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Pandemonium
I opened my mouth to ask if there had been an off-season hurricane but knew instinct-
ively to keep quiet. Maybe Daniel had begun the unpacking process and had simply col-
lapsed in shame from exposure to non-designer products.
After allowing us exactly five minutes upstairs (yes, I saw him look at his watch), he
corralled us downstairs to inspect the projects he'd actually managed to complete.
Admittedly, everything he had done looked well-executed.
“Nice job,” Michael said.
“Yes, well,” Daniel began, glancing at his watch again, “I'm happy to do what I can.”
He glanced towards the driveway like a dog straining on its leash.
“I guess we'll finish opening the boxes when you're gone,” I threw out.
“Good luck,” he said, all but rolling his eyes. “By the way, I hope you're not staying
here at the house,” he added, looking around with undisguised horror.
“Nope,” I said. “It's just not practical this time.”
“Obviously,” he agreed with a shiver. “I assume you're staying at Martineau Bay?”
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