Meanwhile, the lights flickered, the pipes in the walls clanged, the ceiling in the master bedroom sagged so badly in one corner, it looked like a boil ready to burst, and the shingles on the roof flew off one by one anytime there was a strong gust of wind.
Worst of all, an ominous crackling coming from one of the electrical outlets in the parlor made me fear that a fire would break out, and I’d die of smoke inhalation in my sleep.
So on a Friday evening when the fog is so dense I can’t see the rose bushes that had gone wild around the path leading to the front door, I dial the number Suzanne originally gave me when I asked for a referral for a contractor.
I assumed Hillrise Construction would have an answering service which answered the phones, considering the owner’s general hostility and disinclination to speak, so I’m not surprised when a machine picks up. The outgoing message is one of those toneless, electronic voices you get when you neglect to customize it.
“Please. Leave. A message. After. The tone.” Beep.
“Hi. My name is Megan Dunn, and I was referred to you by Suzanne Martin. I bought the Buttercup Inn and need a quote for repairs.”
I leave my cell phone number and am about to hang up when the distinct click of the line being picked up stops me. Then I’m listening to silence.
“Hello?”
I could swear I hear a low exhalation, but no one speaks.
Holy shit. It must be him. No-talking Theo with the crazy eyes. “Um…is anyone there?” More silence, but someone is definitely there. I hear rustling and a faint creak in the background, as if whoever answered has sat down.
Why the hell would he pick up the phone if he doesn’t talk?
I start to get irritated, because I’ve got the patience of a four-year old who’s missed a nap. “Okay, well, look. I need to get a quote on repairs for the Buttercup Inn. Is that something you can help me with?”
I never knew silence could be so loud. It’s absolutely deafening.
I’m about to tell him to go jump off a bridge, but it occurs to me that I could have fun with this instead of letting it aggravate me. “Hey, here’s an idea. I saw this on TV once, some dumb show I forget the name of where a guy had laryngitis but had to try to warn his girlfriend a killer was headed over to her house. I’ll ask a question, and you can answer by using the phone buttons. One beep for yes, two beeps for no. And three beeps for maybe, if you feel like you might need that option. Okay?”
The silence lasts so long I start to worry he already hung up and I’m listening to a dead line, but then I hear it. A single, sharp electronic beep.
Son of a bitch.
“Good. Okay, so…is this Theo?”
A slight pause, then a beep that somehow sounds resigned.
“Hi, Theo, this is Megan Dunn. We’ve already met. Twice, actually. Once at Cal’s Diner, and once in the backyard at Sunday and Chris’s house party a few weeks back. Do you remember?”
Beeep.
The tone is longer. More emphatic. He remembers. For some strange reason, my pulse picks up and my armpits go damp.
“Right. So anyway, Suzanne says you’re the best contractor around and I’ve already been through five other guys—that sounded wrong, but you know what I mean—so I was wondering if you’d have time to come out this week and take a look at the place.”
Two sharp, successive beeps, and that’s an unequivocal No. But I have to confirm, just in case. “No? You won’t come out?”
Beep. Beep.
Jesus. How can someone sound like such a dick using only a single button on a telephone?
“Well, fine,” I say curtly, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Sorry to have wasted your time. Have a nice life.” I’m about to throw my cell phone across the room when over the line comes a rapid mess of electronic noises.
He’s pushing all the buttons at once.
When the cacophony stops, I’m livid. Through gritted teeth, I ask, “Were you trying to tell me something there, Sunshine?”
BEEEEEP!
I decide I need a drink if I’m going to continue this bizarre conversation, so I head into the kitchen and unscrew the top of the crappy bottle of wine I bought at the store the other night. I pour some into a glass, guzzle half of it down, swallow, then blow out a breath, all the while acutely aware of the throbbing silence on the other end of the line.
Then my mouth falls open because I’m listening to a telephone rendition of “You Are My Sunshine,” played by hitting the right keys to make the correct notes of the song.
Moody Theo has a sense of humor.
“That was interesting. Are you having fun?”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Maybe.
I burst out laughing, because this is total insanity. “Can I just take a moment to say that this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my entire life? This even beats the time I walked in on my dad wearing my mother’s underwear. I don’t expect an answer to that, by the way, I’m just thinking out loud here.”