by Gail Sattler
“Hey!” he called out. “Watch it!”
A scuffle sounded, and Gwen appeared from the other side of the peak. “Oh, Lionel! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
He forced himself to grimace. “No, I’m mortally wounded.” He slapped both palms over his heart. “I need first aid. Artificial respiration would help.”
Another small piece of shingle hit him in the stomach. “In your dreams,” she muttered, and disappeared over the peak once more.
He couldn’t help but smile as he bent to pull off another section. It would have been nice, but what he pictured in his mind was more personal than artificial respiration. It hadn’t been long since they’d met, but he caught himself calculating the days until they were back at the home terminal. At first he hadn’t wanted to drive with her, and now he wasn’t ready for their time together to be over.
It had bothered him more than he cared to admit when she had said she was considering flying home. He didn’t know she’d been uncomfortable with him, even though the situation they found themselves in, especially as Christians, was admittedly difficult.
Lionel froze, then stared at the torn tarpaper in his hand without really seeing it. He had just realized he wanted more than a driving partnership with Gwen. He wanted a real relationship, both business and personal, something that would last. Today was probably going to be the only day he could use to build their relationship into something deeper. Once they were driving again, he couldn’t say or do anything that would make her feel compromised or ill at ease when they couldn’t get away from each other in the close confines of the truck.
When summer was over she would go back to her life as a teacher. Lionel wanted to be able to call her up when he was in town and spend as much time with her as she would allow. When they were apart, he would have his computer. He could always practice to improve his typing and send her E-mail messages, although he didn’t want merely a long-distance relationship. He needed the real thing.
“Coffee time!” Freda called out from below.
Lionel wiped the damp hair off his forehead. He rested his hands on his hips as he surveyed what they’d done so far. Only one section remained to strip, then they would begin stapling on the tarpaper. After that, they’d have to get the bundles of shingles lifted up onto the roof and start nailing them down. He had no idea how long such an area would take.
Gwen climbed up over the peak and stood beside him. “It didn’t look so large from the ground, did it?”
“No. I’m glad we started at sunrise.”
“Yes, it’s already starting to get hot.”
The stubborn lock of hair fell into his face again, and he swiped it away. “I don’t think it ever cools down in this part of the country.”
“That’s what I’ve heard too.”
He steadied the ladder at the top while she climbed down, and they joined Pastor John and Freda in the shade. When Gwen went inside to wash up, he added the milk and sugar to her coffee, then sat on the grass and stretched out his legs, waiting for her to return.
The pastor and his wife discussed some church business between themselves, which was fine with Lionel, because he didn’t feel like talking anyway. He lay down on his back on the cool grass, linked his fingers behind his head, and looked up at the clear blue sky, waiting for Gwen’s return.
While he waited, he anticipated her pretty smile as she took that first sip of the coffee he’d poured for her, just the way she liked it. She truly appreciated the little things he did for her, which made him want to do more.
He quickly nixed the idea of doing her laundry. She’d made it more than clear she didn’t want him looking at her stuff. Of course, he didn’t exactly like the idea of her handling his underwear either, even if it was to save time. He tried to think of something else.
Another thing she seemed to appreciate was when he played her favorite music in the boring moments on the road. Not that there were many boring moments. They seemed to fill almost every minute with conversation of some sort. Even when they weren’t laughing about something stupid one of them had done, their serious moments were equally as pleasant. They’d been open and honest with each other, talking about things he’d never spoken to anyone about, even his best friend. Yet, for everything they discussed, no matter how personal, they both had been able to tell before they’d reached the point of prying into an area best left alone. Every time they’d prayed together had been special too.
Not moving from his stretched out position on the ground, Lionel closed his eyes and smiled at his own thoughts. He’d caught himself plotting to impress a woman, something he’d never done, not even with Sharon, the woman he’d asked to marry him. At the time he hadn’t seen it. He could now, in hindsight, see where Sharon had worked to impress him without his knowing it, and it had worked. She’d done all the right things to feed his ego, and after living with the dysfunctional relationship between his parents, he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d been too starved for her attention to realize she’d been stringing him along. Instead of missing him when he was out driving, his absence had been convenient for her.
Gwen was different from anyone he’d ever known. She’d done nothing to impress him. Instead of feeding his ego to make him putty in her hands, as Sharon had done so well, Gwen pointed out his flaws and liked him anyway. She laughed with him, understood his weaknesses, and accepted him exactly as he was. Likewise, she took it in stride when he teased her. Even when they were working, they had fun together.
“Lionel? Are you sleeping?”
If he was, he would have been dreaming about her. He opened one eye. “Just relaxing.”
“I see you poured my coffee. Thank you.” He watched as she took a long, slow sip, cradling the mug in her hands and smiling, just like he knew she would.
He opened the other eye. “So, do I get a tip?”
Her eyes sparkled, her mouth opened, and he anticipated a smart comeback, but instead she glanced at the Funks, who were not necessarily paying attention but would clearly hear anything she said.
“Put it on my tab,” she said, winked, and took a second sip.
