Godspeed

by Nickolas Butler

  Reuben squinted at Bart, like a student considering defying his teacher. “Yeah,” Reuben laughed, “now you’re all boss-man and serious and shit. Drywall’s fucking great, man. We’ll be done when we’re done.” And with that he flicked Bart and Teddy a peace sign and disappeared toward the bridge, his bare feet moving noiselessly in the dark.

  “I never liked that guy,” Teddy said earnestly. “Real druggie.”

  Bart was a tall man, about six-three, two hundred and ten pounds and as lean as a panther; shoulder-length black hair, with a sharp jawline and, somehow, perfectly straight white teeth, and in these moments he peered down at Teddy as if his kid brother were part of some anti-drug after-school special. “Naw, Reuben’s fine,” Bart said. “Come on, guys are gonna start peeling off.”

  They walked back toward the fire, no music being played now, a few huddles of men smoking as they talked about the house, a handful of men waving as they walked back down toward their trucks, headlights popping on, then tracing the road back down and out. Finally, it was just Cole, Bart, and Teddy standing around the smoldering flames of the fire, Bart bouncing, shadowboxing, throwing rocks out into the darkness.

  “Tell you what, boys,” Cole said, setting down the beer he’d just opened and removing his shirt, “since the first day we came out here, I’ve been curious about these hot springs, and right now I believe is a most opportune time to test the waters.” Shucking off his boots and socks and stripping down to his underwear, he picked up his beer, walked gingerly to the side of the pool, dipped his toes in, then his feet, then his calves.

  “How is it?” Teddy asked excitedly.

  Cole slipped all the way into the water then, and his head disappeared before bobbing back to the surface. He pushed his hair away from his face and smiled, his short chin whiskers dripping water in the darkness.

  “Come on in, boys; the water’s fine.”

  One of life’s greatest luxuries was floating in a hot spring, a cold can of beer in one hand and an infinitude of stars scattered across the heavens above. Teddy and Bart joined their friend, and soon the three men were floating, their arms outspread along the lip of the pool, their necks tilted back and up. Only Bart fidgeted, occasionally swimming from one extent of the pool to the other, until at last Cole said, “For Christ’s sake, smoke a little more weed, man, and chill out. I can’t believe you still have this much energy to burn.”

  To which Bart did light a little roach, settling down enough so that the pool was again a serene plane of water reflecting the perfect sky, just little burps of bubbles now and again roiling the water, but mostly the night was utterly still, marked only by the yips and singing of far-off coyotes, a shooting star streaking overhead, an owl hooting down by the river.

  “Can you imagine actually living here?” Cole said, perhaps to himself.

  “Fellas,” Teddy chipped in, “I hate to be a party pooper and all, but I really ought to get back on home. Britney’s gonna have my head, I know it. I been gone enough as it is.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, actually,” Cole said. “And I wonder, you know, especially when the snow starts to fly, if maybe we ought to set up some kind of camp here.”

  “What do you mean?” Teddy asked. “You mean, like sleeping right here on the site? In the trailer?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Cole said. “Look, instead of spending an hour or more each day driving to and from the site, we could just sleep here. Work until we drop.”

  “Yeah, but, Cole, when would I see my family?” Teddy asked a bit woefully, his brow a washboard of concern.

  “Well, maybe they could come out a weekend or two, when it’s just the three of us working, maybe camp here or down by the river. Hell, swim in the hot springs, go fishing, hiking. They’d probably love it. Like a mini-vacation.”

  “Maybe,” Teddy said, swallowing. “Or maybe they’ve got a dance recital that day. Or horseback riding lessons, or some other kid’s birthday party . . . Or, I don’t know, Cole, maybe Britney’s got laundry to do, or maybe we’d like to go on a date. I mean, we still got more than two months on this house. I can’t just check out for that long.”

  Cole sighed in frustration, rubbed the sweat off his face.

