by Arlene James
He blinked and looked around the room. She’d been reading up on tape and bedding. “I can take care of it,” he said, bringing his gaze back to her face. “All.”
Her relief was palpable. “Oh, good. New plasterboard would patch up some of the holes.”
He made a mental note to check the insulation before he nailed up any drywall. He’d bet his bottom dollar that this place didn’t have a lick of insulation.
“Of course, I’ll be wanting cabinets,” she was saying. “Nothing fancy, you understand. They don’t even have to have doors.”
He’d never build her cabinets without doors, but he just nodded.
“And I would love it if we could replace that nailed-over back door,” she went on. “I don’t like not having more than one exit, you know?”
“For safety,” he said, and she smiled.
“Now, this is the most important part,” she said, reaching over to place her hand flat against the rough boards covering the outside wall. “There’s a window under here, too, and I’ve always figured it would be the perfect place for an air conditioner. Some summer nights it’s just so hot out here that my babies can’t sleep.”
His mind was racing. How in heaven’s name had they survived an Oklahoma summer without air-conditioning? It meant 220 wiring, though. No doubt the whole place would have to be rewired. He wondered if this old house even had a fuse box. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying even as his brain whirred with what was needed: insulation, wiring, window, door, light fixtures, probably plumbing. Plasterboard and cabinets were way down the line. He made himself concentrate on the movement of her mouth and was stunned to read what it formed next.
“Two thousand dollars isn’t a lot, I know, but I can get together more as we go along. It ought to make us a good start, don’t you think?”
Sensing her hope and her eagerness, he couldn’t make himself say what was on the tip of his tongue. He told himself ruefully that before he’d lost his hearing and become unsure of his own speech, he’d probably have blurted out that a measly two thousand wouldn’t get this one room into really livable shape. Now he just covered his dismay with a nod and asked to see the rest of the house, explaining carefully that he needed to see what was behind certain walls.
She led him on a full house tour, which didn’t take long, even with the baby attached to her hip. He wondered if she was going to survive this child’s infancy with a straight spine, since she seemed able to walk only at an awkward angle while lugging the great brick.
Her bedroom was in the same pitiful shape as the rest of the place, but the tiny bath and second bedroom had been added to the house sometime in the past few years and were structurally sound, at least. Unlike the papered walls in her room, he couldn’t see daylight through cracks. No wonder she wanted drywall in the rest of the house.
When they reached the second bedroom she put the baby down for a nap in a wobbly old crib squeezed into the corner next to the low, cotlike thing apparently used by the little girl, judging by the ruffly pink spread. The baby wailed, his chubby face screwing up and turning dark red, but Becca just bent low and kissed him, patting his belly until he calmed and rolled onto his side. The child was still awake when she led Dan from the room, but if he kicked up additional fuss, Dan couldn’t tell and she didn’t let on.
Back in the living room, he sat down to talk over what was going to happen next. Dan felt a distinct catch in his chest as he began to marshal his thoughts. She had so little. If he told her what this place really needed, she’d no doubt be upset, but would still want to do what little could be done with the funds she possessed. He decided that, though he couldn’t lie to her, she didn’t have to be overwhelmed with all of it at once. Besides, he could save her some real money by simply using what he had on hand, like the base cabinets he’d pulled out of the garage apartment. He’d thought them too old-fashioned to use, but they were solid and about the right size. Originally he’d intended to recycle the wood, but, stripped and refinished, the cabinets would make a welcome addition to her kitchen, especially if he dressed them up with doors that he could build in his shop out back of the house. She need not know that they were used—or free. And he certainly didn’t have to tell her that he would take no profit on this job. That was his business, after all.
Jemmy crawled up into Becca’s lap as she waited patiently for him to speak, and he figured it was polite to at least smile at the child. She brightened noticeably when he did so.
“You’re right,” he told Becca, switching his gaze to her face. “Start in the kitchen.”
She closed her eyes with obvious relief. “Then you’ll do it? You’ll take the job?”
He nodded, waiting until she opened her eyes again to speak, realizing a heartbeat later that he need not do so. She could hear, for pity’s sake. “I will make a plan for you to approve.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said, still smiling. “Just do what you think best.”
“Best to have a plan,” he said, and she shrugged.
He rose. “Get my tape. Make some measurements.”
She hugged the little girl and bowed her head to say something to her. Jemmy looked up, delight and wonder in her eyes, and clapped her hands. Then suddenly she came off her mother’s lap, zipped across the small space that separated him from them and was suddenly standing on his feet, her arms wrapped around his legs in a childish hug. He could feel her breath on his jeaned thigh, the movement of her lips but he was too stunned to comprehend even that she was speaking until she glanced back at her mother and then turned her face up.
He caught the words nice man and Mr. Dan. He looked helplessly at her mom, but Becca just sat there smiling. With a lump the size of his fist in his throat he couldn’t have spoken even if he’d known what to say, so after a moment he gently dislodged the child and went straight out the door. Only as he was looking through the toolbox fixed to the bed of his truck did he once again regain his composure.
