I did the best that I could, but think about what I was working with.
First, I explained the process of applying paint to the wall, then gave a demonstration.
I'm not a bad teacher.
By the end of things, he'd knocked over a lamp, dribbled paint all over the right leg of his jeans, stepped on something sharp that we never did find, and most of his left foot was blue.
Maurice set the roller hook on the screen in the bucket, his expression pleading.
"I couldn't help it. Look what you did."
"You're blaming me for this? Like we had a paint fight that you lost?"
"I wouldn't lose a paint fight."
"You just did. Go get cleaned up. I'll take care of the rest of this. But be careful. The paint will go anywhere it can, and you'll never get it out of the grout. And don't forget to hop." I pointed at his foot.
He made a face and hobbled over to the bathroom on one foot and his left heel, which had somehow escaped unscathed. He threw his tee shirt inside out on the floor and stepped onto it, then started undoing his jeans.
"Hey." I said "Hey!" I gestured at the door.
He gave me a look like he was damn well going to do it anyway before slamming the bathroom door shut.
By the time he came out fifteen minutes later, without a hint of blue, I had fixed up the long wall so that it looked pretty good. I'd also gotten everything cleaned up and the pile of paint supplies were neatly on a 2x2' square.
"Well. That was a disaster. I've never seen anything quite like that." I said of his painting debacle. I had been lying on my back on the bed, eyes closed. I could hear him going through his dresser drawers. I sat up and stretched. And choked.
"What are you doing?!"
"Finding something to wear."
"That's a towel!"
He pointed at the bathroom. "You didn't want to see the boxers!"
"How is this different?"
"You did the same thing."
I gestured at my suitcases. "That's because all my clothes were out…here." I finished lamely.
"Mmhm. Are you done overreacting?"
"Pretty sure." I sprung off the bed and headed for the kitchen. Missing most of breakfast had left me a little light-headed.
I made turkey clubs for our late lunch and he complained that there were no fries.
"Try to think of it as my continuing positive influence."
"There's bacon on the sandwich." He reminded me.
"There's got to be a little sin, right?"
"Gotta be."
"You're lucky I didn't put a layer of avocado in there." I dropped my crumpled napkin on my empty plate.
"That's disgusting."
"Disgusting is a cop with a little bit of mayo right there." I pointed. He wiped it off with the side of his hand, then wiped his hand with his napkin. Crumpling it into a ball, he pitched it at my head. I batted it back.
"Good reflexes."
"I'm a ninja."
"Ninja looks like she needs a nap."
"I really do," I confessed. "Do you mind?"
He shook his head. "Go ahead. I'll clean up."
"Thanks." I patted him on the shoulder and it was such a familiar moment that I swear to God I almost gave him a "Night, hon," kiss on the cheek.
I tidied things up, and checked in with Mom. She was doing all right. She had plenty of questions about Kate, but I didn't say too much. I didn't want her getting any ideas.
Then I remembered my promise to Kate, and I called Faith.
She was in a mood because she was stuck riding with some kid. Thanks to me, she was quick to point out.
Great.
It was almost impossible to get anything out of Faith when she was pissed at me. She'd been ticked at me Sunday night, too. And now I had to ask her for a favor.
I told her about the homeless shelter Kate volunteered at and how concerned she was that they know she was okay and hadn't abandoned them by choice.
I asked her to let them know for me.
She shut me down. Fast and hard.
I begged, pleaded, wheedled, cajoled, enticed, coaxed, bribed… every method of persuasion in my arsenal.
Nothing.
"Faith, please."I begged.
Again, nothing.
Giving up, I added sarcastically, "At least do it for the children."
"Fine." She snapped. "I'll do it." And she hung up on me.
Who knew just being me would work.