Strolling along the balcony, Sarah nearly fell through a loose floorboard.
"Mark, when did you promise to fix this place up? Am I supposed to be afraid to step outside now?"
Scratching the back of his neck, her husband peeled himself away from the TV and replied, "Honey, we just bought this place. Let's not rush into things. I still need to pick up the supplies, and money doesn't grow on trees, you know. If you recall, you ordered that expensive skincare set just last week."
Making a sour face, Sarah shot back, "Oh, of course, it's always my spending that's the problem. It's not like you don't spend anything. How many parts did you buy for your car recently? Go ahead, remind me."
Smiling in return, Mark had a ready comeback: "For the record, you drive it too. And you always take it right when I need it. So, you tell me—who's really getting the most use out of it?"
Waving him off, Sarah grumbled crossly, "Always excuses. It's like I'm the only one who cares, and everyone else couldn't care less."
Hearing the commotion, their son ran out from his room. "Mom, Dad, are you guys fighting? I'm trying to do my homework, but I can't focus with all the arguing."
Patting him on the head, Sarah replied softly, "No, no, Mikey. Your father and I are just deciding who's going to finally get this balcony in order."
Curious as to why his mom was suddenly so fixated on the balcony, Mikey squeezed past them to see what the fuss was about. Shaking his head, he offered his two cents: "Well, Dad, it really does need a makeover. If you want, I can help you."
Taking a deep breath, Mark said, "No thanks, sport. Since your mom has started hounding me, she and I will be the ones replacing the floor. You go back and finish your schoolwork—no slacking off. I'll check your assignment later, and if I find any mistakes, you're rewriting the whole thing."
Mikey hung his head sadly and retreated to his room. Looking at her husband, Sarah wagged a finger at him. "Stop giving him such a hard time; he's a straight-A student. Look at yourself—did you spend that much time on your homework back in the day?"
There was no arguing with that. Mark hadn't forgotten the days of skipping class and "forgetting" his report card at home. It was enough to make him blush. But those were different times; school seemed easier back then, whereas nowadays, you really have to grind just to keep up. The show Mark was watching ended, and he stood up.
"That's that, then. You were making a mountain out of a molehill. Tomorrow after work, I'll stop by Pete's and talk to him about the materials. But keep in mind, we're going to have to pinch pennies now, or we won't have enough for the renovation."
At those words, Sarah's frustration faded into the background. "You could have just said so from the start instead of counting every cent I spend. You might as well bill me for groceries and gas, you human calculator. Fine, go get Mikey for dinner. You're always on his case, like you're trying to raise a child prodigy. And when you check his homework, don't be a tyrant. If he got something wrong, he can fix it later. Mark, you know as well as I do that education isn't what it used to be. Back in our day, a degree actually meant something; now, it's just a piece of paper."
Mark didn't argue; his wife was right, and she wasn't being dramatic. Poking his head into his son's room, he asked, "Hey, Mikey, you hungry? Go wash up and head to the table. You can finish your work later. And hey, don't mind my grumbling—I had to hear the same stuff from my parents back then. But look, your old man turned out responsible and driven. I just want the same future for you."
Nodding, the boy said, "I get it, Dad. Don't worry, I've got my grades under control."
At dinner, they stopped discussing school, but the balcony remained the hot topic. Sarah clearly wasn't going to let it go.
"Don't forget to check on those materials tomorrow. I'm serious, Mark, don't drag your feet. I need to use that balcony, and I'm already afraid I'll break a leg. We really should have inspected everything better when we bought this condo. Oh, right—you were in such a rush, thinking we wouldn't find a better deal."
Her ironic smile pushed Mark over the edge just a bit. "I think I'll head down to the garage. At least I can get a break from the nagging there."
Sarah didn't take offense, simply noting playfully, "Go ahead. You'll be back in half an hour anyway."
She knew her husband perfectly; if she said his garage escape would be short-lived, she was usually right. Mark, for his part, stayed silent and left the apartment in a thoughtful mood. But this time, he didn't plan on brooding alone. Dialing John's number, Mark shouted into the phone: "Get your butt over to the garage! Yeah, the usual spot. It's the only place I feel like a free man."
An hour later, Mark was no longer suffering in solitude.
"She doesn't even know what needs to be done first, but she's still breathing down my neck. I don't know how to get on the same page with her. Everything was fine before, but as soon as we bought the place, it's like she's a different person. What do you think, John? What am I in for?"
Looking him straight in the eye, John replied, "Man, stop it. It's just your nerves. I'm always on edge whenever I start a project; it never goes smoothly. Take my wife, Val—your wife is a saint compared to her. You've got it lucky."