He took the plan to the store for Becca to see. It was a scaled-back, highly simplified version of the one he’d worked on almost nonstop for the past thirty hours. Hand drawn on simple white notebook paper, it was really nothing more than a floor plan of her kitchen with the cabinets, door and window set in place. He’d listed the work to be done, but it was only a brief overview and included such uninformative items as Basic Wall Preparation, Electrical Upgrade and Plumbing Adjustment, along with Door Installation and Cabinet Installation.
As he’d expected, she cared only about the final result, asking, “What color will the cabinets be?”
“Your choice. Paint or stain?”
She had to think about it, but then she shook her head. “Whichever is cheapest.”
He shrugged.
“Which is simplest, then?”
“Paint.”
She grinned. “I like yellow.”
He chuckled. “Exact color later.”
“When can you start?” was her only other question.
He checked his watch. If he could get to the building supply outlet in Lawton today, he could start work in the morning. “Tomorrow.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, and tears filled her eyes. Alarm shot through him.
“It’ll take a while,” he warned, but she shook her head happily.
“I don’t care. It’ll be started. You know what they say. Once begun, sooner finished.”
She turned to the cash register and opened the drawer. Extracting an envelope, she turned back to him, then carefully placed it in his hands. He knew what it was even before he thumbed back the flap. She’d just handed him her life’s savings in cash. Humbled, he quickly decided against trying to return it. Instead, he’d earn the trust she had just placed in him.
He left her a copy of the plan and drove straight to Lawton, some seventy-five miles distant. Surprisingly, he found a number of good sales, so the two thousand dollars bought him just about everything he’d need to get her kitchen
into decent shape. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one with a plan. He decided to let God worry about everything else.
It took him three days to get the kitchen wiring done, the new door and window framed in, the glass installed, the walls stuffed with pink fiberglass insulation and the longed-for plasterboard on the walls. Since the electricity had to be off, Becca and the kids stayed in town with her in-laws for a couple of nights, but by the time he got the door hung on the third evening she was there with both little ones and a bag of groceries in tow. She sent the girl back into the living room and gave the kitchen a careful look.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done,” she said, placing the bag on the table that he’d pulled across the floor and out of his way. “It’s ready for the tape and plaster.”
He nodded, feeling a spurt of pride. “Tomorrow.”
She adjusted the baby on her hip and smiled, looking around the room. “I could help,” she said, facing him.
He shook his head. “My job.”
She sighed, but he saw the smile in her eyes. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”
“Yes.”
“Hungry?” she asked, pulling a paper napkin from the bag and preparing to dust the tabletop. “I brought plenty. The least I can do is make sure you eat.”
He’d brought a sandwich for lunch, but the aroma of roast beef was making his stomach rumble now. Deciding that it would be impolite to refuse her offer, he looked at his dusty hands and checked his wrist for the time. Sixteen minutes after seven! No wonder he was hungry.
“Better wash up,” he said.
She nodded, and he moved toward the newly installed back door, picking his way around tools and scraps of building material. He felt something very light bounce off his back and stopped, turning. She pulled another napkin from the top of the bag. He looked at the wadded one on the floor, then back to her.
“Where you going?” she asked before starting to wipe off the tabletop.
“Spigot out back.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Why not use the bathroom?”
The bath was the most feminine room in the house, pink and flowery and as clean as a surgical suite. Cody had obviously added the room and the kids’ bedroom onto the house himself and managed a fair job of it. No doubt he’d have had the whole place whipped into shape by now, had he lived. Instead, Dan was doing the work. It didn’t seem right, and Dan was never more keenly aware of that than when he was standing in her little bathroom looking at her pink fixtures. He couldn’t help wondering if Cody had installed them to please her. He certainly would have.
Shaking his head, he slapped at the legs of his jeans and said, “Too dusty.” Then he escaped out the back door to bend over the rusty old faucet at the corner of the house. By the time he returned, Becca had unpacked a number of disposable containers from the bag, and the girl had dragged the high chair in from the living room, where he’d moved it.
Becca was talking, but he didn’t try to follow her, his interest taken by the food as she opened the containers. He saw sliced brisket, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw and a thick, rich barbecue sauce. She held up a bundle of butcher’s paper and unwrapped it, displaying three large pickle wedges and small banana peppers. He reached for one of the pickles, mouth watering.
She inclined her head toward the root cellar. “There’s bread in a box on the steps.”
He bit off a hunk of the tart pickle as he moved to open the flimsy cellar door. Inside, about four steps down a steep flight of rickety stairs, sat a cardboard box full of foodstuffs that Becca had removed from the kitchen shelves the night before he’d started work. A plastic bag of sliced white bread lay on top. He stooped and picked it up by the wrapper. By the time he carried the bread back to her, Becca had set the table with paper plates and plastic forks.
Jemmy hopped up on one of the pair of available chairs, but Becca spoke to her, and she started getting down again.
“Stay there,” Dan said, reaching for a short step-ladder. It made a tall but adequate stool when he sat on top of it. Becca put the baby in his chair and sat down.
