Weekend Freewrite experiment

I have been told I must do this, so here is my first, very clumsy attempt.

“You don't have many options,” Oliver said. “You already paid the registration fee for 12 days of horseback riding in the mountains. She nodded and sighed. She had planned this vacation months ago, and now a tree had fallen on the house and she couldn't leave until the contractor showed up to fix the giant hole in the roof. And everybody knows what it's like waiting for a contractor to show up. She would have to forfeit her deposit, but not having yard debris in the living room anymore seemed like a good trade-off. By the time she got back home, it had started to rain, which added to the misery that used to be the couch. Where am I going to sit and read the paper now? The contractor's truck pulled into the driveway as she was having this self-pitying thought. He grunted a little as he heaved himself out of the cab and made his way towards the house. He looked reliable, and manly, and maybe just competent enough to handle this job. She felt her spirits lift just a little bit as she watched him studying the hole in the front of the house.

He threw her a nod. “I think my wrist is broken.” What was this now? “I'm sorry, could you say that again?” she said. He repeated this nonsense. “I was doing a job last week and I fell off the ladder. I thought it was just a sprain, but now it clicks whenever I move it. I think it's broken. I don't think I will be able to fix your house after all. Too bad, since it's raining and everything.” She just stared at him in blank confusion that slowly morphed into the kind of smoldering anger that is normally reserved for political discussions and family reunions. “What am I supposed to do now?” she demanded. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck with what was presumably his good hand. “I can't say. Call someone else? Nail a tarp over the hole?” He ambled back to his truck and drove away.

She went back into the soggy and tree-filled house, gazing in despair at the sodden mess on the floor. There was her vintage coaster set, and yesterday's newspaper, and, inexplicably, a filled in crossword. Now where on earth did that come from? She never did the crossword, since her dyslexia made the clues too confusing. Whoever had done this one had done it in pen. Totally mystified, she picked it up and studied the handwriting to see if it looked familiar. With a start and a cold feeling in her spine, she recognized the writing. It was Joe's, the creepy neighbor who kept asking her on dates and who she kept politely refusing. The sheer number of cats in his house was enough to keep her on her own side of the fence. Joe must have broken into the house and done the crossword. What a horribly stalker-like thing to do! Her hands shook as she picked up the phone to call the police. And then another contractor.