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"Let me see." I descended the ladder and stepped back to assess my handiwork.
As a builder, you'd think that a tree house wouldn't be such a difficult job. But something about projects for my girls made me overthink everything. I had so little time that I had to get things right the first time. I cared too much—it made me second-guess myself.
"Looks good to me,” I said warily.
I'd checked that damn platform a thousand times with the spirit level. It took ages to complete, mostly because it was supposed to be a two-person job. But my business partner—my dad, as it happens—was swamped, and I didn't want to burden him with extra work.
He, on the other hand, loved dumping extra projects on me.
"But that branch doesn't line up." Lexi pointed to a wayward limb threading through the platform's base.
"That's cause the branch is crooked, not the tree house. It makes the platform look off." I crouched down to meet her gaze. "Trust me, it's solid as a rock and straight as an arrow."
"Straight is boring," Rhea declared.
"Daddy's crooked and boring," Lexi offered.
"He's a complicated man. That's what Mommy says."
I bit back a growl. Barely. "Why don't you two go play together so I can make some progress?"
Lexi's eyes lit up. "A duel, sister?"
Rhea rubbed her hands together in glee. "You’re on!"
For the past few months, my dad's new wife, Susie, had been teaching the girls jujitsu at the community center by the waterfront. They didn't normally call it jujitsu, though. They called it dueling, mainly because that's what Susie called it. Dueling club.
The first rule of dueling club: tell everyone about dueling club.
The second rule of dueling club: release your partner if they tap out.
"Remember rule number two!" I called after them as they raced off to change into their gis.
Back up the ladder, I surveyed the remaining work. The floor was done, but that was about it. I had some sturdy logs from a felled oak for the railing—they needed cutting, bark-stripping, and screwing. Then there was the actual house part to make, a slide to secure, and a rope ladder to anchor. I sighed. It would be worth it.
The girls would have the best view from up here. I lived in a trailer park in the town of Bluehaven Beach. From up here on the ladder, I could make out the private beach—a little smear of golden sand where I swam twice a day.
Shame that they hadn’t had the foresight to make the damn trailers a couple feet taller when they’d attempted to build this place. I say attempted because it had never been finished. The development company had built two trailers as show-homes. Mine and the O'Neil trailer next door. Back in the late nineties, Bluehaven Beach had a brief moment of popularity. A picturesque fishing town, surrounded by a dramatic coastline, with historic buildings and a couple of private beaches nearby. What's not to like?
The weather, apparently. And the distance from New York City proved too great for vacationers to invest in second homes. No one put down payments on the other planned trailers, and the project stalled. As did the rest of the town.
My gaze lingered on Michael O'Neil's old trailer, the poor thing looking like it might collapse at any moment. Michael hadn't lived there in three years, not since he moved into the veteran's facility. Even for a few years before that, he wasn't well enough to keep up with maintenance. I helped out when I could, but I barely had time to keep my own place from falling apart.
The poor guy passed away about six weeks ago. I kept expecting a “For Sale” sign to appear, but it never did. I regretted missing Mike’s funeral, but with the girls and the distance to Bangor, I couldn't swing it. Dad went, though. He and Mike were close.
And apparently, Elara was doing well. . . .
"Hey, Dad! Why are you staring at the O'Neil trailer?" Lexi asked. She stood below, with her newly obtained solid gray belt tied tightly around the waist of her white gi. "You see a ghost in there or something?"
Ghosts are what kept me in this trailer park. Memories of myself as an ambitious young man. Memories of the girls as babies. Even some happy memories of Stephanie, before our relationship went to shit. Back when I still dreamed of becoming an architect.
But those days were gone.
"Not a ghost," I replied, forcing a smile. "Just a goblin."
"Eeek! Is it green?"
"Snot-colored."
