Cracked Foundations

I developed something of a rhythm: poke holes, rip down, move ladder. Poke holes, rip down, move ladder. And so on.

Andy came by, said I was doing a good job, and brought some of his equipment in. Then he made me break for lunch, and drink some water, which I'd neglected to do and now felt stupid for. Truth was I'd gotten so involved in the ceiling that it had just slipped my mind.

Over lunch on the porch, Andy and I chatted and I asked him something that had been on my mind.

"Andy, do you think this is worth doing?"

"What do you mean?" he asked as he bit into his second sandwich.

"All of this." I gestured at the house. "It's a lot of effort and a lot of money. You can tell me if it's not, I don't mind." I smiled at him. "I'll pay you to keep going even if you don't think so. But my brother says I'd be better of knocking it down and selling the land."

"Don't mind me saying so, Miss Natalie, but your brother's an idiot."

I almost choked on my water. Andy looked concerned but I waved him off and laughed. "No, no, it's all right. I couldn't agree more."

"Some things are worth keeping, some aren't. What one person says is worth it, another one won't. Can't let someone tell you what's worth doing."

"No, I know that." I ate some of my salad, and reminded myself to bring more food the next day. "But still. I love this house, I spent a lot of time here growing up and everything, but . . . this is a lot of work."

"I don't waste my time on work that's not worth doing," Andy said. After another bite he continued, "If I thought this house wasn't worth the effort, I'd have said so, and so would Stan."

"I do believe you would have." I took another look around the room. "You know, I really want to do this. At first I just thought yeah, I'll do that, but now . . . now it's important to me."

"Then it's worth it." Andy nodded as though that settled everything.

I pondered that while I went back to tearing out the ceiling. There did have to be a point where it wasn't worth it, I thought, and I believed Stan would have told me so. Surely, there had to come a time with a building when there were too many pieces to replace, and tearing it down was the better option, even if it meant he didn't get the work.

I spent the rest of the afternoon alternately thinking about Stan and the house, and thinking about nothing while I tore down the ceiling. The room was looking more and more like a tornado had come through as I kept at it. At one point a huge chunk of the ceiling fell down, along with a wall, and I let out a yelp that brought Andy running.

He came in, looked around, then looked at me and started laughing.

"What? It's not my fault it came down like that," I protested.

"You should see yourself," he said. "Good thing we're down South in the summer. You'd be lost in a snowstorm."

"Oh, great. I think I'll save that surprise until I get home."

"Wipe your face," Andy advised. "You don't want that dust in your eyes." He went back to his work.

Despite the safety glasses, he had a point. I ran a finger over my cheek and could feel the grit on my skin. I probably looked like the Pillsbury doughboy. Deciding it was time for a break, I went into the kitchen to clean my face and get more water to drink. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window and had to laugh; I looked like I'd stepped into a bag of flour.

I drank one more glass of water, made a mental note to bring a bottle of water or three the next day, and went back to work. When the last piece of ceiling hit the floor, I felt a sense of accomplishment for the first time in ages. My arms were tired and I knew I'd feel it later, but I grinned.

Natalie 1, ceiling, 0.

Stan wasn't back yet, but I didn't have anything else to do and desperately wanted a shower. Andy was still working, so I told him I was finished and heading back to the apartment. He came out and inspected my work, pronounced it well done, and said I could go.

I told him to call me if he needed anything and left. A shower had never sounded so appealing. I was itching now that I had stopped working.

Stan

With James all but yacking my ear off as he sat next to me, I followed the big truck with my dumpster up the street. I had James hop out and directed him to where he needed to off load it, as I pulled in and went to find Andy. The big mason was around the back of the house, running a backhoe. I could see where he had cleaned out one side of the foundation all the way down to its footing.

"ANDY!"

The big machine went silent as he spun the seat around and shut it off.

"Hey Stan, what's up?"

"I need you to come move your truck. The dumpster is here."

"Sure. Well hell, here." He tossed me the keys. "Just pull it out of the way."

"Okay. Have you seen Natalie? Her car isn't here," I asked before he could crank the backhoe again.

"Yeah. She got finished and left." He chuckled. "She looked like a powdered donut."

Nodding, I left him to work and walked back around. The truck had gotten turned around and the driver was talking with James. I had to head that off; James could waste half a day if he had someone to talk to.

