Her insides twisted as she reached for the pry bar, her fingers gripping, squeezing tight, like she was trying to choke it, but the metal was cold, unyielding.

She was sure that she couldn’t have made that sledgehammer drop. She was just a girl. A powerless, school-skipping, odd girl whose mother had run off and whose father was making hope where he could find it.

She was a terrible, cruel girl for wishing him harm. It was like spanking a little baby for crying because it was hungry.

He smiled at her now, his whole face lighting up. “Won’t your mama be surprised,” he said, “when she comes back home and finds things fixed up so nice. A brand-new house. That’s what it will seem like. Won’t she be happy then?”

FRAMING

CHAPTER 7

Helen

JUNE 8, 2015

They were just finishing framing the downstairs when the sky opened up.

The house had truly begun to take shape. The subfloor was in and the four outer walls were up and braced; the interior walls framing the pantry and mechanical room were done. They were attaching the final bathroom wall when thunder shook the house; lightning struck so close Helen could feel the electricity in the air, smell the ozone. She’d never seen such a powerful storm. Was it because they were higher up in the mountains here, closer to the sky?

She stood in the center of their newly framed downstairs, surrounded by the two-by-four framed walls—the skeleton of the house—watching the storm, feeling the storm.

Nate was stressed because they were behind schedule. The plan was to be finished framing the entire house, including the roof, in six weeks, and it didn’t look like they’d make it. Helen wasn’t worried. She’d worked with her father enough to know that it was normal to be a little off schedule and over budget. They’d get it done. And they were moving a little faster each day as their skills and confidence improved.

“It’s not safe out here!” Nate yelled over the downpour and rumbles of thunder. Off in the distance, they heard sirens. They got their tools under cover and sprinted down to the trailer, laughing at how soaked they got. They changed into dry clothes and Helen made a fresh pot of coffee. The thunder and lightning let up, but the rain continued. They sipped coffee and watched the rain fall, feeling cozy and content as they listened to the lovely sound it made on the old tin roof of the trailer.

“What should we do with ourselves?” Helen asked, looking at the stack of papers on Nate’s makeshift card-table desk in the living room—the house plans, the building timeline, the endless to-do lists and schedules. Surely there was some rainy-day project for them to tackle.

“I say we take the rest of the day off,” Nate announced, and Helen was thrilled.