How the story started by Marla

“No.”

“But, I want you,” he whined.

“That means nothing to me. I am not a USO Girl and you’re not the military,” she said sternly. I’ve given you my response.”

“It’s not fair. I want this! No, I need this, and I want you to do it with me!”

“You want free labor to make your dream possible, and I’m not willing to entertain being a part of something I don’t want to do. I actually know you, which is one of the many reasons you don’t want to ask me, Jeremy. I don’t deal with your nonsense very well. Find someone else.”

She left the room quietly.

He plopped onto the couch, splayed out like a tired octopus. “She’ll never understand,” he bemoaned with a pinch of heavy sigh.

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Sadje’s part:

Jeremy mourned the rejection from Stella for a day or two and then he was back to trying to recruit another helper for his house remodel project. 

But whoever he asked declined. It seemed that Stella had spread the news of Jeremy’s devious planning around and most people were pre-warned and were avoiding even talking to him. 

Then there was a surprising offer of help from someone he least expected….

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Fandango’s part:

“Hey, Buddy, I hear you need a hand.”

Jeremy was standing on a ladder skim-coating the drywall in a small closet when he froze. The voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t immediately place it. He climbed down off the ladder, turned in the direction the voice had come from, and his jaw dropped when he saw who it was.

“Surprise, surprise,” said the man when he saw Jeremy staring at him.

“Dad?”

“None other,” the man said, an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

Jeremy’s face turned dark red. “You son of a bitch. You abandoned Mom and me a decade ago and neither of us has heard from you since. How the hell did you find me and what do you want from me?”

“That’s an interesting story, son,” the man said.

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Nancy, The Sicilian Storyteller at The Elephant’s Trunk continues:

“I don’t have the time for this, old man …. just like you didn’t have the time for me and mom so show yourself out. I got work to do.”

“Still got that high-and-mighty stubborn streak, I see, Jeremy. Well, maybe you’ll be singing a different tune when you hear what I have to say. In the meantime, toss me a brush; four hands are better than two.”

Despite himself, Jeremy was curious about why his father bailed on him and his mother and what he had to say. He stayed quiet while his father continued.

“It all started when the Bellamy Twins came blowing into town. Those sons of bitches were fired up and looking for trouble. And they came calling on me.”

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Lisa, at Tao-Talk, continues:

Jeremy tried to concentrate on smoothing paint lines as he listened, but it was useless. It didn’t seem to bother his dad, as he continued as if he had been painting every day for the years he’d been gone. Jeremy started tidying up the brushes, cans, and drop cloths as his father continued with his story:

“Everybody thought it was Bart that had the brains between the Twins, but it was little innocent-looking Betty that had her secret weapon: the best Dutch Apple pie this side of the Mississippi. Betty sat me down with a double slice of heaven and presented her plan, guaranteed to net each of the crew a cool million.

Betty said, ‘I know Ginger, the tea cart lady at the bank. She knows what everyone drinks. That afternoon, after lunch, when everybody is already carbed-up and lethargic, she’ll slip belladonna into their tea and knock them out of commission.’

‘Um, Betty, isn’t belladonna deadly? You want to rob them, not kill them. Right?’

‘Johnny, Ginger knows what she’s doing. We just have to wait for Ginger’s signal and waltz in like we were on the Lawrence Welk show.’

Jeremy, the gears were spinning in my head. Your Ma was pregnant and the doc said there were going to be complications with the baby. I had to decide what mattered more to me: the law or your new little brother that wasn’t even born yet.”

Jeremy stopped messing with the paint gear. He turned to look at his father, whose back was turned to him, still now, his paint brush dripping a turquoise puddle on the dropcloth…

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I’m going to pass the baton to Jim Adams at A Unique Title for Me and hope he continues the story.