Smirking, Mark replied, "Gee, thanks for the 'support.' Anyway, that's not the point. Tell me where I can score some cheap building materials. I told Sarah I'd try Pete, but you know him—he's so stingy he wouldn't give you the time of day if it cost him a second."
John scratched his nose. "I think I've got a lead. My father-in-law is a foreman at a construction site. We can get whatever you need through him."
Catching the hint, Mark pulled out his wallet. "How much? I'm not a cheapskate like Pete, don't you worry about that."
John frowned and made a "cutting" motion across his throat. "Let's start with some liquid currency and go from there. Look, I'll talk the old man into giving us the green light. We'll square up later."
Mark shook his hand firmly and immediately pulled a glass bottle filled with a reddish liquid from a hidden locker. "Will this work as a down payment? Don't be shy; I guarantee the quality."
John didn't take his word for it. Before taking a sip, he gave it a good sniff. "Wow, great aroma. Hope it tastes as good as it smells."
He filled a glass halfway and downed it in one go. Mark, prepared for this, immediately offered him a pickle. "Easy there! That stuff's got a kick like a mule."
John took a bite and said, "I appreciate quality, and this is the best I've had. So, you say the wife wants a new balcony floor? Why is she so hung up on that? Is there nothing else in the house that needs fixing?"
Shrugging, Mark answered, "I've mostly handled the small stuff, but I can't decide what to put down on the balcony. I want it to be warm in the winter, so it needs good insulation and maybe electric heating. It's actually great that your father-in-law works in construction. We can get some mineral wool through him—slabs would be even better, it's faster. Honestly, I probably wouldn't have even touched it if I hadn't tripped there myself. It feels like the concrete base is crumbling and the boards are warping."
John, feeling generous after the drink, offered his own theory: "Maybe the concrete isn't crumbling? What if there's a hollow space under the floor and the boards are just shifting when you walk?"
Mark tilted his head and replied slowly, "It's possible. Can't rule it out. But the goal is to keep costs down. Anyway, we have a deal. As soon as your father-in-law gives the word, we'll move the materials to your yard."
Unlike Mark, John lived in a detached house with plenty of storage space.
The hangout wrapped up near midnight. Only after seeing his friend off did Mark start heading home. The thirty minutes Sarah had allotted him had long since passed. He needed an excuse to avoid her righteous anger. After thinking it over, he decided that a little financial freedom might smooth over the rough edges.
Entering the apartment, he immediately and shamelessly suggested his wife go for a full spa day. Somehow, the words worked like magic, and Sarah's anger turned to grace.
"Fine, you're forgiven this time. But don't expect another pass like that. By the way, did you call Pete? Is the deal still on?"
Mark summoned all his willpower not to slip up. "Of course, honey. I've got it all handled. The day after tomorrow, I'll start tearing up that old floor, and you're going to help me."
Sarah was so thrilled that she forgave him not only for the garage trip but also for the faint smell of their "meeting." Say what you will, but women know how to keep the peace. When a storm is brewing, they can be better than any meteorologist at predicting clear skies.
That night, Mark was fully back in her good graces. But by morning, he was off to work like a busy bee, skipping breakfast. Waving goodbye, Sarah murmured to herself, "Fine by me—more for me."
Mark got lucky; a day later, John's father-in-law cleared them to take the materials from the warehouse. However, John proved to be a bit opportunistic, grabbing a few extra boards for himself.
"Hey, everything comes in handy around the house. If I don't use it now, I will later. Don't look at me like that, buddy—that's just economics. Who knows, maybe I'll build a gazebo or an extension. Today the old man is at the site, tomorrow he's retired, and the shop is closed."
He had a point, and Mark couldn't argue. After delighting his wife with the news that the renovation was starting, Mark called his boss to ask for two days off. At first, the boss was hesitant, but after hearing a somewhat exaggerated story about life with a demanding wife, he practically shed a tear in solidarity. Mark knew his boss would cave.
"Thanks, Mr. Henderson. I won't forget this. If you ever need me to cover for you, I'm your man."
Taking note of the promise, the boss replied, "Alright, I'll do it for a good worker, but I'm holding you to that."
That evening was a celebration for Mark: his wife wasn't nagging, his son's grades were fine, and the balcony project was set for the morning. Inspired by how smoothly everything was going, Mark treated himself to a small drink. He was careful not to overdo it, fearing Sarah's disapproval, but she was surprisingly lenient. Still, she kept a sharp eye to make sure he didn't cross the line.