  “Just speakin’ for myself, but I’m all for staying out here,” Bart said. “Helluva lot prettier than my apartment. And we’re here all the damn time anyway. Certainly paid enough for that trailer. May as well use it. There’s just the one bed, but it’s probably big enough for two of us. And someone could sleep on the floor or maybe we could rig up a cot or a hammock.”

  Teddy crawled out of the springs and stood dripping in his boxer shorts. “I suppose we didn’t think to bring towels,” he said.

  * * *

  —

  More than a little drunk, Bart rode back into town with Cole, and they followed Teddy, who was clearly working hard to keep his truck between the painted lines. Mostly they rode in silence, Cole’s heater on full blast to cut the night’s chill, the cab otherwise silent. Bart tapped his fingers on any surface he could find: the passenger-side window, his thighs, the dashboard. . . .

  “I don’t think I saw him drink more’n one beer,” Cole said, “but I guarantee he’s feeling a little loopy.”

  “He’s a good man,” Bart said, searching his pockets, the glove box, and the cab of the truck for his chew. “Can’t help picking on that simple fucker, but truth is, I love him more than just about anybody.”

  “I know it,” Cole said. “He’s been working his ass off back there. ’Course, we all have.”

  “Listen, Cole,” Bart began, “you actually think we can finish this project? ’Fore Christmas, I mean? You think that’s even possible?”

  Cole kept his eyes on the road.

  “Yeah,” he answered, “I do. The way we’re working, I think we might even have a week or two to spare.”

  They followed Teddy’s truck to his condo and watched their friend shoulder his tool belt up to the front door, where a light was still shining for him. Britney came to the door in a pink bathrobe, but she did not wave at Cole or Bart, just cracked the door open enough for Teddy to slide in, and then the light went out and they drove on.

  “Wanna beer at my place?” Bart asked.

  “Sure,” Cole said. “No reason for me to rush home.”

  “So, things between you and Cristina are still, uh . . . Look, I’m sorry, man. I been worried about you, but wasn’t sure how to ask how things were. . . .”

  “She reconnected with someone from high school, I guess. Guy’s a fuckin’ plastic surgeon down in Las Vegas, I think. She’s already posting pictures on the ’Gram. Driving around the desert in a convertible, fruity drinks at a poolside bar, nightclubs . . . Guess that’s what she wants. We sure never did any of that shit.”

  “No wonder you’re so gung-ho about camping out at the building site.”

  Cole thumbed at his phone as he drove and then, upon opening the Instagram account in question, passed it over to Bart.

  “Damn, she’s looking good, too. Sorry, amigo.”

  “What do you think of Gretchen? You think she’s married?”

  Bart sighed deeply. “You gotta abandon that pipe dream, brother. Ain’t no way, ain’t no how.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Cole said. “Better to just keep my eyes on the prize.”

  * * *

  —

  Bart’s apartment was a dump, really, a simple one-bedroom with a living room, galley kitchen, small “dining room,” and one dingy bathroom. Bart threw his keys on the counter, snagged two Coors out of the largely empty refrigerator, and passed one to Cole, who flopped down on the couch.

  “How are your knees?” Cole asked. “You ever go to the doc?”

  “I’ll make it,” Bart said, grimacing. “Soon as we get through this project maybe I can get ’em fixed up.”<
br />
  Cole peered around the apartment; it had been months since his last visit there.

  “Jesus, this place’s a sty.”

  Bart shrugged. “Don’t get too many visitors. I just need a place to crash, you know? A place for my mail to land.”

  The two men were quiet for a while then, just sipping at their bottles in the close darkness of that sad little apartment.

  “You dating anyone, Bart?”

  “Buddy, I just wanna get through these next three, four months. I ain’t even thinking about women right now. Get through these next four months, and then, I don’t give a shit what you and Teddy think, I’m taking a nice, long vacation someplace warm. That’s pretty much what I’m focusing on.”

  Cole drained the last of his beer bottle, kicked off his boots, and stretched out on the couch.

  “Where would you go?”