"James, pull Andy's truck out the way, then get that dumpster unloaded. I've got to go check something inside." I tossed him the keys. He fumbled them for a second, then managed to catch them. The driver hopped back into his big truck.

"Sure." he told me with a grin as he walked to the mason's pickup. The look on his eyes as he crawled up into Andy's truck made me want to cringe, but he pulled it out the way smoothly.

With the big truck's back-up beeper screaming, I walked into the scene of destruction. There was more devastation in the hallway than in some third world countries. I saw where a huge section of the ceiling must of come down in one piece. The rotted wood, from the upstairs bathroom, had given way and crashed down with the lathe and plaster. It had also pulled off part of the wall's plaster, but given that that wall was coming down anyway there was no harm in that.

"Oh, I'm going to hear about this one," I said to myself, as I stepped over the rubble and walked into the living room. In there I found more or less what I expected. Large pieces of wood lathe and flat chunks of plaster littered the floor. Thick clumps of blown in insulation was all over that. The air hung heavy with floating dust, telling me it hadn't been too long since she left.

"Well, this looks like a bomb went off," said James, walking in behind me. "Everything in the dumpster, right?"

"Yep. Shovel it all up. Don't damage the floor under the cardboard. Finish tearing the rest of this wall down. It's mostly just rotted wood. When you're done, give me a call, if it's not to late, or give me your time in the morning. Either way works."

"Sure thing." He handed me the pink paper receipt from the truck driver. "Hey, thanks again for the overtime."

"No problem. Just get it done, and don't take all night," I told him with a smile.

Leaving James to work, I was walking out to my truck when my phone rang. Seeing the caller ID I flipped it open.

"Stan's donut shop. Powdered homeowners are our specialty today. Can I put you down for a dozen?"

I could imagine Natalie’s eyes rolling skyward as I opened my truck door.

"No, thank you, I've eaten enough powder for one day. Stan, your plumber is here working on my shower drain. Is there any way that I could use your bathroom to get clean? I'm about to itch to death."

I heard the near desperation and exhaustion in her voice. Having been there a hundred times, I smiled.

"Of course you can. There's a spare set of keys to my door under the flower pot on my back porch. The yellow one, with the dead plant in it." I listened to her fumbling around for a few moments, then heard the set of keys rattle. "The small key is for the screen door."

"Thank you," she said with a relieved sigh.

"No problem. I'll see you in a little bit."

"Stan. About the hallway ceiling," she started to say.

"Sorry, can't hear you Natalie, you broke up. I must be driving through a bad area." I revved my engine a little. "I'll be there in just a little bit."

It was on the way home, while I was stopped at a Pop's Donuts, that I remembered that Sally was on her way to my house to drop off Rowena. How I could have forgotten that stumped me the rest of the way home. With the smell of hot glazed heaven sitting next to me and my mouth almost scorched from too-hot coffee, I said prayers to whoever was listening that there were no police between my house and here. Shelly would give me hell if I was late.

The motor on my Dodge pickup loved the deep drink it got to take from its gas tank. I could almost hear it gnawing on my wallet to fill it back up by the time I turned into my driveway.

My ex-wife pulled her Toyota Prius in right behind me. Shelly hardly had the car stopped when Rowena hopped out and ran to my side of the truck.

"Hi, Daddy." She brushed a kiss across my cheek as she reached past me and grabbed my keys out of the ignition. "Bye, Daddy!"

With a puzzled smile, I watched my daughter sprint towards the house. Looking over towards the garage, I saw my friend Robert's plumbing truck still pulled up in front of it. His tool boxes were opened and the tailgate on the truck was down. As I swung my leg out the truck I nearly caught Sally in the knee with my foot.

"Sorry. Didn't see you there. What's up?" I asked, as I got comfortable so I could enjoy this lecture. I hadn't expected her to even get out of her car. Talking to me in person was not her favorite thing.

"Stan, I need you to—"

We both jumped when we heard screams from the house.

Natalie

I clutched my towel and waited for my heart rate to go back to normal. Who was this? And what were they doing in the bathroom? Didn't people knock?

"I'm—I'm sorry." A young girl, mid-teens, stared at me with her hands over her mouth.

I relaxed as I recognized Rowena from her picture. She was older, but it was easy to see she wasn't all grown up yet.

