“Hey, sweetie!” she answered the phone with her typical bubbly charm. “How’s my big sister?” I chuckled, rummaging through the drawers in my bathroom, looking for my favorite lipstick. “You know I’m only fifteen months older than you, right?” “So? I’ve always looked up to you. You know that,” she told me. I smiled, having found my lipstick. Sure, it’s only Covergirl, but Ruby Slipper looks fantastic with my hair and complexion. “Never understood that, Mel,” I replied, glancing at the mirror. The mirror may as well have been a window, with my sister on the other side of the glass. We were nearly identical in appearance. Both of us had burnt-red hair that fell past our shoulders, hazel eyes, light skin, and we were the exact same height at five-foot-four. Melanie and I got all of our looks from our mother, who was Czechian through and through. Dad had been an international broker when he met her on an overseas trip. It was love at first sight for them. “What’s to understand?” Melanie. Warren might listen. He might even express some sympathy. But what could he say? Or do? He would just think I must be a nut case.I should have been looking for work for the winter, but the Ottawa news had kind of cut me down at the knees. Emmy and I were both walking around in a little haze of unhappiness. This whole house-purchase thing, our agreement to support -- and raise -- Eddie together, had been premised on my spending the next year in Bowie.You couldn't take the DC Metro line to get close to Ottawa.So I spent the next week tearing down that unsightly garage in our back yard and (from prefabricated parts) building us a new one. There wasn't room for a two-car garage without invading and despoiling our small-but-pleasant back yard, but I did make the new garage bigger than the old one, and deeper, so that we could have a workshop in the far back end.I wasn't exactly Mr. Handyman, but the garage project was successful and relatively problem-free, and the week of physical effort.
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