Theodore let himself into the house and followed the low sounds of music all the way to the kitchen. The music was all eighties, the only thing John Gardner ever listened to when he was working, so Theodore wasn’t shocked to find the man at the kitchen table with his trusted old box of tools and a dismounted fan in pieces all around the man.
“You should have told me you needed a new fan,” Theodore said as he walked over to the counter and put down the bags he had been carrying. “I would have gotten you one on the way. Or a portable air conditioner even better.”
John hummed but continued playing MacGyver on the old wires. “She still has a lot of life left in her,” he muttered.
Theodore gave the old fan a dubious look. It looked like something that should be seated in a museum. Years had
