Cole called a stop to the work day around 4:30. Amanda went to the nearest tailgate and took a seat. She tugged off her sweat-soaked gloves and dropped them beside him. Using a flannel shirt she’d worn in the cool of morning, she dabbed at her face, wiping away a gritty mixture of sawdust and sweat. Larry pitched her an icy bottle of water from a cooler. Amanda stuck the bottle to her head and the back of her neck, enjoying the cold sensation before twisting the cap off. She sucked the bottle down in a single drink and was hit with a nearly debilitating wave of brain freeze.
When she recovered, she snapped a quick selfie and applied a filter that emphasized the sweat and grit of sawdust caked to her face. She thought it made her look tough. Description: Building houses with my dad. The struggle is real. #mynewlife #westernNC #chickswithtoolbelts #carpenterchicks.
She posted it.
"You seem to be doing a little better than last week, little girl," Larry said. “I think you’re adapting.”
Amanda smiled. If she was getting stronger it was only by very small degree. She still felt pretty whipped. “Slowly but surely.”
Larry shook his shirt out. He’d been the “cut man” today, running the saw and cutting the lumber to the size the framers requested. He brushed accumulated sawdust from his forearms.
Amanda noticed a tattoo on Larry’s bicep. It was the Roman numeral three surrounded by a circle of stars. “What’s that tattoo mean? My dad has one just like it.”
Larry looked at the tattoo, held it up for Amanda to get a good look. “Three Percenter.”
“Is that, like, a biker thing? I think I’ve heard about it,” Amanda said.
“Hell no it ain’t no damn biker thing,” Larry snapped, genuinely offended, “that’s one percenters. Completely different.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said. “I didn’t know. What’s a Three Percenter?”
"One Percenters are outlaw bikers. Three Percenters are different. Did you know that during the American Revolution only three percent of the colonists fought against English tyranny?”
Amanda shook her head. She didn’t know.
“It’s true. Only three percent. Modern Three Percenters are a response against the encroachment of the government on the constitution. We’re the patriots who are willing to stand against government oppression.”
“I didn’t know my dad felt that strongly about the government.”
“Everybody should care that strongly about their freedom,” Larry said. “Or you’ll wake up one day and it will be gone. I’m only fifty-two years old and you’ll never experience the freedom in your life I had in mine because so much has already been taken from us. Right under our noses.”
“Like what?”
Larry patted Amanda on the shoulder. “Don’t get me started or I’ll never stop. You’ll quickly get tired of listening to an old man bitch about all the things he thinks are wrong with the world.”
Cole wandered over to the truck and removed his tool belt, dropping it with a thud into his truck tool box.
"I was just going to ask the little lady here if you wanted to come over after work and do some shooting," Larry said. “We need to get this girl proficient with a firearm. Have you been shooting lately, Amanda?”
“Some,” Amanda said. “But only when I visited dad. Fox wasn’t big on guns.”
Larry started a profanity-laced mumble that Amanda didn’t catch all of, but she thought she caught Fox’s name in there somewhere.
“I’m always up for turning money into noise,” Cole said. "Your house?"
Larry nodded. He had a decent home shooting range. Cole found himself over there once or twice a month shooting with Larry. There was a constant stream of regulars who also shot there. Some of them Cole knew pretty well. Others were associates of Larry's that Cole only knew in passing. There were cops, business folks, all types, solid people.
"I’m going to drag the grill down to the range. If you want to, bring something to throw on for dinner.”
Cole patted Amanda on the back. "We'll do it. Sounds good. We’ll probably be there around 6:30 or so.”
Amanda slid off the tailgate. Inertia had already started to take effect on her. Since she was no longer working, her muscles stiffened and it was hard to get moving again.
"You need a hand, old lady?" Larry asked.
"I might."
"It's okay. There’s nothing wrong with being tired. You've done a good day’s work and you've earned it. It’s something to be proud of," Larry said. "That's not something a lot of people can say anymore."
"Why not?" Amanda asked.
Cole slapped a hand over his face and shook his head.
Larry took the hint. “It’s another one of those things I’m prone to rant about for a long time if I get started. We’ll save it for another time.”
Cole grabbed his daughter by the arm and tugged her away from the truck. "If we don't get moving he'll go on about this for two hours. Once he gets started he doesn't like to stop."
“You know it’s the damn truth!” Larry called after them, laughing.
Cole finished packing up his tools with Amanda’s help, rolling up cords and air compressor hoses. Five minutes later they had everything secured and were dusting off by the truck cab. Cole carried a towel with him and used it to brush the damp sawdust off his exposed surfaces. When he was done, he grabbed his Smith & Wesson M&P Shield from the dash and tucked the holster into the appendix carry position.
"You carry that everywhere?” Amanda asked.
Cole climbed in the truck. “Everywhere I’m legally allowed to and probably a few places I’m not.”
“Fox said he owned a gun but he never carried it. I never even saw it,” Amanda said. “I tried to get him to take me to the range a couple of times but he didn’t want to go. He didn’t like shooting.”
Cole let that pass without comment, knowing anything he said would have been rude. It wasn’t that he particularly cared about being rude, but neither did he want to tear into someone Amanda probably cared about.
