Okay. I start turning boxes around, hoping to find the words TAXES on the front.
I shriek when I hear something behind me.
Spinning around, I see it's only Mrs. Reynolds.
"Oh, calm yourself," she chides. "Did you find any?"
"I think so." I pick up a box marked TAXES, 1968. "Is this one?"
She claps her hands, like a teacher would do if a student gets an answer correct. "Yes. Put it by the door. There's so many to toss, I think this may take a few days."
As soon as I place the first box in the "toss" pile, the doorbell rings. Mrs. Reynolds doesn't hear it. "Someone's ringing the doorbell," I say.
She furrows her brows and tilts her head to listen for it. "I don't hear it, but then again these ears are about as good as my eyes. Be a doll and answer it, would you?"
"Sure." I head down the stairs. The doorbell rings two more times before I can get to the door. I open it quickly, then stumble backwards. Because the last person I expected to see standing in front of me is Caleb Becker.
And, for the second time since he's been back, he reaches out to touch me.
TWENTY-ONE
Caleb
I swear, my leg almost just gave out on me. Because the last person I expected to answer the door to Mrs. Reynolds' house was Maggie Armstrong wearing a ridiculous, oversized dress with pink and green flowers plastered all over it.
I try and grab her arm when she loses her balance, but I'm too late. Once on the floor, she refuses my outstretched hand.
"Wh ... What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"I work here after school," she says while trying to pretend she's content to stay sprawled on the floor.
I quickly shove my Justice Department ID in my back pocket. I double-check the address again before saying, "I'm here to see a Mrs. Reynolds. This is her house, isn't it?" Maggie's hatred is evident in her stare. "Listen, seeing you here is a surprise to me, too," I say. "The manager at The Trusty Nail sent me. This lady's house is the next job site on the list."
I watch as Maggie pulls herself up. It's painful, I can tell just by watching her fingers curl into a tight fist.
God, watching her struggle is making me sick to my stomach. Because I indirectly did this to her. "I'm sorry," I say.
"Tell it to the judge," she mumbles.
"I did," I respond truthfully. Not that it mattered to Judge Farkus. The guy wanted to make me an example for all delinquents who drank then got behind the wheel of a car. "What do you want from me, Maggie?"
"I want you to leave."
"I can't," I tell her.
An old lady appears from the back of the house and shuffles to the door. "You must be from the community service program," she says.
"Yes, ma'am." I introduce myself and hand her my community service ID for inspection. It's a requirement to show it before entering a house.
Mrs. Reynolds scans my ID, then hands it back. "Well, come on in. This here's Margaret, my companion. Margaret this is ... what did you say your name was again?"
"Caleb."
Mrs. Reynolds tells Maggie, "Caleb is going to help us. Show him to the attic and explain our project while I check on some cookies I have baking in the oven."
I set my backpack on the ground after Mrs. Reynolds is out of sight. "Another awkward situation, huh?"
Maggie is as still as a statue.
"I wish you never came back," she says quietly, hugging herself.
I'm tempted to leave and face Damon's wrath for ditching community service, but I won't. I'm stuck here with her.
"I'm not going anywhere until I finish this job for the lady."
Maggie's eyes widen. Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. She turns around and walks farther into the house.
I silently follow her up a narrow staircase on the second floor to the attic.
Maggie points to a box. "That needs to be thrown out. I'll put boxes there and you can dispose of them."
I nod.
We work in silence. Maggie places the boxes in the discard pile and I carry them down the stairs. Mrs. Reynolds has me stuff the boxes in huge garbage bags and then lug them to the recycle bin at the end of the driveway.
Mrs. Reynolds comes out of the kitchen and hands me a plate of cookies. "Here, bring these up to the attic. You and Maggie can share them while you work."
I enter the attic for what seems like the hundredth time today with the cookies in hand. Maggie throws a box in my direction, but I move out of the way to avoid it. It was intentional, no doubt about it. "Watch it, will ya?" I drop the plate on a trunk in the middle of the attic.
She turns her back to me and ignores the plate.
Maggie thinks she's the only victim in this whole mess. But I have to keep my cool. No matter what happens, I can't let her get under my skin and let the truth come out.
"Listen, Maggie, it was an accident. If I could take back that day, I would. If I could turn back time, I would."
She turns to me now, her head tilted to the side. "Tell me, Caleb. Why does your apology sound so hollow to me?"
I stand, speechless, as she takes the plate of cookies and leaves the attic. Why can't this be easy? I pick up the next box and don't look up until all the boxes are trashed.
Maggie leaves Mrs. Reynolds' house first, but I stay behind. The old lady is in the backyard when I hand her the completion sheet and pen. "Thanks for letting me work here," I say.