  Bart sat down heavily in an old, broken La-Z-Boy recliner and propped up his feet.

  “Panama,” he said at last.

  “Panama?”

  “Yep.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know.” He yawned. “I like sayin’ it.”

  Cole whispered, “Panama, Panama, Panama . . . Good-looking women down there?”

  But Bart had drifted off into sleep and, fully reclined in his chair, was already softly snoring. There was nothing to stop Cole from doing the same, and some three hours later, Bart rose from the chair, tried to shake his sleeping friend awake, and finally draped a blanket over Cole, shuffled into his room, closed the door, and fell into his bed, where he slept without any dreams at all.

  10

  The explosion the next morning at Teddy’s house came from Britney herself, who pulled all the sheets off Teddy’s sleeping body in a single flourish, like yanking the dining room tablecloth without upsetting any of the silverware or wineglasses. She did likewise with the curtains, and morning greeted him thus—bright and angry.

  “You came home last night smelling of beer,” she snapped. Then, her voice warming just slightly, “Come on, get up, okay? Help me get the girls ready.”

  He almost said, I only had one, but quickly thought better of it. Rising from bed, he stretched; his body was not as sore as usual and he wondered if the hot springs might have had something to do with that.

  “What’d you eat last night?” he asked, scratching at his belly.

  “I made chicken,” she said.

  “Chicken nuggets,” their eldest specified from the hallway, en route to the shower.

  “Hey, tiger,” Teddy said, reaching out to give Kelly a hug, only she ducked right beneath his arms and in a single motion managed to shut and lock the bathroom door.

  He roused the other three girls and then went down into the kitchen to pour their bowls full of cereal. A few minutes later they were at the table, wordlessly spooning breakfast into their mouths before rushing off, as if the meal had never happened at all.

  “What’s the hurry?” he asked. “Where’s everybody off to? I thought it was Saturday. Don’t you guys, you know, just hang out, watch cartoons?”

  “We’ve got swimming lessons at eight,” Kendall said. “Then Kylie has Spanish lessons before lunch—”

  “And I’ve got dance this afternoon,” Kodi said.

  “Where’s your sister?” Teddy said. “She still upstairs?”

  “Teddy!” Britney called. “Get your daughter out of the shower!”

  He climbed the stairs and moved quickly toward the bathroom, giving the locked door a solid pounding. “Hey,” he hollered. “I really wish you wouldn’t lock the door.”

  “I’m almost done,” Kelly shouted over the shower.

  “Yeah, well, you’re gonna be late,” he yelled back, though he had already forgotten what for, exactly.

  Suddenly Britney was at his side, tying her hair back into a ponytail and looking pointedly put out. “We need to talk,” she said. “Tonight, okay? And please don’t be late.”

  She kissed him on the lips, and he brightened up; she couldn’t have been too angry.

  “Look, I’m sorry about all that,” he said. “Bein’ late and all.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We understand. But we’ve still got a household to run here, you know? And we need your help. I need your help.”

  “I know it.”

  “Plus, you need to brush your teeth,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Dragon breath.”

  * * *

  —

  There was an hour-old text from Cole on Teddy’s phone, wondering if he wanted a lift, and Teddy responded that he’d come in on his own and be at the site soon.

  He had never developed a taste for coffee but stopped at his favorite gas station for a Mountain Dew and a breakfast sandwich, which he devoured almost immediately. He’d been losing weight, his pants hanging off his body; Cole and Bart could plunge through the day without ever eating, it seemed, maybe just two or three five-minute breaks where they gnawed at some warm jerky, tossed a handful of peanuts at their mouth, and drank ice water as if running a marathon. Then it was right back to it. It was still safely mid-autumn, yes, but this high up in the mountains, winter was always a threat, as if looming in the clouds just over the peaks, ready to descend upon them, sealing off the whole world for good until spring skipped back onto the scene. Cole, who wasn’t a religious man, had told Teddy that he’d been praying for this long, mild autumn to continue.