The next day, as the first rays of sun hit the window, John's horn honked outside. He had arrived with the lumber and supplies.
"Get down here and grab this, or I'm taking it home! I told you, I can use it. And look, if you need a hand, I'm available. Not all day, though—I have to head to my in-laws' place later. They've decided to re-roof the shed. You're not the only one buried in work."
Slowly, they moved the boards to the entrance, and the smaller pieces were hauled up to the apartment. Sarah, in her innocence, reached for her purse to pay John, but Mark cut her off with a stern look.
"Stop that. This isn't a store; friendship isn't for sale. He helped me today, I'll help him tomorrow."
Sarah nodded in agreement. "Right, of course. What do I know about 'guy code'?"
Ignoring the comment, they finished moving the wood. Half an hour later, the delivery was done.
"Alright, I'm heading out, Mark. Sorry I can't stay to help with the heavy lifting."
Waving him off, Mark replied, "Thanks anyway for the materials. I'd still be searching if it weren't for you, and I definitely wouldn't have gotten them this cheap."
The moment John left, Sarah pounced with questions. "Wait, what happened to Pete? Did he refuse to help?"
Mark led her to the balcony. "What does it matter who brought the wood? Pete, John—who cares? John was faster, and the price was right. Less talk, more work. Let's start at this end so it's easier to clear the debris."
The plan for the day was demolition: rip up the old floor and clean out the dust and trash underneath. Mark started at the far end, while Sarah stayed near the door using a pry bar. Suddenly, they both stopped as if the desire to renovate had vanished instantly. They looked at each other, cautiously lifted the boards they had managed to pry loose, and recoiled in shock, clutching their heads. Sarah even started shaking when she saw a metal box nestled inside. Staring at the find, Mark couldn't fathom how it got there. They had to rip up the rest of the boards to get the box out. Their eyes were wide with excitement. Mikey soon appeared on the balcony and helped free the metal chest from its "prison."
Finally, once the box was out, they prepared to open it. One problem: it required a key no one had. Mark used a crowbar and a mallet to force his way in. They were stunned to find antique books and several wristwatches—engraved and, by the looks of it, set in gold. Mark ignored the books and went straight for the watches. Mikey did the opposite; he grabbed one of the books and ran to the living room. The parents shared a look, thinking he had suddenly developed a passion for reading. But ten minutes later, Mikey shouted from the other room, book in hand:
"Mom, Dad, we're rich! This book is worth a fortune. I just checked some collector auctions online and got a rough estimate."
Pressing a hand to her forehead, Sarah said thoughtfully, "I always wondered why they called Leo, the guy who owned this place before us, 'The Antiquarian.' I thought it was just a nickname, like a mob alias. But it looks like he left us a gift—or just forgot it."
Initially, they felt uneasy about the find, fearing the owner would come back for his treasures. But no one called or visited, so they decided to sell the items, especially since none of them were planning on starting a private library.
However, a final surprise was waiting that would put an end to the whole affair.
Mikey, true to his word, helped his parents find buyers. They were offered a great price for the rare books. Imagine their shock when the person who showed up for the meeting was the former owner himself. Leo beamed, clapping Mark and Sarah on the shoulders.
"You won't believe it, but I'd already made peace with the fact that I'd lost this rare piece of my collection forever. As for the balcony, it never even crossed my mind to look there."
It turned out that an old "friend" of the collector had decided to profit off him. During the move, she had secretly swiped what she could from Leo's collection and hidden it in a box under the balcony floorboards. The thief made sure the stash wasn't spotted by the movers and, once she was sure it was safe, she planted evidence to frame the workers. She managed to cover her tracks and was planning a bigger heist at Leo's new place. However, her twisted plans were cut short by unforeseen circumstances in her own life. After inspecting the half-finished renovation, Leo promised to fully reimburse them for the materials and even paid for a family vacation to the coast. As they say, stolen goods never bring happiness. Sarah and Mark decided it was only fair; they still walked away with a nice bonus. In the heat of the moment, Sarah suggested they renovate the whole apartment. But Mark saw where she was going with that and shut down any "treasure hunting" immediately. He knew there weren't any more hidden stashes, and if they didn't stop now, they'd end up tearing the whole building down.
The balcony renovation was finished soon after. By the way, Mark never mentioned the find to John. If John had found out he was intentionally left out of the "treasure hunt," he would have complained until the end of time. The secret of the metal box remained strictly within the family. Having thanked them for their honesty and quick thinking, the former owner vanished as suddenly as he had reappeared.
0 comments