And she never called Mr. Hendricks again.
The water sat in the sink like a dark, oily mirror. It hadn’t moved for three hours. Jenny poked at it with a spoon, and a foul belch of old food and grease bubbled up.
The foam bubbled over the rim and slid lazily down the sink’s side. Jenny let it work for a full ten minutes, then poured the kettle—boiling hot—straight into the chaos.
“Right,” she muttered. “You win.”