End of Story(8)

“I watched this courtroom TV drama one time where they had a forensic document examiner,” she said. “They gave testimony about a birth certificate being falsified. Maybe that’s the sort of person you need.”

“Maybe. Or maybe one of the ghost-hunters from those TV shows.”

“Keep me updated,” she said. “I love a good mystery.”

To my great disappointment, no one came forward to claim responsibility. Though it’s only been one day since we found it. And no more documents appeared while Lars continued working yesterday. Which was probably for the best. Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves might have been cool with sending messages through time in that movie, The Lake House, but I found the experience to be less romantic and more of a mind fuck.

Lars arrived bright and early the next day. He immediately got busy fixing the warped window frame. The man said few words, but whenever our paths crossed he gave me sideways glances. Super sketchy ones. And if he wanted to go back to doubting me about the divorce certificate then there was no way I would be making him coffee. We ignored each other until it was time for my lunch break.

Any other contractor/handyman I could have largely ignored and left to their own devices. But Lars existed in a gray zone. He sort of felt like a guest in my house rather than a worker, but not really. It was complicated.

“I’m making lunch,” I said. “Would you like a sandwich?”

“No.”

“Fine,” I snapped.

You don’t mess with a woman when she’s premenstrual and hungry. Everyone knows that. Lars, unfortunately, was an idiot. Because he gave me another of those dubious-as-all-hell sideways glances. The bastard.

“I can’t believe we’re back to this again,” I said, hands on hips. “Do you have something you’d like to say?”

“No.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.”

I smoothed down the front of my black tank top, and straightened the waist of my cropped jeans. The black polish on my toes shone bright, which did wonders for my confidence and looked great with my strappy flat leather sandals. “Let me guess, you went home last night and your little brain started working overtime. Where could the divorce certificate have come from? I didn’t put it there. Susie was the only other person present. It must be her. Burn the witch!”

He gave me a dry look.

“Well?”

“No one knew I was going to be here,” he growled. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Give me strength. No one, including me, knew you were going to be here. And this leads you to believe I must have planted it. Where’s the logic in that?”

“It’s like they say on that TV show. If you rule out the impossible, then whatever’s left, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“If you really believe that, then pack your shit and get out,” I said. “Ask your office to bill me for the work that’s been done. We’re through here.”

He froze. “Are you serious?”

“You bet your ass I am. I don’t need this tension in my life. In my home while I’m trying to work. If you honestly believe I’m up to something, that I’m trying to mess with you, then go.”

Today he wore a faded Pearl Jam tee, which was kind of the uniform in this town. And he wore it well. “It’s like you said yesterday. Another builder might rip you off. Not do the work right.”

“What do you care?”

For a long moment, he just looked at me. Then he sighed. “I always liked you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Not like that.” He hung his head. “I just... This shit is ridiculous. It makes no sense.”

“I agree. But how about instead of turning on each other, we do something constructive?”

“Such as?”

I crossed my arm and leaned against the doorframe. “A friend gave me an idea about how best to ascertain if the document is real.”

“It’s not.”

I shrugged. “Fine. So we send it to the forensic document examiner and rule out the possibility.”

“But it’s not real. There’s no point.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“No,” he admitted, eventually.

“I already called them and got a quote. I’m doing it.”

“All right then.” His expression spoke clearly of the suffering he endured at the hands of womankind. “Whatever you want, Susie.”

“Good answer, Lars.” I gave him two thumbs up. “In the future, why don’t you just lead with that?”

In response, he cracked his neck. “I lied. I would like a sandwich.”

“Of course you would.”

“What are your plans for out here?”

We sat out back in the two old Adirondack chairs beneath the Japanese maple to eat lunch. The area consisted of a patch of grass and a collection of bright ceramic pots filled with various herbs, a tomato plant, green onions, beans, and lettuce. I hadn’t managed to kill them yet. Fingers crossed.

“I’d love a small fire pit,” I said. “Make it a nice space to hang out at night.”

He nodded. “What about the exterior?”

“It definitely needs a fresh coat of paint. I was thinking some shade of blue. That way if I do decide to sell, it has broad appeal.”