“His company?”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Permit lists Mercer Exterior Restoration.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Who is James Bell?”
I had never heard the name.
Martin turned the tablet.
The contractor license attached to our roofing permit belonged to:
JAMES BELL ROOFING & EXTERIORS.
I stared.
Sarah stepped closer.
“Daniel?”
I looked at the license.
Then at Caleb's company name on the permit.
May you like
My brother had not merely used a different roofer.
He had used somebody else's license to get our roof permitted.
Related Stories