Amanda changed the subject. "Larry has some strong opinions, doesn’t he?"
They coasted down the gravel road off the job site. They were in deep forest. This home was on a private lot deep in the mountains. It was a beautiful site with an excellent view. Places like this were a pleasure to spend the day.
"Yeah, Larry gets riled up about a lot of things. He can be out there on a tangent sometimes but he's damn good guy. A lot of folks we’ll shoot with tonight are like Larry. We can undo a little bit of that Beltway brainwashing you probably went through over the last couple of years."
Amanda didn't respond.
"That was a joke," Cole said. "I don’t think you’re brainwashed.”
"It’s not that, Dad. I just need to talk to you about something. I made a down payment on a bicycle in town on Saturday and I planned to go by after work this evening and pick it up. I was hoping I could still do that. I didn’t want to be rude to Larry but I kind of planned on it."
Cole was quiet. Amanda didn’t know what his silence meant because she was still figuring her dad out. Coming back here to visit on the occasional weekend and for time in the summer was not the same as living with him constantly. Amanda didn't understand all his mannerisms and the nuances of his behavior yet. She wondered if her dad was mad at her.
"No, it’s cool," Cole replied. "You can shoot with Larry anytime. I can take my truck over to his place to shoot. You can take the jeep and pick up your bike but I want you to come straight home. By dark. Are we clear?"
Amanda grinned. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it."
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Despite her pleasure at her dad’s response, it nagged at her that his attitude was so contrary to the impression her mother had given her. She’d made him out to be unreasonable and difficult. Amanda was finding none of that to be true and it made her sad for a variety of reasons. It again stirred the feelings of disloyalty to her mother and guilt for having misjudged her
father.
The drive from the job site back to their house followed scenic mountain highways. It was beautiful country, densely forested, with jagged hills. The angular evening sun made deep shadows in the valleys. Amanda found the scenery to be hypnotic and was surprised at how quickly the drive passed. Soon they were creeping up their driveway.
Cole backed the enclosed cargo trailer in front of the combination garage and shop building. "If you’ll give me a hand unhooking this trailer, I’d appreciate it."
Amanda climbed out the door before the engine was even turned off. She’d helped her dad do this several times now and knew the routine. She threw a couple of blocks of wood behind each wheel as chocks, then pulled the pin that allowed her to swing the jack down into position. By the time Cole joined her, Amanda had already unhooked the safety chains and thrown the lever to release the hitch.
Cole leaned over and began cranking the jack. "You must be pretty excited about that bike. You seem to be in a little bit of a hurry."
"I just want to get there before they close," Amanda said.
"I think you're safe. This time of year they don't close until dark because they all run shuttle services for bicyclists."
"I think I’m going to take a quick shower then."
With a jolt the hitch uncoupled. Cole gave the jack a few extra cranks to make sure the ball hitch of his truck was clear and wouldn't snag the trailer when he pulled his truck away.
"A shower? To go pick up a bike?"
Amanda shrugged. "I'm new here, Dad. I don't want to have people in town thinking I'm like some homeless chick or something. I reek and I’m covered in sawdust."
"Suit yourself. It's not like I care how many showers you take."
"Do you need anything else before I go inside?" Amanda asked.
"No, but thanks for asking."
Amanda sprinted for the house in a manner that left Cole standing by his truck and scratching his head. He had no idea what was up with the kid. He grabbed the two lunch coolers from the cab of the truck and headed into the house. By the time he sat the coolers in the kitchen floor, he heard the bathroom door slam and the shower start up. Cole decided to get his shooting gear together while Amanda occupied the shower.
When his wife left him, taking their daughter, Cole had suddenly found himself with more house on his hands than he needed. When he finally got tired of looking at all of the empty rooms he took one of them as an office. There was a desk and a filing cabinet for the business end of his construction company, and a bookcase filled with building code manuals, construction books, and plan books.
The other downstairs bedroom served as a junk room. He had his gun safe in there and his outdoor gear. Several units of plastic shelving held sleeping bags and backpacks, along with several totes of dehydrated meals for spontaneous camping trips.
The mountains of North Carolina, with their dense forests of fragile pine trees, were prone to power outages in snow and ice storms. For that reason, anyone living in the mountains, if they had any common sense, maintained some level of preparedness. Besides owning a couple of generators, Cole had a way to hook them to the house and keep it powered. There was a wood stove in the basement that would heat the entire house. He stored water in jugs in the basement but a nearby stream would keep him supplied if he depleted those. He had several ways to cook and was certain he could live quite comfortably for up to six months without power if he had to. He wasn't obsessed with preparedness like some people but he was aware that bad things could happen at any time. If they did, he wanted to be ready.
On one of the plastic shelves was a rectangular tan bag that held Cole's range gear. The bag had padded compartments for handguns and slots for magazines. Certain items, such as hearing protection, eye protection, gun tools, a rangefinder, and a trauma kit were always in there and ready to go.
