I give him a scratch behind his ears, and he arches into my hand. I crack the window enough for air but not enough for him to wiggle through. The wind whistles through the gap, carrying the smell of the Passaic River at low tide mixed with diesel exhaust, which admittedly does not smellgreat, but at least it’s oxygen. I arrange my sleeping bag into a nest for him in the back the way he likes it, pour fresh water into the battery-powered bowl I splurged on last year, sprinkle some extra kibble into his dish in case he changes his mind about eating, and give him one of the rawhides I bought because the girl at the pet store said they’re a boredom killer and are supposed to be good for his teeth.
I press a kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears, inhaling his corn chip smell. “Be good.”
I only make it two steps from the car before Bob erupts into frantic barking behind me.
“Really? We’re doing this again?” I turn back, and there he is, his little paws up on the window, losing his mind like I’m abandoning him forever instead of going to work fifty feet away. “Bob, buddy, I promise I’m coming back.”
He keeps barking, those high-pitched yaps that say he doesn’t believe me for a second, which makes me feel like the worst dog mom in the world. What kind of person leaves their anxious dog alone in a car all day? But what else am I supposed to do? He needs me to work so I can buy his kibble that he won’teven eat, and I need him not to bark so I can keep this job. We’re both failing at our respective assignments here.
It takes all my strength to keep walking away, even though every bark feels like a tiny knife to the chest. He’ll settle down. He always does. Eventually.
The men around the heater nod as I walk past, graciously pretending they don’t hear the Chihuahua tantrum. But then Ray emerges from the office trailer with a steaming cup of coffee in his gloved hand. His eyes go straight to my car where Bob is still losing his entire mind.
“Jesus, Eden,” he says. “Your rat gonna bark all day?”
Ray’s about fifty with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyes that miss nothing. He has a round body shape that I once heard him describe to his buddy as being swollen like a tick. He’s been running this crew since before I was born, and he knew Dad from their Army Ranger days. He’s the only person still in my life who knew Dad. But I don’t want to think about that today.
“He’s not a rat,” I say, though Bob’s black fur and graying muzzle aren’t doing much to quell the rat allegations. “I’m sorry. He’ll calm down in a couple of minutes.”
“Good.” Ray holds out a cup of coffee. “Thought you might need this. I put enough sugar in there to rot your teeth.”
“Exactly how I like it.” I take the warm cup, wrapping both of my gloved hands around it. “Thank you.”
Ray crosses his arms over his broad chest. I can see his jaw working, as if he’s figuring out how to bring it up.
“You know what day it is?” he asks.
Obviously I do. But Ray’s trying to be kind, and I appreciate that more than I can express without my voice doing something humiliating.
“Don’t want to pry,” he says. “Just saying if you need the day off?—”
“I don’t,” I assure him. “I want to work.”
Ray nods. He’s done nothing but look out for me since I ran into him at a diner four months ago. I’d been doing day labor until that point (mostly washing dishes at whatever restaurant would take me and cleaning houses), but then I bumped into Ray and blurted out that I needed work. I was expecting him to turn me away or ask too many questions about where I’d been or why Jimmy Callahan’s kid needed a job so badly, but he just asked if I was scared of heights and handed me a hard hat.
Ray’s lips pull downward into a frown. “How ‘bout you start leaving that dog at home?”
As far as Ray knows, I have an apartment. I let him think that because I don’t want to be another problem he has to solve. I just want a chance to prove I can do the job.
“I know it’s annoying.” I try to come up with an excuse that doesn’t require me to lie to his face. “He has separation anxiety and does better if he can see me on my lunch break and when I let him out to pee.”
Ray harumphs. I highly doubt Ray would fire me because of Bob’s barking, but I still should find some way to keep Bob entertained enough that he barks less, just in case, because I can’t lose this opportunity. I’m still day labor while Ray figures out if I can handle it, but I’mthisclose to a real position. One with a salary and benefits. The kind of job where I could save up enough to afford rent somewhere safe and warm, where I could leave Bob while I worked, and then Ray would never need to hear Bob barking again. I just need to keep not screwing it up.
Ray looks at me like he sees something in my face I’m trying to hide, and I drop my eyes to my boots, rubbing the toes together.
“Jimmy would be proud of you,” Ray says. “I hope you know that.”
No one calls Dad ‘Jimmy’ except Ray, and hearing the name makes him feel way too present for what I’m able to handle right now.
“Could we not talk about this, please?” I ask.
“Yep.” He sniffs, then rubs his nose. “Got you on the third floor today. They’re hanging and mudding drywall. Mark needs an extra pair of hands.”
“Cool.” I tilt the coffee cup toward him. “Thank you for this. And for everything.”
Ray claps me on the shoulder once before he walks away. Steadying myself, I drain the coffee in one burning swallow then climb the temporary stairs to the third floor.
Mark’s already up there with sheets of drywall leaning against the studs, and he tosses me a pair of work gloves without a word. I’m still pretty new to drywall, but I’ve gotten stronger these past four months, strong enough that lifting the sheets doesn’t make me want to die anymore, just makes my arms shake a little. Mark shows me where to put the screws in a couple of times before he leaves me to do it on my own. My shoulders are already burning, but it’s a good burn. The kind that says I’m building something. Being useful.