"It's okay." I caught a glimpse of us both in the foggy mirror and had to laugh. Rowena looked over, looked at me, and leaned against the wall in a fit of giggles. That set me off even more and I almost sat down in the tub so I wouldn't fall.

"Hey, everybody all right?" I heard Stan's voice from down the hall.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine," I called back. I tucked the towel around my hair in and pulled the other around my body. Rowena glanced up, her laughter subsiding although her shoulders moved with a few chuckles. She had her father's eyes, and sense of mischief, I could see.

"Hi, I'm Natalie," I told her.

She stood up and shook my hand. "I'm Rowena. Look, I'm really sorry. I just needed a bathroom really bad, and ran back here."

"No problem." I stepped into the hall. "Your dad told me you were coming. Go on, don't want to keep you waiting any more."

"Oh, thank you so much." She gave me a grateful smile and went into the bathroom. I shook my head and turned to go into the guest room for my clothes.

"Stan, who the fuck is this?" A woman with blond hair in an updo and more makeup than the Sephora counter glared at me.

"Shelly, this is Natalie Reynolds. Natalie, this is Shelly, Rowena's mother." Stan's voice was even, but I could tell it was an effort.

I decided to make an effort as well. "Hello, Shelly. Nice to meet you." I held out a hand.

Shelly swatted it away and whirled on Stan. "What the hell? What are you doing with naked women in your fucking house when I'm bringing my daughter over here?" She jabbed a finger at him; her nails had to be over an inch long.

"She's my daughter, too, Shelly," Stan said. "And Natalie is staying in the garage apartment. She was using the shower here because someone's working on the one in the apartment."

"And you didn't think it was worth mentioning that?"

"I would have, if you'd given me the chance."

As they glared at each other, I tried to calm things down. "Look, Shelly, I'm sorry to surprise you, and Rowena. Stan's helping me fix up my house, and—"

"Is that some kind of code?" Shelly sneered. "I'll just bet he's 'fixing up your house.'"

My temper started to flare, but I tamped it down for Stan's sake, and Rowena's. "Look, this is all bad timing. I do apologize for scaring Rowena. If you'll excuse me, I'll go get changed." I took a step toward the guest room but Shelly stepped in front of me.

"Listen, you bitch, you are going to get out of—"

"Enough!" Stan's shout startled all of us, including Rowena, who had just opened the bathroom door. She looked around wide-eyed, and settled on me. I gave her a little head shake to indicate she shouldn’t say anything, and she nodded in return.

Shelly did not. "Don’t you yell at me, for Christ's sake! I'm not the one with fucking naked women in my house!"

"Shelly, calm down and let's go in the other room." Stan's voice was calm, but I could tell he was angry. I had a feeling we wouldn’t like it when he was angry.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," I said, and Rowena started to echo me.

Shelly swiveled to face me. "Look, you little cunt, I don't need—"

"That's it!" Stan grabbed Shelly's arm and hustled her down the hallway.

I grabbed a robe from the guest room and followed them with Rowena, who looked a little upset.

"You okay?" I asked her.

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. "It happens a lot. I wish it didn't, so I just try to make myself scarce."

I couldn't help myself; I put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I understand. I really am sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said. "Mom always finds something to yell about."

Given the raised voices I heard from the living room, I believed her. Rowena and I walked up to the doorway, but decided not to go in.

"You have no right to call her that," Stan thundered. "Natalie is a client, and a friend, and there is nothing going on. I love Rowena, and I would not do anything to hurt her. You know that, as much as you hate to admit it!"

"You always have clients naked in your house?" Shelly shot back.

"It's none of your fucking business if I do."

"The hell it isn't! I am not bringing my daughter here if you are going to be flaunting the flavor of the week in front of her."

"This has never happened before and you know it."

"And it won't happen again, because I am taking her home with me!"

"No, you're not," Stan said through gritted teeth. "It is my weekend with Rowena. You can't just take her away."

"Watch me," Shelly said icily.

"Dad, it's okay," Rowena piped up. "I'll go."

"Sweetie, no, you don't have to." Stan turned to her and I saw regret all over his face. I felt terrible.

"I want to stay, I do, but I have a lot of homework," Rowena said. She went over to Stan and gave him a hug. "I'll come next weekend, I won't have so much to do."

"Don't count on it," Shelly interjected.

