He sighed and put one hand on the cab of the backhoe. Working to find his usual easy-going manner, he turned to face her. “Sure, adults.”
“Okay then, that’s settled,” she said.
He climbed into the cab of the little machine, but she didn’t leave. Evidently, she had more to say.
Sometimes, he really missed the army, where a man was left alone to figure out how he was going to get a job done. Of course, half the time he’d had no tools, or the wrong tools, or no plans, but at least he wasn’t continually interrupted. “Did you need something else?” he asked, revving the engine to show his impatience.
“Yes, I wanted to let you know that trailers are being delivered tomorrow, and I don’t want to put them in your way. We need to coordinate.”
He backed off the throttle.
“The trailers still need a lot of work,” she explained, “so I’ll want them near my place. Then when they’re finished, I can move them onto the lots.”
He motioned toward her trailer. “Well, according to the plans, your trailer isn’t where it should be.”
Her eyes flitted to the trailer and back. “It’s not?”
“No, it’s about twenty feet too far south.” He pointed. “See where the stakes are?”
“Nothing was marked when I came in,” she said shading her eyes again as she looked for his markers. “I can move it later. Is it in the way for you to work?”
“No, it’s fine where it is,” he said. “If you just keep the new ones a few feet south of those stakes, they’ll be fine. What are they?”
She watched his finger, fascinated by his hand, then looked back to his face, her expression blank. “What are who?”
He tried again. “The trailers being delivered tomorrow, what are they?”
“Oh,” she blushed. “Vintage trailers, smaller than mine.”
“Really,” he said, interested in spite of himself. “Huh. Where are they coming from?”
“Arizona. I have a guy there who takes in the trailers I find online and makes them structurally sound, then sends them on to me.”
“I see,” he said, but his expression said he had all kinds of ideas about whoever he was.
She waved him off with one hand. “It’s not like that. Burt is old. He agreed to work for me, on the trailers.”
Embarrassed to be caught caring, Alex was relieved nonetheless. But if Burt wasn’t the guy who’d sent the flowers, who was? “So, what exactly do you mean by structurally sound? Were they falling apart?” he continued, putting aside his morbid curiosity about her love life.
Katherine relaxed a notch, her face brightening. “They were, actually, so yes. I prefer trailers from the ‘50s, but most of them are not in good shape.”
He leaned back into the seat, charmed by her excitement. “What all does Burt do to them?”
She motioned with her hands. “Strip them down to the frame usually and replace all the rotted parts. It’s a big job.”
Alex couldn’t help but notice that when she talked about her trailers, she was different -- animated. The dour look she usually wore was gone. He wanted to see more. “What shape was your trailer in?” He motioned toward her home.
“It was a mess.” She ticked off the damage on her fingers. “Water damage, flat tires, rotten wood, rust. It took months to restore.”
He grinned, unable to stop himself from being drawn in. “Do you have pictures of it like that?”
She nodded and started to say something, but then she remembered who she was talking to, and her demeanor shifted, shuttering once again. “I’ll show them to you sometime.” She took a few steps back, nearly stumbling on the uneven ground. “I should let you get back to work.”
He hated to see the moment end, but he did have work to do. So without another word, he offered a wave and revved the engine.
* * *
As Katherine marched back to her trailer, she grumbled under her breath. “I should have looked at the prints, of course all the depths and locations are on there.” She opened the door and tromped inside. The roses on the counter greeted her, and she couldn’t help but smile sadly.
Julia had been so upbeat about her trailer and her plans. Their conversation had been nice, in an uncomfortable kind of way. But once they’d started talking business, they ‘d easily spent an hour going over the plans. With the visit about work, not chit-chat, it had been easier to open up and get Julia’s opinions.
Had the visit been strictly girl stuff, or worse yet, about Alex or her past, she wouldn’t have been able to bare it.
