I look at him and smile. “I always knew you were a good egg, Fred. Don’t blow it.”

Their laughter gets louder, and I find myself surprisingly comfortable in their midst. Even Burt’s arms uncross for once.

“All right, then,” Burt says. “Let’s work together. You figure out what you need us to do, and we’ll get it done. You have our word.”

I blink back tears. “And you have mine. I’ll give you work and walk away. But if you don’t do it . . .”

They all laugh again.

“I’m kidding,” I say, relieved to have the pressure shifted off me. “Thank you, guys.”

“We want to save our jobs, too, you know,” Fred says. “I’m too old to find another one.”

“We’ll do our best,” I say. “That’s all we can do.”

They all nod and, slowly, begin to go back to their tasks. Within a few minutes, it’s just me and Burt alone in the office.

He comes around the corner and stands in front of me. Suddenly, he’s not quite as burly, not as rough as I usually paint him to be. Seeing him like this—a bit softer and a touch vulnerable—paints our previous interactions in a different light.

“I know we don’t always get along,” he says.

“That’s putting it nicely.”

He chuckles. “But that’s probably because we’re cut from the same cloth. Now, don’t get all violent about it,” he says as I start to protest. “I just mean we both like stuff done in our way and appreciate getting to call the shots. It helps us sleep at night.”

I can’t argue with that. It’s true.

Maybe Burt isn’t quite the jerk I had him pegged to be. Maybe he has a lot on his plate and a shop full of guys who rely on him, and maybe, just maybe, he’s doing the best he can.

Like me.

He starts to walk to the door, and I follow.

“You’ll hit an age, Palmer, when you realize that it’s not all about the job.” He holds the door open for me. “It’s about the people you work with. It’s about the freedom the job gives you to go home and enjoy your family because, believe it or not, my wife actually likes me. I think.”

I giggle as we come to a stop at the path leading to my office.

“We’ll get through this. But don’t you spend all your time here. Make sure you’re at home with your kid too. Those are the hours you can’t get back.” He nods. “Now get up there and shake off this feely shit and get back to work.”

He tosses me a wink and walks toward the yard.

“Hey, Burt,” I call after him, my voice floating in the wind.

He turns and looks at me.