Warner’s truck swerved dangerously to the right and slid toward the muddy shoulder of the primitive road leading into the lower Suiattle River valley. With a grimace, he applied the brakes and barely avoided taking them into the ditch.
“Would you please slow down?” Kendra asked, sharing the passenger seat with Bella.
When they reached the property, the gusty gray clouds, too weak to heave their wet loads over the surrounding mountains, began littering the forest with pellets of rain. Curving around the waterlogged drive near the workshop, Warner parked his truck near two others. One was an aging orange Ford F-150 with rusting equipment, loose trash, and hardened cement bags—now only good for traction and cluttering its bed. Beside it sat a brown-and-silver Chevy with rusted side panels and a pitted camper shell with black painted windows. The tailgate was down, revealing dented toolboxes and construction equipment, all shoved aside to make room for a lumpy twin mattress covered with an impressive collection of crushed red-and-gold beer cans.
When he and Kendra walked hand-in-hand around the large cedar tree at the corner of the worksite, Warner tried to contain his excitement. He spotted the local contractor, Russ Spurling, standing near the edge of the foundation. Tall and thin, in his early fifties, Russ was talking with an older, good-looking man with a logger’s build. The second man wore a wide-brimmed black hat covering pepper-gray hair buzzed to within an inch of his scalp. Both men had on blue jeans with knee-high waders—black rubber boots—and cheap plastic rain jackets that made a slow dance in the wet breeze. Russ’s jeans were damp and surprisingly clean, while the shorter man’s had concrete splattered down the legs. They each sported bulging midsections, sure signs of heavy drinking.
Noticing Warner and Kendra, Russ waved. The second man frowned, adjusted his hat, and joined two other crewmembers thirty feet away. While Kendra walked to the edge of the foundation, now two-thirds full with what resembled a soupy gray mud, Warner and Russ exchanged greetings and began catching up on the foundation’s progress.
“Hard to believe it’s actually happening,” Warner said, watching a young man set a j-shaped bolt into the wet concrete along the outer edge.
“Should be done in a couple hours. We’re waiting for the last load of mud,” Russ said, reaching into his rear pocket and pulling out a wad of wet papers. “I need a check to cover these and the crew time.” Russ handed him the receipts.
“Sure. I’ll get it to you before you leave,” Warner said, taking the papers and looking at the total scribbled on the top sheet.
“Hard as it is finding good help out here, I wanna pay the crew on time, especially Abe. He’s a damn fine worker and you’re lucky to get him.” Russ nodded toward the man wearing the black hat.
“That’s Mr. Tollman?” Warner asked.
“Yup, wasn’t sure he’d take your job, seeing this was his place back ‘fore he got burned out.”
“I should introduce myself.” Warner began to step away when Russ grabbed his arm.
“Wouldn’t say that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t know, being you’re so new to the valley, but the Tollmans lost more’n just their cabin in that fire. Damn near did a number on Abe and his son. Well as I hear, his wife’s a shut-in these days. They’s still bitter about what Holly done to ‘em. Hard enough for him and his family to put it aside when townsfolk still got loose lips flapping about. Be best if everyone’d just kept their traps shut.”
With a feeling of sympathy, Warner watched Abe reach into his lunchbox and retrieve a can of beer—like those in the back of the beat-up Chevy. His pity twisted into unease as the man popped the top and took a long drink as if it were bottled water.
“Didn’t selling the place help?”
Russ snorted. “That ain’t a drop in the bucket for what he’s owing. Most people’s in a bad spell out here—but Abe’s family gots it worse. Your money certainly wasn’t enough for a new house. He and his family been living with his wife’s folks over near Squire Creek. After the fire, the truss plant laid him off. To top it all off, after six months a not finding work, his unemployment ran dry. So here he is working for you on his old homestead, ‘spite the cost to his pride. I s’pose time’s being what they is, you can’t keep a dry horse from a water hole… or a broke man from hard cash.”
Warner watched Abe take out a second beer. “No one deserves that kind of luck.”
“Last I heard his boy, Luke, was bringing in some money. That should help ‘em out.”
I’m glad Abe’s boy has his stuff together. Maybe he can help his dad get back on his feet.
“While we’re talking…” Warner said cautiously, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for your crew to be drinking while working out here.”
“I don’t drink on site and Abe’s drinking never done no harm.”
“I’m just saying, if something happened while you guys were working for me….”
“You’re the boss,” Russ said, “but Abe ain’t gonna take kindly to it.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand.”