Barrett enjoyed the time he spent with them. He considered volunteering for the fire department after this was over. Anything to break the monotony. All he did was go to work as one of the on-site mechanics at the Chrysler dealership in Osage, in that little town by the new interstate. He was still single despite trying. At the age of twenty-five, in the country, that felt worrisome. Most of the women that were single out here at twenty-five were divorcées.

They built the house slowly over the course of four months. Barrett was sleeping in a crumbling farmhouse on his dead uncle’s property about five miles south. Barrett had been lucky enough to buy a couple acres on a little set of hills above the floodplains flanking the Missouri river. It was good, open territory. He bought a bright red mailbox and made himself a nice gravel road.

Half the house sported linoleum and the other sported carpet. The walls went up quickly and then they got it winter-proofed. The wiring and plumbing went in without incident. Barrett kept drawing things out, finding things to complain about, making last-minute requests. He needed another outlet. The kitchen should have a ceiling fan. What about a bay window in the living room? The firemen thought him reasonable overall and always obliged, but as they celebrated at the end of a day of work, Barrett would cross his arms and stare at the home, lost to himself.

The firemen were not psychologists. They were firemen. That meant that they built houses.

So this is it, then? This is what I got myself into. I can live my life out here alone and have some dignity about it, for once, Barrett thought.

When there was nothing left to sand, sweep, or wire, Barrett moved in furniture. A small, iron kitchen table with two chairs. Optimism. It was like something you would find in the mess hall of a battleship. Square, invulnerable, and shiny. What pots and pans he had sat in a brown box for weeks. He took most of his meals by microwave.

In the living room he bought a futon and a recliner. One to sleep on, one to watch television on. He went large for the recliner, getting a premium La-Z-Boy. It had wide arms and reclined perfectly horizontally and was wrapped in dark green leather. It was the most expensive item in the house. He bought no little trinkets to decorate his home with.

In his bedroom, he had a twin-sized bed and a bookshelf for all his paperbacks. Barrett digested Louis L’Amour books. He went on binges where he could read two a day, but could also go weeks without reading at all, either wandering around the fringes of his property or soaking in television during his off hours.