Twenty Four, First House, and a Repair He Couldn't Google
The first thing they said to me, before hello, was "sorry." Late August, one of those Kingfisher afternoons where the air feels like a wet towel. A little 1970s ranch house on the north edge of town, brick to the windows, the kind of place that has been somebody's starter home four times over. New owners, closed in June. Thirty-one years old, first house, first mortgage, first everything. The call came in as "AC not cooling." That is most of my August. They met me at the door holding their phone like a shield, and they had clearly been reading. Before I got my bag out of the truck they said…
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