But Julia’s input about the trailer park had been valuable. Katherine had already decided that she wasn’t going to do a lot of formal landscaping, but there would be a common area with enough lawn for a volleyball court and picnic tables, as well as a fire pit area and seating around it. Most important though was an area beside the trailers that Katherine wanted to look like a patch of wildflowers. Julia had assured her that she could make it happen, but Katherine had her doubts. Making something look natural was much more difficult than making it look planned.
Each lot would also have a patio area, concrete would need to be poured so the trailer steps wouldn’t sink into the mud when it rained, but gravel would do for now. They’d also discussed putting in a small patch of grass for each lot. The budget may or may not allow for that now. That may have to wait until money was coming in.
She had planned ample funds for construction until the park was up and running with steady cash flow. She simply had to stick to the plan and not get excited and go on a spending spree. Building the park was definitely a large investment, but she felt confident that it would be a success. Already, she was making connections with vintage trailer people and glamping groups across the country, as well as reaching out to groups interested in remote destinations, such as writing retreat planners and family reunions.
She knew she could rehab and sell trailers for income as well, if she had time outside running the park, of course, but she hoped that the park would stay busy enough through the good weather to keep her hopping. Keeping busy was the best way to be content, in her mind anyway. Idle hands and all that.
The digging machine outside growled and dropped another bucket of dirt, but she was determined not to look. Soon enough Alex would be finished and out of her way. But the thought held a sting, as well as relief.
* * *
Alex stared through the windshield at his apartment over the garage. Then, with a soul-deep sigh, he shuffled through paperwork, ignoring the heat, pretending to review his work for the day. In truth, he simply needed a few more minutes to gather enough strength to get up the stairs. Running the excavator had taken a toll on his leg, and the pain was killing him.
The work was coming along though, and he was pleased with his progress. His dad had been smart to get him out of the house and working, even if his heart wasn’t necessarily in it.
Mac’s work truck pulled into the drive behind Alex.
Watching in the rear-view mirror, Alex saw the older man climb from his truck, rub his forehead in a tell-tale way, then slam his door. Alex knew that look and it wasn’t good.
Noticing his son in the truck as he passed, Mac motioned for Alex to roll down the window.
Knowing his dad had something on his mind, Alex cranked down the window. “Hey, Dad.”
“Come on into the house,” Mac said, his manner terse, leaving no room for discussion.
“Wh—” Alex started, but Mac was already unlocking the back door. Understanding that his dad wasn’t going to wait, he organized his paperwork, placed it on the console, and opened his door. With a groan he stretched his bad leg out, grimacing as pain shot up his thigh. His range of motion was definitely getting better, and his strength was improving, but he wondered if the pain would ever let up. Finally, he stood, rubbing the length of his leg, then closed the truck door and headed for the house.
Determined not to let his dad see his pain, Alex pasted on a grin and stepped into th
e kitchen, but Mac was nowhere in sight. “Dad?” he called, but no one responded, so he headed to the fridge. The rush of cool air on his face felt good, so he stood for a long moment contemplating the sad assortment of food his dad kept on hand. Choosing a bottle of Gatorade, he left the door of the fridge open as he twisted off the cap. “Dad?” he called out again. He tipped up the bottle and gulped down half of the contents before he heard Mac’s footsteps in the hall. Quickly, he returned the cap and put the bottle back in the fridge.
“Alex,” Mac blurted. With a determined expression unlike his usual demeanor, he tromped across the room.
Alex’s grin faded. “What’s going on?”
“Your sister-in-law and the kids are on their way over, and I want you to be nice.”
Alex scowled. “I’m always nice.”
Mac ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “I know, but you’re not going to like this.”
“Like what? Why?”
The sound of a van pulling into the driveway drew both their attention, setting Mac into motion. “Come in the living room,” he ordered, grabbing Alex by the arm.
Caught off guard, Alex stumbled on his sore leg, trying to keep up. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Is somebody hurt or sick?”
