My ex's mom called me to fix her fence, then said, "Finish it and I'll make it worth your while." The call came on a rainy Thursday afternoon, and for a second, I almost let it ring out. The name glowing on my screen made my stomach tighten. Linda Carter. My ex-girlfriend's mother.
I hadn't spoken to her in almost two years, not since the day Emily packed the last box of her things, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Maybe we're just two people who wanted different futures." She married someone else nine months later. I heard about it through mutual friends. I wish I hadn't.
The phone kept ringing. Curiosity got the better of me. "Hello?" "Daniel?" Linda asked, sounding older than I remembered.
"Yeah."
"I know this is unexpected."
"You could say that."
She laughed softly, though it sounded nervous. "I need a favor." I leaned back in my truck seat. "If this is about Emily—"
"It isn't." That surprised me enough to keep listening. "My backyard fence came down in last night's storm. I remembered you built the old garden gate yourself."
I smiled despite myself. Back then, I could fix almost anything. Emily used to joke that if civilization collapsed, she'd keep me around because I'd somehow build a house out of scrap wood. Those memories still hurt.
"I've called three contractors. Nobody can come for another week."
"So you thought of me?"
"I did."
There was an awkward silence, then she added, "Finish it and I'll make it worth your while." I laughed. "I charge by the hour now. I don't work for homemade cookies anymore."
"I know. I wasn't planning to pay you with cookies." Her tone carried just enough mystery to make me wonder. Against my better judgment, I agreed.
Linda lived in the same small town where I'd spent nearly my whole life. Nothing had changed. The grocery store still had the faded blue sign. The old diner still smelled like coffee and pancakes.
The hardware store owner still waved when I drove by. Only one thing felt different. I no longer belonged in the neighborhood where Emily and I had dreamed about buying our first home.
Pulling into Linda's driveway brought back more memories than I wanted. The white porch swing. The maple tree I'd planted for her late husband. The mailbox I'd repaired one winter after someone hit it with their truck.
Every corner of that property carried a piece of my past. Linda stepped outside before I even shut off the engine. She looked tired. Gray streaks had spread through her brown hair.
Her smile was warm, but quieter than I remembered. "You actually came."
"I almost didn't."
"I wouldn't have blamed you." She handed me a mug of coffee. "I remembered how you take it."
That caught me off guard. "Two sugars."
She nodded. "Some things are hard to forget." We walked toward the backyard.
Half the fence had collapsed under the weight of a fallen oak branch. Several posts had snapped clean in half. "That's worse than I expected," I admitted.
"I know. I already ordered everything."
"You came prepared."
She smiled. "I was hoping you'd say yes." For the next few hours, I focused only on work.
Measure, dig, level, concrete, cut, hammer. The rhythm kept my mind from wandering. Around lunchtime, Linda carried out sandwiches and lemonade. "You've barely taken a break."
"I like finishing what I start."
She looked at me thoughtfully. "You always did."
I shrugged. "Some things don't change."
She sighed. "No, but people do." We ate in silence for a minute. Finally, she spoke.
"You never hated Emily, did you?" The question landed harder than I expected.
"I was angry, but not hateful. No."
"You still loved her when she left."
I stared at the unfinished fence. "I think part of me always will."
Linda nodded slowly. "I was afraid of that."
"Why?"