Four people seated around a rectangular table in the littered kitchen made for a very crowded room, but Becca’s smile and his own satisfaction in a job progressing well overrode any awkwardness as Becca began filling plates. She piled his high, and he let her, suddenly ravenous. From pure habit he began to bow his head, then he felt a jolt as Becca took one of his hands in hers. Jemmy’s little hand slid into the other. His gaze flew to Becca. She had bent her head but lifted it again, eyes closed, as she spoke a simple grace.
“Thank You, Lord, for all Your many blessings, family, home, this delicious food and especially for Dan and all the good things he’s brought to us. We have need, Lord, and You’ve sent this fine man to help. Bless him for his willingness to share his talent.”
Dan felt a kick inside his chest. A fine man. He inclined his head and silently asked God to make him worthy of that description. When he looked up again he saw that Becca and Jemmy watched patiently. He looked at Becca and followed the seemingly natural impulse to squeeze her hand. She smiled. It was like warm sunshine bathing the cluttered, half-finished room. She pulled her hand back and began eating. Jemmy did the same, so he dug in to his own food.
“Good,” he said after swallowing.
She nodded and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before saying, “John Odem cooks a couple times a week for the deli case. Monday it was a huge ham and macaroni and cheese.”
Dan nodded. “I bought some. Real sweet.”
“Yeah, he likes that brown-sugar-cured ham.”
They concentrated on the meal for some time, then Dan noticed that Jemmy reached for one of the small yellow peppers on the butcher paper with the pickles. He shot a quick glance at Becca, who smiled and said, “She eats them all the time. John Odem again.”
Dan chuckled and watched with interest as the little girl gingerly nibbled the succulent yellow flesh. “Hot?” he asked when she met his eyes.
She shook her pale head. “Nah, na if yont ea te sees.”
“Not if you don’t eat the seeds,” he repeated carefully, realizing that she was eating around the ball of seeds inside the pepper. She nodded and kept nibbling. He felt an odd glow of pleasure. Children were often difficult to understand because they didn’t always get words right, but he’d followed Jemmy. She was smart for her age, or maybe her diminutive size made her seem younger than she was. “How old are you?” he asked.
She grinned and held up four fingers, spouting rapid-fire words, few of which he caught this time. Lost, he looked to Becca, who ducked her head to hide a smile before lifting it again to say, “Jem’s telling you that she had a party on her birthday, which is February tenth, and that you’re invited next year. It’s going to be here in our ‘newed’ house, by the way.”
“Newed?” he repeated uncertainly.
Laughter danced in her soft green eyes. “Abby told her the place was going to be ‘like new.’ So in her mind when you’re done it’ll be ‘newed.”’
He glanced at Jemmy and smiled. She beamed at him with something akin to hero worship. Just then something flew right past the end of his nose. He looked down to find a corner crust of bread on the table next to his plate. When he glanced in the direction it had come from, he noticed that both Jemmy and Becca were laughing. Even CJ, who had obviously launched the missile, judging by the white stuff oozing from his fist, was grinning broadly, showing off the few teeth he possessed.
“I’m sorry,” Becca said. “He saw me throw the napkin to get your attention earlier.”
Dan looked at the boy, and something in that little face seemed to be saying that he craved the same attention that Dan had been showing his big sister. Without even thinking about it, Dan picked up the scrap of bread and tossed it back at the boy. It was just long enough and just curved enough, incredibly, to hang on the boy’s bit of a nose. For an instant Dan couldn’t quite believe what had happened, and
neither, apparently, could anyone else, but then the little imp grinned, put back his head and laughed so hard that his round little body jiggled all over. His whole being seemed to light up, even as he collapsed into the corner of the chair, laughing. The kid was so purely tickled, that crust of bread now clasped in his plump hand, that everyone was laughing, Dan included. He laughed so hard that his chest shook and tears gathered in his eyes. It almost hurt. He hadn’t laughed like this, felt this good since…so long.
He wiped his eyes and looked at the smiling faces around him. It was time to be happy again, time to stop licking his wounds and concentrate on the good in life, on the good that he himself could do.
Chapter Four
“You don’t have to keep feeding me,” he said slowly.
Becca had noticed that when he spoke carefully and precisely, his tone often lacked inflection, but when he blurted out or tossed off words, his speech was almost normal. This sounded like something he had rehearsed, at least in his mind, and she wasn’t at all surprised. They’d enjoyed several meals together in her quickly evolving kitchen, and though he often seemed pleased and relaxed, she had identified a growing unease, a certain tension developing between them.
“You have to eat,” she said, making sure he could see her face as she laid out the food. “Besides, it’s the least I can do. You’re working long hours, and you can’t be making much money on this job.”
When she thought about the material he’d used so far, she wondered if he could be making any profit, especially considering those cabinets. Even without the doors, which he said he was still building, they improved the room a thousand percent. And then there was the cookstove, which he’d said was used. She had no reason to doubt him, except that he’d pretended not to see when she’d asked where he’d gotten it. She kept wondering if his garage apartment had an empty space where the cookstove used to be, and the idea made her cringe inside. She wasn’t above a certain amount of charity, frankly, but even she had her pride.