“It’s nothing like that,” Mac said, practically dragging his son through the doorway, then shoving him toward an overstuffed chair. “Just be happy, no matter what, you hear me?”
When his father used that tone of voice, Alex knew the man meant business, so he nodded. “Okay.”
He didn’t have long to wonder what was going on, as the back door burst open and his two nieces tumbled over each other in their excitement to get through the kitchen and into the living room.
“Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex, you’ll never guess—” little Mary shouted, her face flushed with excitement.
“It’s a surprise!” Lucy interrupted, pushing her sister to one side so she could climb into Alex’s lap.
The little girl’s knee dug into his sore thigh as she scampered up, and Alex struggled to cover his flinch and smile at his niece.
Mary wasn’t to be outdone, so she too climbed onto his lap, giving her sister a nasty look. “Don’t pig him!”
“I’m not pigging him!” Lucy argued.
“Where’s your daddy?” Alex asked the kids, but his question was ignored.
Mac was busy watching someone in the kitchen, then he waved his arms to shush the kids. “Don’t fight, girls, tell Uncle Alex the big news.”
The little girls forgot all about their rivalry, their faces once again lighting up. “Let’s show him now! Can we show him now?” they exclaimed over the top of each other.
Alex was about to intervene, when a black and white, French bulldog puppy scuttled around the corner from the kitchen and hurtled into the living room. Unable to stop his forward momentum, the little dog careened directly into the side table, knocking the contents on top flying.
Alex’s sister-in-law followed on the puppy’s heels, her face glowing red with annoyance. The girls jumped off Alex’s lap to chase the dog, and all manner of pandemonium broke loose.
Relieved that the hubbub was about the girls getting a puppy, not someone being ill or in danger, Alex relaxed back into his chair, content to watch the others chase the energetic little dog.
Soon the pup was caught, and Lucy brought it to Alex, unceremoniously dumping it onto his lap. Trying to ignore the pain in his leg under the dog’s paws, Alex smiled down at the little thing. It grinned back up at him with his funny Frenchie face, featuring oversized ears, and characteristic bulging eyes.
“What’s his name?” Alex asked, looking from the girls, to his dad, then back to the dog.
“You choose!” Mary said, clasping her hands in front of her, with joy shining through her eyes.
“Yes, you name him!” Lucy agreed.
Alex glanced at the girl’s mother, then to Mac. “I – I can’t name your dog,” he said to his nieces.
“It’s not our dog,” Lucy said. “It’s yours!”
He shook his head. “Don’t be silly. I don’t have a dog.”
“He’s a special dog for veter-narians,” Lucy explained. “We got him special for you.”
“No, stupid,” Mary corrected. “It’s for veterans. You’re so—"
“Don’t call your sister names,” their mother corrected, then her gaze came up to meet Alex’s, and her expression was hopeful but unsure. “He’s a service dog.”
The puppy put both paws on Alex’s chest and panted happily. His pink tongue lolled from one side of his mouth, but Alex wasn’t pleased. He clasped the puppy around the middle, ready to put him on the floor and put an end to the nonsense, but his father stepped up behind the kids and gave Alex the evil eye, causing him to freeze.
The little girls gathered around Alex. “He’s so special; he flunked school.” Lucy said, glancing to her mother for support. “Didn’t he, Mom!”
Alex’s sister-in-law flushed. “We’ve been looking at service dogs for a while,” she explained. “Your brother and I, the girls too, we’ve all been very worried about your leg, and we wanted to get you something to help.”
Mary placed one grubby hand on Alex’s knee, her expression intent. “I want you to run with me again,” she said.
Run? He may never run again. A knot formed in his throat and he swallowed it down. Pressure built behind his eyes and his palms began to sweat. His pulse rate increased, and he felt as if he had to get away. The little dog yipped one time, then burrowed his head into Alex’s armpit. With only his butt showing, his stumpy tail beat back and forth rhythmically against Alex’s arm and chest.
