“The color of the lights determines which additional decorations we use on the lawn,” Marty explained as if Roman were a child. “With white lights we use a Santa and his sleigh theme. If we use multicolor, we go with snowmen.”
“Heaven forbid we make any changes,” Myra muttered. “They won’t even let us talk about the angels we’ve got that we’ve never used.”
“Or the Rudolph we got a few years ago at a clearance sale,” Eloise called. “By the time we use him, his nose bulb will be burned out.”
“Oh, the inflatable Rudolph!” Myra clasped her hands to her mouth. “I’d forgotten about him. We talked about using a leaf blower to blow it up.”
The very idea of anyone in this house using a leaf blower made Roman nauseated. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Harold, Marty, you’ll supervise. But from down here. Whatever new lights Oscar finds will be what goes up this year. Jasper and I are happy to get them up as long as we don’t get another call.” He’d never been so conflicted about wanting an emergency in his life. If his radio remained silent, he’d be stuck stringing lights all afternoon. If they got a call, chances were he’d be back in a few hours replaying this entire scene.
“You ever string lights, young’un?” Marty didn’t look convinced.
“Used to help my dad every year,” Roman confirmed. “How about I take those old lights of yours back with me to the station and we’ll see about recycling them?”
Harold grimaced and looked back up on the roof. “We left them up there.”
“I’ll get them,” Jasper offered.
“It’s okay.” Roman was already grabbing the ladder and hoisting it out of the muck. “I’m going to move this over to where it’s cement and not mud.” He looked at the two old men as if they should have thought about that themselves.
“Oh, but we start here because—”
“It’s not safe here.” He clanged the ladder down, planting it solidly against the side of the porch overhang. Inside the garage, he could hear muttering and swearing as someone moved boxes around. Oscar, Roman assumed, searching for their missing lights.
“I don’t know about this.” Marty shook his head. “That’s not how we usually do it. We tried it one year. Why didn’t we do it again?”
“Can’t recall,” Harold said. “Only know it’s not—”
Roman ignored them as he headed up the ladder. He could see the hooks from where last year’s lights must have hung. Behind him, he heard the telltale squeak of Oscar Bedemeyer’s walker.
“Found them!” The triumphant cry caused Roman to give silent thanks for whatever force had guided Oscar to finding the right lights so quickly. “They were in a box marked ‘plumbing supplies.’ Don’t know what darned fool...”
Roman stopped listening. “Frankie does this every year,” Roman muttered to himself as he headed for the roof. “Woman deserves a medal.” He could see the tangle of lights across the porch overhang as he moved to step off the ladder.
“I’ve got them. Here I come!” Oscar declared, and a telltale clang cut through the air. The ladder under Roman’s feet vibrated. As he looked down, he could see the wheels of Oscar’s walker had caught the foot of the ladder. “What in land sakes is this ladder doing here?”
Roman had heard stories about time slowing down to the point of going still. He’d never experienced it before. Until now. In only a matter of seconds, the ladder was knocked out from under him and he’d grabbed hold of the shingled roof, splinters slicing into his fingers. He heard Jasper cry out, and from the corner of his eye, Roman saw the young man race forward, arms waving. But Roman’s hands slipped free. He felt himself fall, and when he landed, he did so with an odd crack, partially on the ladder.
Head ringing, body numb, he rolled to the ground, trying to catch the breath that had been driven out of him.
“Chief?” Jasper was leaning over him, hands reaching out to help before he must have remembered his training and so stopped himself. “Chief? You okay?”
“What in green acres was he doing up there on that ladder?” Oscar demanded as he and his walker clicked his way over, the four boxes of industrial white lights stuffed into the swinging leather pouch. “That looked like it hurt.”
Roman finally sucked in enough breath to let out a groan. The pain, when it hit, shot straight up from his toes.
“Sir?” Jasper planted a hand on his chest to stop him from moving.