  Bill the mason was at the site early that morning. His pickup truck was pulled just outside the garage, a no-nonsense navy-blue Ford, its bed filled to the brim with good-size rocks. José was unloading, carrying as much as he could before pounding slowly up the roughed-in staircase to the second floor, where he made a pile near the hearth. Bill stood near the mass, looking over each rock, as if inspecting a crime scene. His chest seemed nearly as thick as two stacked concrete blocks, his black hair curly and his hands square and dry. Though shorter than Bart, Bill was as broad as a medieval blacksmith, and a jet-black push-broom mustache obscuring the man’s mouth, making it impossible to know if he was grinning, or frowning, or neither.

  “Mornin’,” said the mason, turning to greet the men. Teddy had the sensation of addressing a grizzly bear. He was hardly unaccustomed to meeting physically imposing men in the construction trades, but this Bill was a huge man.

  The four men stood in a sort of awkward huddle, brushing their boots against the plywood subfloor. And it seemed that if it were left to Bill, they might well stand there all day in complete silence, just the sound of his assistant plodding up and down the stairs, adding rocks to the pile near the hearth.

  “So, sounds like you’ve known Gretchen awhile . . . ,” Cole mustered.

  Bill nodded, offering nothing.

  The truth was, he’d known her almost twenty years now, dating back to that Taos house. They’d become close after one of the contractors on the job made a habit of hitting on Gretchen long after she’d loudly dropped a hint that she was not interested in him, and never would be. When the man cornered her in a closet of her own house and laid hands on her, she’d dropped him with a well-aimed knee to the groin, and after she called out for help, it was Bill who forcefully removed the man from the worksite, adding a strong right-cross that broke the man’s nose, before stuffing him into a truck and telling him to fuck right off.

  Not too long after that, they began a friendship that then warmed into something more. They both enjoyed discussing architecture and design, and both had an affection for the wild, for wide-open spaces. But ultimately, their lives were just incongruent. She was more or less wed to her work and San Francisco and he to his home in the desert outside Reno and to far-flung building sites in the American West. More than that, neither was much capable of compromise, so that even though they respected and cared for each other, maintaining both a sexual attraction and a genuine friendshi
p, ultimately, they were both too independent to be suited to long-distance exclusivity, let alone marriage.

  “How was it working for her on those other houses?” Bart said.

  “Good,” Bill replied.

  “Sure seems like a nice woman,” Teddy said brightly.

  Bill peered over his shoulder and outside the window. “Need my tools,” he finally said, and nodded at the three men before taking the stairs down into the garage and out of the house.

  Cole, Bart, and Teddy stood on the southern edge of the second floor, looking out at the landscape through the impressive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. They watched Bill walk slowly toward his truck, opening the cab doors and rummaging for what looked like a toolbox full of hammers and chisels.

  “He’s a fucking monolith,” Bart said under his breath.

  “Seems nice enough to me,” Teddy offered.

  “Everyone seems nice enough to you,” Bart joked.

  “Who cares, long as he gets his job done, right?” said Cole. Then, looking at Teddy, “You gonna be able to work next weekend, too?”

  “I told Britney I’d go to the girls’ soccer games.”

  “Leave him alone,” Bart grumbled. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Sure we will,” Cole said. “But we’re partners, Bart, remember? Three sides of a triangle. So I ain’t gonna be afraid to call either of you out if you’re not pullin’ your weight.”

  “Aw, get off it, Cole,” said Teddy, his voice rising in volume and pitch as he stepped in front of him. “Huh? I mean, you know I’ve been working my tail off a long time now—long before we even got this gig. I’m barely seeing my kids as is, barely seeing Britney. So I’m gonna take next weekend off to be with my family, okay? And after that, I’ll be dialed right in. You can count on it.”

  “You fuckin’ better be,” Cole said, knowing that with Teddy, it was often worthwhile to challenge his heart and commitment to extract the best possible effort.