One cold day she was on the roof nailing a border for the wires of Christmas lights to lean on securely. She was looking out over her acres of land like a lonely Martha Stewart when she felt the need to stretch her cramped legs. She tried to call him on her cellular telephone to have him come out and hold the ladder so that she could get down. It was only after the fourth time that he bothered to answer. "Is Betty busy cooking lunch?"
"Yeah, shit on a shingle."
"Could you ask her to come out and hold the ladder?"
"No, I couldn't. I don't want my food burnt."
"You don't want your food burnt," she mocked.
"That's what she was hired for: to keep my food from burning."
"Your food?"
"Yours too."
"Well, there's got to be a reason for me having your ass around so you come out here and help me get down from here," she said. But when he finally came out and she looked down upon him she saw virulence in his sunken eyes and she wondered if he could be trusted to hold the ladder safely. She wanted to call Betty to have her come out but she knew that she would never pick up a telephone no matter how many times it rang.
"Get Betty over here to hold the ladder."