As soon as they were finished drinking their coffee, the three of them returned to the roof and tore off the last of the old shingles. Soon they had the new tarpaper laid out and stapled down, and next came the job of moving the new bundles of shingles from the truck to the roof.
Using a winch and a few lengths of rope attached to the steeple, Pastor John rigged up a way to raise the bundles of shingles to the roof. They worked quickly as the dwindling coolness of the morning gave way to the full heat of a summer day. Gwen pushed the bundles out of the trailer, Pastor John worked the winch, and Lionel insisted on being the one to distribute the bundles on the surface of the roof. As he carried each new bundle farther and placed it where it would be needed, he could feel the effects of the unaccustomed physical labor. Every bundle seemed to become heavier than the bundle before it. By the time he heaved the last one into place on the far side of the roof, he was dripping with sweat. He ached all over. He couldn’t see people doing this for a living. He much preferred sitting in his air-conditioned truck.
With every kink in his back and twinge in his arms, he reminded himself that this was work for the Lord.
He sat on the peak to rest, not having the energy to climb down the ladder for a glass of water. Gratefully he accepted one that Gwen brought up to him. He drank most of it, then, when no one was looking, he dumped the last bit of it over his head and wiped the soothing cool water down his face and over the back of his neck.
The work of nailing down the shingles wasn’t as bad as carrying them, but the heat of the noonday sun made it more difficult to endure and finally forced them to stop.
Freda filled four glasses from a pitcher, then picked up two glasses, kept one, and gave one to Pastor John. Gwen also picked up two glasses and handed one to Lionel, standing very close as he took it from her hand.
She leaned toward his ear. “Don’t pour
this one over your head, okay?” she whispered. “It’s lemonade, and this time it would be sticky.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Gwen pushed her damp hair off her face and smiled at him. Temporarily, he felt better. “Actually, it was a good idea, and I did the same thing after you did. Only no one saw me.”
“I’m not used to this heat. It’s really wiping me out.”
“The heat doesn’t help, but you’re the one who insisted on carrying all the shingles yourself. Are you crazy?”
“I couldn’t let an older man carry those heavy bundles up there in the heat. I’m in the prime of life, you know.” He made a fist and pressed it into the center of his chest. As he spoke, he could feel the wetness from his shirt seep between his fingers. The gel in his hair had given up its hold long ago and his damp hair hung in his face. He didn’t care enough to push it back.
In order to protect his knees when he knelt on the shingles, he’d worn jeans instead of shorts. The denim was also wet with sweat and stuck to his legs. His feet ached, made worse because granules from the shingles had worked their way inside his sneakers. He didn’t want to take his sneakers off, fearing that once they came off he’d never get them back on. He hit himself in the chest a few times and grunted like an ape. And why not? he thought, because by now he probably smelled like an ape.
One corner of Gwen’s mouth tilted up as she scanned him from head to toe. “Prime of life, huh? You look it.”
Lionel looked at Gwen. Even damp from the heat and showing the signs of heavy work, she still looked good.
“Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the Funks. “Let’s eat.”
While Freda opened the cooler, he went inside the church to wash up and splash some cold water on his face.
He longed for the air conditioning in his truck but settled for the quasi cool of the shade in the churchyard. While they ate, Pastor John shared many funny stories of his experiences over the years. Lionel looked forward to hearing his sermon Sunday morning. Being able to attend a service inside a real church was a rare treat for him, since he spent most weekends on the road.
Too soon they were back at work, nailing down the shingles. He didn’t know why he thought he would be able to talk to Gwen while they were working, because she was spending all of her time on one side of the roof helping Pastor John, and he was working alone on the other side of the building.
“Supper time!” Freda called from below.
Lionel dropped the hammer without a second’s hesitation. He was the first to wash up and be ready.
In the middle of their prayers before the meal, Freda’s cell phone rang. She excused herself to answer it, and when she returned, her face was pale. Pastor John excused himself while the two of them talked in private, then returned.
“A crisis has come up. One of our youth is in the hospital from what appears to be a gang-related incident, although he appears to have been an innocent bystander, not directly involved. I’m going to join the family in the hospital, and that means I’m not going to be able to do any more work on the roof today. I don’t expect to be back before nightfall.”
Gwen gasped and raised her hands to her mouth. “You mean there are gangs here? In a small town like this?”
“There are gangs everywhere, unfortunately. Although he was in the city when this happened. I hate to stop now, but this is critical.”
Lionel checked his watch. “We’ve still got lots of time. Leave us here and you go see to that family.”
Freda glanced between them, shuffling her feet.
Lionel smiled at her, knowing what she was thinking. “Don’t worry about us, Freda. If you feel you should go, then go. We’ll be fine.”
The Funks glanced quickly between each other. Freda reached into her pocket and picked a key off her key ring. “You’ve already got the church key. Here’s our house key. Help yourself to anything in our home, with our gratitude. We appreciate all you’ve done for us. I don’t know when we’ll be back.” She grasped his hand, then Gwen’s. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lionel and Gwen mumbled in unison.
Without further ado, the Funks hurried to the car and drove off.