Cole punched in the combination on his digital safe and swung the door open. Inside, motion sensitive LED lights kicked into action and illuminated the interior. The sight always brought a smile to Cole's face. While his gun collection was not as large as some, Cole probably had way more than he would ever need. Still, it was like his friend at the gun store said, “You shouldn’t ask whether you need that gun or not, because any day you actually need a gun is probably a really bad day.”
Besides camping and doing a little fishing, shooting was one of Cole's primary sources of entertainment. He had a little range of his own at the house where he could shoot in the evenings if he wanted to. It was the perfect way to blow off steam and stay proficient. Cole's primary carry weapon, an M&P Shield, was still on his belt. He kept it with him every day but didn't wear it on the job site because it got too nasty from the sawdust and sweat. It was always close by though. He held firmly to the belief that no one would protect him, his family, and friends with the same determination he would. There was also the fact that they were probably looking at a twenty to thirty minute response time if they had to call the police. By that time someone would be dead, and it wasn’t going to be him.
The top shelf of the gun safe had a rack for handguns. Cole drew out a 1911 and a handful of loaded mags. He slid it into the range bag and grabbed a Glock and a Springfield XD. Knowing Larry liked to run carbine drills, Cole grabbed his go-to AR. He had several but this was one he built himself from a Bravo Company upper. It had a Geissele trigger and a Vortex scope with an illuminated reticle.
Cole kept several Army surplus ammo cans already packed with loaded AR mags and he grabbed two of them, taking them to the front door. He took another two and confirmed they contained the 9mm and .45 rounds for the pistols he would shoot. It took him three trips but he carried everything to the truck and secured it for the drive. By the time he finished, the shower had quit running and he could hear dresser drawers opening and closing in Amanda’s room.
Cole went to his own room and threw out some clean cargo pants and a T-shirt. He pulled off his own sweaty clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket, took a quick shower, and by the time he was out, Amanda was standing in the door of his bedroom waiting on him.
Cole studied his daughter curiously.
“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me funny?”
"Did you fix your hair?"
Amanda made an unconvincing, dismissive expression. "No. Not really. Just kind of pulled it back a little."
“Oh. Just wondered.” Cole was thinking there must be more to this bike story than he’d been told but he would respect Amanda’s privacy. To see her excited and engaged was a positive thing. He didn’t want to turn it into a negative by interrogating the kid.
“Keys?” she asked.
“Hanging in the kitchen,” Cole said. “You know the drill?”
Amanda nodded. “Be careful, don’t speed, and be home by dark.”
Cole smiled. “You got it. I’ll see you around then.”
Amanda was gone in a flash.
“Must be a hell of a bike,” Cole said to his empty room.
12
Even though her dad assured her the bicycle shop stayed open late in the summer, Amanda was relieved to drive by and see the Open sign in the window. She eased into the gravel parking lot and killed the engine. She put her phone in selfie mode and checked to make sure her hair looked okay, knowing full well her dad would give her shit if he was here to see it. Good thing he didn’t get close enough to notice she’d sprayed on a little perfume. She shoved her phone in her pocket and went inside.
Ben waved to her. Her smile back was involuntary. She couldn't recall ever having this sort of instantaneous attraction to a guy but she was aware there was no guarantee he felt the same way. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he thought she was a toad-faced gargoyle. Then came a wave of self-doubt that she struggled to pull out of.
"I'm back for the bike,” she burst out, anxious to distract herself from the downward spiral of her thoughts.
"I thought you would be,” Ben said. “I went over it today and checked it out. Everything is
tightened, oiled, and inflated. You’ll have a good bike."
He reached under the counter and flipped through some paperwork, finding what he was looking for. He placed it on the counter and then punched some keys on the cash register. He gave Amanda the total of her remaining balance and while she was counting out the money he asked, “Do you have a helmet?”
"No, it's been a while. The last one I had was a Disney Princess helmet that matched my bike."
“I’m sure it looked cute on you,” Ben said. "I can throw in a helmet. We usually only do that with new bikes but I'll make an exception this time. Just remember us if you need something else down the road. We appreciate your business."
"Oh, I'll be back. You can be sure of that."
He looked up at her and smiled at her over-exuberance. She smiled back, realizing she was probably acting like a complete idiot. From the way Ben quickly looked back down at the cash register, she wondered if she’d accidentally given him one of those goofy serial killer smiles. She found she did that sometimes when she was nervous.
Amanda dropped some bills on the counter and slid them across to Ben. He made change, then gave her a receipt and some paperwork on the bike. They went to the helmets and he showed her what they had in available in basic, entry-level helmets. It was pretty simple. Black or pink. She chose black because she’d never been a pink kind of girl. Next, they went to the shop portion of the store where Ben removed her bike from a service rack. Since her hands were full, he pushed the bike out the back door for her.
"Which vehicle?"
"The Jeep."
"I have a Jeep," he said. "It's a good vehicle for this area. Do you like it?"
She shrugged "It's my dad's. This is only the second time I've driven it."
"Is he kind of possessive about it? Jeep people can be like that."
Amanda shook her head. "No, it’s not that. I was just living with my mom. I haven’t been down here long." She didn't want to get into any further detail. If she started talking and it turned into crying, it would just become awkward for both of them. That was the last thing she wanted.
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