Page 7 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

The game was over, much to the dismay of the 49ers and their fans. Rob lost his ten-dollar bet, and Erik invited him out to the garage to see his latest woodworking project. The McEntires’ garage, like the rest of their home, was a colorful scene of muddled mess, but somehow Erik picked his way through the minefield to a workbench. Amid a bunch of random tools and things stood a row of birdhouses in various stages of construction. “I feel kind of silly about these, but my granddaughter Arianna had me make one for her birthday last summer, and suddenly all my grands claimed they needed one too. I hope to get these all done in time for Christmas.”

“I’m impressed. You could go into business. Or retirement.” He chuckled. “Are you thinking of retiring?”

“Well, I’m sixty-seven now. Cindy keeps urging me to pull the plug and enjoy life more.” He looked around the garage and sighed. “But I’m worried that if I retire, I’ll end up spending all my time organizing this disaster area, and that sounds like a heckofa lot more work than my job at the insurance office.”

Rob laughed. “I see what you mean. I’m not eager to retire either.”

“Not for this reason.” Erik gestured at the mess. “Your garage is immaculate, Rob. I’ve seen it. I think you could eat off the floor in there.”

Rob actually rolled his eyes. “Tempting at times.”

“Huh?”

“You want to know the real reason I don’t want to retire?”

“Sure.”

Rob let out a long sigh, wondering how much he should say but feeling like he might explode if he didn’t get to talk to someone. And Erik seemed like an understanding friend. Besides, he knew Jane. He’d been in their home.

“The truth is, it’s a little unsettling to imagine being home all the time, 24/7, you know?”

Erik’s brow creased slightly. “You mean being underfoot?”

“Sort of. Jane is so fastidious that it can be, uh, hard to relax.”

Erik put the lid on an open paint can. “Oh, yeah. I get that. Truth is, I sorta feel like I have to be in my Sunday best at your house.”

“You’re not the only one.” Rob frowned. “Erik, can I ask you something—and get an honest answer?”

“Sure, anytime.” He pushed the can away.

“Do you know what OCD is?”

“Obsessive-compulsive disorder? Sure, I watch old reruns of Monk.”

Rob’s smile felt weak. “Yeah, like that. Do you think Jane’s got it?”

With a thoughtful look, Erik shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. Kinda makes sense. Have you ever mentioned it to her?”

Rob’s laugh sounded hollow to his own ears. “Are you kidding? I even made her watch a few Monk episodes with me a couple years ago. And I asked her about why he was like that, and she said he was just eccentric and charming. She couldn’t see the dysfunction.”

“Sometimes they’re the last to know.”

“I guess. But the thing is, she’s getting worse, and it’s hard to live with her.” He looked pointedly at Erik. “Probably hard to be her neighbor too.”

Erik just laughed. “I have a feeling it’s harder on her than us.” He shrugged. “We’re so busy with our lives and kids and stuff, we don’t pay her much mind.”

“And Cindy is always trying to befriend her.”

“Well, we go to the same church, Rob. And we are supposed to love our neighbors. Even if they’re, well, difficult.”

“Hello, there in the garage?” called a male voice.

“Well, I’ll be, that sounds like one of my boys.” Erik tried to see the door, but it was blocked by a pile of boxes. “Malcolm, is that you?”

“You guessed it!” The young man picked his way toward them. “Mr. Bradshaw!” Malcolm looked surprised. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” They shook hands.

“Your dad was just showing me his Christmas projects.”