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Maybe I could put together the Adirondack chairs I’d ordered to go up on the second-story porch so I could enjoy my coffee with the sun on my days off duty. After being in land-locked Raleigh all this time, that view of the ocean over the dunes on the other side of the two-lane coastal road wasn’t something I’d take for granted. That was an improvement I could make before anything else. Though I had noted a faint spongy feel beneath my feet on both the upper and lower porches as I’d taken my initial tour of the whole place that told me I probably needed to move up replacing some porch boards first. After all the summers I’d worked construction growing up, I could do more than saw boards and hammer nails. That’d be an easy enough update. Certainly easier than updating the decorative elements like the porch frieze and gable trusses that were worn or missing after years of storms and neglect.
My gaze skimmed over the crumpled piece of paper in my hand, an attempt to list out the multitude of tasks ahead. Repair the roof. Replace the water heater on this side of the house. Knock out the dividing walls that had turned the place into a duplex. Check to see whether the plumbing needed upgrading. Not to mention the boatload of cosmetic projects like painting walls and refinishing floors. The list went all the way down the front and halfway down the back of the page, each item a reminder of the colossal amount of work that lay ahead. The one saving grace was that the electrical had been overhauled about ten years ago, so that was one major project I didn’t have to take on.
I let the paper fall from my fingers, watching it land in a box labeled ‘Kitchen Stuff’.
Unpacking. I should be unpacking. But every time I started, my mind wandered to the larger tasks, the structural changes, the renovations needed. I’d have to make some decisions about whether to try to mimic the original architecture or update it to something more simplistic or modern. Like the windows. By some miracle, many of those remaining were original, with twelve-over-twelve double-hung sashes. But those that had been replaced with more modern styles absolutely detracted from the historic charm of the place. Did I want to go for historical accuracy or efficiency? The cost of my electric bill by the end of the summer might decide me on that one. So long as they were still weatherproof, that was a project for Future Me.
And then, unbidden, my thoughts drifted to Caroline. Caroline, with that watchful gaze and hard-won smile that just made me want to work harder to earn it. Would she give me a chance to actually do that? Or would this relationship be in name only, lasting only long enough to deter would-be predators?
My phone vibrated with a text.
Mom: Is there something you want to tell me?
“About what?”
As if she’d heard my reply, the little dots started bouncing.
Mom: About you and a certain hard-working young lady?
No. She can’t possibly have already heard about me and Caroline.
Mom: You should bring Caroline to dinner.
I could ignore it. Pretend I was caught up in the work I was supposed to be doing. Or catching up on sleep. But that increased the chances she’d show up here in person to reiterate the invitation. I wasn’t ready for her to see the state of the house. She’d worry, and I wouldn’t hear the end of it until I finished renovations. At this rate, that’d be when I retired.
Me: So y’all can interrogate her? No, ma’am. It’s new. Leave it be.
That wasn’t entirely a lie. And after our dinner tomorrow night, I hoped it would be the full truth. If Caroline elected to date me in name only, I could probably tell my family what was really going on. They’d support the fiction in the name of keeping her safe.
I watched the dots appear and disappear half a dozen times before the answer finally came.
Mom: Sigh. Fine.
That would buy me a little time.
“Right. Unpacking.” I could at least deal with my bedroom. There were few enough changes that would be happening in there. Paint, eventually, but I wouldn’t tackle that until I had a clearer plan for the rest of the house.
No sooner had I dropped my phone into the pocket of my cargo shorts than it rang. Praying it wasn’t my mother, I fished it out again.
It was Jamal Edwards, the officer on shift at the firehouse. “Hey Hoyt, I hate to ask, but can you cover for me for a few hours? My mama just called. She managed to crack the tank on the toilet while changing out the guts, and I gotta go help her deal with that before it gets any worse.”
I hesitated, a part of me longing to say no, to focus on my own burgeoning disaster. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t in me to leave a member of my company in the lurch. “Sure, Jamal. I’ll be there. Give me fifteen to get across island.”
I hung up, a sense of relief washing over me, despite the unopened boxes and unfinished projects staring back at me. Right now, the job had to come first. If that gave me a reprieve from the overwhelming list of decisions I had to make, well, I’d call that a bonus for now. Maybe some distance would give me a little clarity.
Jamal was waiting outside when I pulled into the firehouse parking lot. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate this.”
“No problem. Good luck with that toilet replacement. I hope the hardware store actually has one in stock.”
“You and me both.”
I braced myself for the inevitable ribbing as I pushed through the door, greeted by the familiar smell of strong coffee and the sound of easy chatter. If my mom had heard, there was no chance the rest of Sutter’s Ferry FD hadn’t. Gossip was usually a favorite firehouse pastime, tied with poker and cooking.
Smokey, the oldest of the crew, looked up from where he sprawled on the sofa. “Hey, if it isn’t Lover Boy!”
Yep. I was in for it now. Because it was expected, I flashed a grin. “You guys never miss a beat, do you?”
Tank, built like his namesake and the powerhouse of our crew, propped his sock feet up on the coffee table. “So, when’s the wedding? Got your tux ready?”