Unsure what the dog was doing, Alex looked first to his father, then his sister-in-law. “What – what is happening here?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.
“He’s comforting you,” Mary said. “Do you feel better?”
“Did he make your leg not hurt?” Lucy asked.
The girl’s mother cringed, giggled at the sight, then tried to explain. “There’s a waiting list for service dogs, and we didn’t think you’d go to the classes. But this little guy failed the program, I guess because… he’s… a little goofy.”
Alex looked at the dog’s wiggling rear-end protruding from under his arm and had to agree with that statement.
“Anyway,” she continued, “he was free, so—”
“So, he’s all yours!” Mary yelled.
“I helped too!” Lucy added.
Feeling truly and completely trapped, Alex took in the smiling faces of his nieces, then tugged the puppy out from under his arm. Lifting the little dog, he scrutinized its goofy, black and white bulldog features. Evidently, he owned a service dog dropout.
* * *
Becky leaned down to peer into the police car. “I don’t know, Ned; I haven’t seen her.”
The sheriff deputy turned down the squawking radio on his shoulder. “Don’t you find it odd— that the newest member of our com—community keeps out of sight?”
Becky grinned, loving the handsome young deputy’s stutter. “Not really,” she replied, propping one elbow on the base of the car window. “She has a bit of a history here, as you know. She’s probably worried that we’re all gossiping about her.”
Ned frowned, feeling guilty about doing exactly that, but it was his duty to keep track of goings-on.
“That girl’s poor little mother ran out of town in shame, and Katie has never been too sure what folks here think of her. And then there’s her old fling with—”
“Shame?” the deputy interrupted.
“Oh, she’d had a romance with that handsome South American man who spent a summer with Hershel and—”
“Wait,” Ned interjected with one hand raised, trying to keep up. “Who had a r—romance with who?”
“Katie’s mother,” Becky huffed in exasperation, straightening to gesture with her hands. “She hooked up with that suave author from Brazil. And since pretty little d
ark-haired Katie showed up 19 years later, fresh out of high school, I can only assume—”
Unable to follow Becky’s story, Ned stopped her again. “Author?”
“Yes!” Becky sighed. “He came here to write some textbook about World War II pilots, and since Hershel was part of all that, the old man invited him to stay for the summer.”
Ned nodded in understanding. “And you think Katie’s mom left because of the b—baby?”
Becky rubbed her lower back, deep in thought as she bit at her bottom lip. “Well, you were just a kid then, and things were different.” She motioned in dismissal, her rings flashing in the sunlight. “Oh, I don’t think anyone would have given her any guff, but with him being a foreigner and all…”
Ned knew what it was like to be different than everyone else in a small town, and what it felt like to keep a secret hidden. He nodded in sympathy and hoped Katie would decide to join in the community.
Chapter Eight
It was well past dark, but the breeze from the window didn’t come close to cooling down the trailer. Katherine tugged on her sneakers, then grabbed a flashlight and headed out the door. Once around the back, she stuck the flashlight under one arm and heaved open the door of the shipping container she used for storage. The bobbing circle of light from her flashlight landed on the gas can and she scooped it up. The can was lighter than she expected, meaning she was low on gas.
This generator business needed to end, but that wouldn’t happen until the electricity was connected. Maybe she’d jumped the gun arriving before the electricity, but she’d wanted to be here to supervise. Yet one more drawback of being overly uptight.
Heading toward the generator, her spirits dropped further. Being dirty was one thing, but being unbearably sweaty and sticky-hot, 24 hours a day was agonizing. Even if she used some of her precious water to wash off, she’d sweat through the whole bath. She sweated while she slept, while she ate, while she worked. Would she ever be cool and dry again? She was nearly out of clean, or even semi-clean laundry too. Even the thought of a dreary Laundromat sounded good if it was cool inside. Belatedly, she realized how many years of her life she had taken air-conditioning for granted.
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