Yell probably. He would have yelled. She didn't yell. She looked at her wall. She looked at the hose which was still spitting water at the base of the fence.
She looked at him and then with an expression on her face that Marcus could not immediately identify because it had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way. She tilted her head slightly and said, "So, is destroying my house your way of getting my attention?" Marcus opened his mouth. Nothing came out. She raised one eyebrow. He looked down at the hose, looked back at her, looked at the water still running down her wall.
He stopped, then started again. "The coupling broke. I'm—that's your fresh paint." "Mhm." "I can repaint it." "You've done that before?" "I can figure it out." She looked at him for another second. That same unreadable expression. And then something shifted in her face.
Not softness exactly, more like a decision being made. "My name is Olivia," she said. "Marcus." "Marcus." She nodded once like she was filing it away. You want to come look at the damage? He did not expect that either.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do." Up close, it was bad. Not catastrophic. The wall hadn't been soaked long enough to warp anything, but the paint was running in long streaks down the lower half of the siding and along the trim. There were already visible water marks where the clean surface had been disturbed.
Marcus stood in front of it with his arms crossed, doing the mental calculation. "Two coats," he said. "Primer first on the worst spots. The trim needs to dry completely before you retape." Olivia was standing beside him with her coffee mug, also looking at the wall. "You sound like you know what you're talking about," she said.
"My father was a contractor. I spent every summer from age 9 to 17 working for him. And then, and then I went to college and swore I'd never pick up a paintbrush again. He paused. "Turns out that's not how life works." She made a sound that might have been a laugh.
Quiet, almost involuntary, like it surprised her. "No," she said. "It really isn't." There was a silence between them. Not uncomfortable, just present. "I'll get the paint matched at Home Depot," Marcus said.
"I can start Saturday morning if the forecast holds." She looked at him sideways. "You don't have to do that." "Yeah, I do. It was an accident. It was my accident. I'll fix it." She studied him for a moment with those eyes dark brown.