Lionel rested one fist on his hip as he swiped a damp lock of hair off his forehead and gazed upward to the half-finished roof. “Do you think we stand much chance of getting it finished before nightfall? How much is done on the other side?”
“More than on this side, but there’s still lots to do.”
He sent Gwen up the ladder while he steadied it, then climbed up himself and got back to work.
Earlier he had worked alone in silence, but he’d heard Gwen and Pastor John talking as they worked. Even if he couldn’t hear the words they’d been speaking, he’d heard the sound of happy conversation. Now all he heard was the hammering and the resulting echo in the distance. It wasn’t nearly as comforting.
By the time they reached the peak, Lionel estimated under an hour until the sun would set. They worked quickly, with Gwen curving the shingles over the peak and holding them in place as Lionel hammered them down as fast as he could. Now that they were finally close enough to talk, he didn’t. It would have taken too much energy to speak and hammer at the same time. Stubbornness alone kept him going, boosted by the challenge to beat the sun before it disappeared.
“We did it!” Gwen half-cheered and half-groaned as he hammered in the last nail.
Lionel laid the hammer down. He’d never worked so hard in his life. He was so thirsty his throat felt like sandpaper, and his sweat-soaked T-shirt stuck to his chest in a most uncomfortable way. All he had the energy to do was groan as he let himself sink down, half-lying and half-sitting on the roof. He leaned his back against the slope of the roof, resting his elbows behind him on the peak, and bent his knees to use his heels to brace himself from sliding down.
“The sun will be down in a few minutes.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. He wanted to pull the wet T-shirt away from his skin, but he didn’t want to do something so disgusting in front of Gwen. Besides, he didn’t think he could move.
To his shock, she sat down beside him. He wanted to shift away, but he was too tired. If he had to get up, he wouldn’t sit down again, he would go all the way and get off the roof. Fortunately, he was downwind. They sat in silence and watched the sky turn colors as the sun set.
“Isn’t the sky beautiful?” Gwen asked with a wistful sigh. “Is it really true that if the sky is all pink and purple, it will be good weather the next day?”
“Sometimes, but I’m always moving, so I don’t stay with the local weather system for long.”
“It’s finally cooling down a little.”
He didn’t think so. He figured the temperature still hadn’t dipped below ninety, and even though he was covered in sweat, he was still too warm. He wasn’t used to the heat, and he didn’t like it. That’s why he had air conditioning in his truck. He could barely stand himself—he didn’t know how Gwen could sit so close to him. He also wondered why women didn’t sweat like men.
Gwen sighed again. “Old towns like this have always fascinated me. I wonder if some of the buildings nearby are heritage buildings?”
“I dunno,” he muttered, trying to shuffle over with the least amount of effort.
She pointed north. “I think that area with that lit-up cement square in the middle and the flag is the town core. I’ll bet the dark building is made of brick, and it’s the police station. That one with the flag in front would be city hall. What do you think?”
All he could think of was the need for a cold drink and a clean shirt. “Probably.”
“You know those old black and white movies, where at the end the people sit on the flat rooftop of some old apartment block, looking out over the city? We’re kind of doing the same thing. Isn’t that fascinating?”
He thought that women were supposed to find that kind of thing romantic, not fascinating, but
romance was the last thing he felt. He was sweaty, tired, thirsty, and he didn’t feel like talking. What he wanted was a long shower, then a bed. “I guess. I don’t watch old movies.”
Gwen stretched. “We should get down before it’s totally pitch-black. I guess the only way we’re going to get back to the Funks’ house is in the truck. I hope their neighbors don’t mind.”
At this point, Lionel didn’t care who minded. With every movement, his muscles protested as he slowly made his way down the ladder and then steadied it while Gwen climbed down.
As they approached the truck, which he had parked on the farthest corner of the small parking lot after they had all the shingles out, he nearly groaned aloud. He knew they’d be using the truck to get back to the house, but what he hadn’t considered was that it was still hooked to the trailer, and he couldn’t take the set through the residential neighborhood.
“Oh, dear,” Gwen mumbled. “We’ve got to unhook before we can go.”
If it wasn’t so far, he would have considered walking. He really didn’t want to go through all the work of unhooking, but he didn’t have a choice. He stood in one spot, staring at the truck and trailer, trying to motivate himself to move.
He felt Gwen’s light touch on his forearm. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to cringe away from her touch, but he really didn’t want her touching him when he was like this.
“Lionel? Is something wrong?”
He shook his head to get himself moving. “I’m just thinking about unhooking so we can get going.” He arched and twisted his sore back and began to unlatch the handle for the dolly legs.
Gwen didn’t move. “I know how you feel. I’m so tired. I don’t know if I can lift my arms.”
It gave him little satisfaction to know he wasn’t the only one feeling the aftereffects of the physical labor from sunrise to sunset, literally. He gritted his teeth and cranked down the dolly legs, and Gwen unhooked the air lines and set the back trailer brakes.
Once they arrived at the house, Gwen let him shower first, and he was soon back in the truck. It was all he could do to drive back to the church parking lot. He couldn’t remember ever being so tired. The second his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.
