“Steve. Steve,” she said, loudly enough to get him to pause in the middle of his monologue, “I know you’ve researched this, but I have to tell you — I’ve literally done this exact thing, in a building a lot like this one — ”

I was surprised by her vehemence. She was basically shouting at him, gesturing with both hands. I looked down at my boots.

“You can call your brother, you can call him right now,” she went on. “Tell Dale what you just told me, you ask him if that’s a good idea. It’ll never pass inspection that way, and that’ll set us back weeks. It’s not worth saving a couple hundred bucks.”

He had his hand on his hip and a tight, furrowed expression on his face. He squinted at his phone again, as if double-checking, and then looked back up.

“Alright,” he said. “You win, Irv. You go take Kieran to go get those materials you say you need.”

“Thank you,” she spat, and stormed out. I heard the truck start in the driveway.

“God, what a headache,” he said, running his hand over his face. “That’s why I have her,” he continued, resignedly. Then, as if he just remembered that I was there, he looked up and me and snapped, “What are you doin’ just standin’ there? Go get in the truck.”

Irvine didn’t seem upset when we were driving to Home Depot. “God, your dad is stubborn,” was all she said. “He always sees reason in the end, though.”

“He’s always been that way,” I offered.

“I bet you know that better than I do.”

“I’ve never seen anyone — challenge him like that,” I said.

We were at a stoplight. She rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. “I mean, I’m not his kid. And I was a woman working construction, y’know? I know how to talk to guys like that.”

I wanted to ask her how she had ended up doing that, but I realized it was the wrong question. She probably didn’t have an answer either.

After we crossed through downtown, we drove for a few blocks through the long, low-slung warehouses in the Fingerle Lumber Yard, near the field where the marching band practiced.

“It’s crazy that this place is still here,” she said. “This place used to be a hangout spot when I was in high school. I’d come here at night with friends, with girls.”

“When was that?” I said. I realized I didn’t know how old Irvine was.

“Mm, twenty-ten or so,” she said. “Did people go there when you were in school?”

“Yeah, in college too,” I said. “Then they installed those floodlights.”

“Mm, yeah. Less appealing after that, I bet.”