“What are you cooking?”
Rosa almost smiled.
“You negotiate poorly.”
“I like to understand contracts.”
“Beans.”
“Only beans?”
“Beans, tortillas, and whatever eggs the hens provide.”
Gabriel looked toward the chickens.
One hen stared back.
“She seems unreliable.”
“She is.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
Rosa opened the gate.
Gabriel entered.
He brought the ladder through carefully without touching anything he did not need to touch.
That mattered.
Silas Mercer, when he visited, always picked things up.
A horseshoe.
A tool.
A basket.
Objects became demonstrations.
This fence is rotting.
This shovel is old.
This house is too much for one woman.
Silas could turn even a cracked cup into evidence that Rosa’s life required his intervention.
Gabriel simply placed the ladder against the wall.
“Do you know where the roof leaks most?”
“Bedroom corner.”
“Which side?”
“North.”
He nodded.
“Any damage inside the ceiling?”
“There is no ceiling.”
Gabriel glanced through the doorway.
Exposed beams.
“Better.”
“How?”
“I can see trouble.”
“That is an optimistic definition of better.”
His mouth twitched.
He climbed.
Rosa watched despite herself.
Gabriel moved with the ease of someone accustomed to heights.
He tested each rung.
Checked tiles.
Lifted damaged ones.
The first wind gust hit before he reached the ridge.
Rosa called, “If you fall, I am not carrying you.”
He looked down.
“You could probably drag me.”
“That was not a compliment.”
“I took it as one.”
Rosa returned to the trough before he saw her smile.
The rain began as scattered drops.
Gabriel worked faster.
Rosa brought laundry inside.
Moved the twins.
Collected eggs.
One.
The unreliable hen had contributed nothing.
She started beans.
Rain increased.
Gabriel remained on the roof.
“You need to come down.”
“One row.”
“You’ll be struck by lightning.”
“No lightning yet.”
“Very reassuring.”
He shifted another tile.
Then froze.
Rosa noticed.
“What?”
Gabriel crouched.
He lifted a broken section near the chimney.
Reached beneath.
Pulled something free.
A small metal tin.
Rosa’s breath stopped.
Gabriel looked down at her.
“Was this yours?”
“No.”
The tin was rusted along one edge.