"Mom, knock it off, please," Rowena said. "Natalie seems really nice, you're just making a scene."

"Do not talk back to me, young lady!"

"Mom, please." Rowena gave her mother a look, then kissed Stan on the cheek. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'll come next weekend, okay?"

"Okay, sweetheart, if that's what you want." He smoothed her hair down and kissed her forehead. "You really don't have to go. We can stay in, you can do your homework here."

"No, it's all right." She smiled. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay."

Shelly left in a huff, Rowena trailing after her. After they were gone, I looked at Stan.

"Stan, I am so sorry. Really." I remembered I was still in a robe over a towel, and pulled it closer around me. "I feel terrible about this."

"It's not your fault." He ran a hand over his head, then over his goatee, a habit I found endearing. "Shelly can take anything and make a scene out of it and make it anyone's fault but hers."

"If I went away for the weekend, would Shelly bring her back?"

"What?"

"I could find a room at a hotel for a couple of days or something. It's not a big deal, and we could use a break from all the work on the house anyway. Look, I'll get changed and—"

"No."

"Stan, really—"

"Natalie, no." He stood and shook his head. "That's crazy. Look, I could have fought this, but I know it hurts Rowena. Shelly and I have had it out before about different things. She looks for anything she can to hurt me. I'm lucky Rowena's smart enough to see through it. She knows I love her." He sighed. "Kills me sometimes, when she does stuff like this. She shouldn't have to."

"No," I said quietly. "She shouldn’t. You're a good father, Stan." I walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "A good man, and a good father."

He caught my hand. "Thank you."

I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded and went to the guest room to dress. When I was ready, I apologized again and went back to the apartment.

I decided make myself scarce over the weekend. Stan hadn't seemed mad, but part of me thought he had to be. I had cost him an entire weekend with his daughter; how could he not be angry?

I woke up early the next day and decided to take a walk while the day was still comfortable. Southern summers took some getting used to, and I hadn't been down for a summer for years. I was acclimating, remembering the heat, the humidity, and how a cold iced tea with a little mint made it more bearable.

For a while I didn't think about anything. I walked and looked around. The trees were thick with deep green leaves. Rose vines hugged the wrought-iron fences along the sidewalks. The air heavy with their scent. Houses as old a mine, and some in worse shape, stood back from the street like guardians of history.

After a while my mind felt clearer and my thoughts wandered back to the house, and to Stan. I felt a little less guilty about the night before. It had been an accident, and I couldn't help it if Shelley was going to go ballistic without warning.

I'd apologized, I'd been nice, but I knew now that none of that mattered. Stan and Rowena were both right, Shelley would have found something to get upset about no matter what. I had unfortunately given her that reason, but I couldn't have known that.

Stan had been terrific, too. I smiled at the memory of him defending me to Shelley. If I hadn't been attracted to him before, that had sealed it. I didn't know exactly what he thought about me, but he wasn't uninterested.

Stan

With the weekend behind us, I knocked on the apartment door early on Monday morning. Natalie opened the door, ready to grumble, but blinked in surprise when I handed her a cup of tea.

"Wow," she said as she took a sip. "I can't remember the last time someone brought me tea. Thanks, Stan." She gave me a grateful smile.

For some reason this made me feel stupidly pleased with myself, that I could make her this happy with a cup of tea.

She was ready to go, although she couldn’t hide a yawn.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Fine. Just trouble sleeping sometimes." She climbed into the truck.

I wondered what kept her awake.

As we pulled up in front of her house, I looked over to see that Natalie had leaned her head against the window and fallen back asleep. I hesitated to turn off the key. A desire to watch her sleep was suddenly so strong in me. It had been years since I laid in a bed and watched a woman sleeping. Not since Shelly in fact.

My lovers since then, while not exactly many and varied, had all been the type to leave after we had sex. The few that had stayed the night had been light-sleepers who woke when I did.

Letting my eyes drift across her I took in the innocent beauty of her. The lovely hair, so silky looking. Those few strands of gray, that were starting to highlight their darker companions, did not detract from her. Rather, they added a mature beauty to her that a younger woman could not have matched. No artifice of cosmetics could give that subtle tint of color to her cheeks, that smattering of freckles, that I just then noticed, across her nose. Those faint lines by her eyes that told of years of laughter.