I could turn around and go back to my own house, but my bank account is bare as a fairytale cupboard. I’m reaching desperation levels.

I need him.

“Red or white?” Standing at the bar between the kitchen and living room, he holds up two bottles of wine.

The smell of fresh paint tickles my nostrils. Underneath it I can still smell the faintest sewer stink, or maybe it’s my imagination. My skin crawls.

I give a grudging look around the place. A shining stainless steel fridge has replaced the harvest gold one, but the oven is the same old one. The kitchen cabinets are missing, nothing but wooden studs nailed into the wall. The drywall has some patches and some paint splotches. The floor is still bare concrete.

“Where are the dishes supposed to go?”

“It’s open concept. I’m going to put up some shelves.” Christian pulls the cork from the half-empty bottle of red and divides the contents between the two glasses. “Hey, at least there’s no shit sludge coming up out of the sink.”

“What about the bathroom?”

“What about it?” Christian tosses the now empty wine bottle into the recycle bin at the end of the counter. I wince at the crash. He slides one of the glasses toward me. I don’t take it.

Without waiting for permission, I move past him and down the short hallway leading to both the bedroom and the small bath. The smell is slightly worse in here, but I can’t see any evidence of dirty water in the sink, tub, or toilet. The faded linoleum is clean. The medicine cabinet has been replaced with a square of plywood screwed into the wall beams, not yet painted. The fixtures have been removed and not replaced. A bare bulb with a pull chain hangs from a hole in the ceiling.

I bend to look under the sink. There’s evidence of an old leak, with corrosion on the drainpipe and warped wood, and more of that lingering stench overlaid with the smell of bleach. Nothing dripping now, though.

On the floor next to the toilet, gold glints and catches my attention. I pick it up, an earring, the hook bent and broken. Blonde hairs tangle around the rest of it. Beth’s earring. I put it on the edge of the sink and wash my hands. The water drains without a problem. I wait, but there’s no rising tide of brown water.

“Told you,” Christian says when I return to the main living area.

“Whatever you did is making it back up to the main house now,” I complain. “Last night after Eli got home, we had a little trouble.”

“We had a great time at the concert, by the way. His buddy seemed to dig it, too. You’re welcome. I made your kid cool.” Christian nudges the glass another inch closer to me. “I could go over there and take a look, if you want.”

“You are surprisingly good at fixing things,” I tell him. Again, I do not take the glass.