Page 27 of Passion and Privilege

“I can imagine,” I acknowledged, even though I couldn’t. The protective urge I felt toward Catherine was not too dissimilar. “And just to reassure you, all the guys on this job have been very respectful toward her. I don’t think any of them would dare say a negative word about her.”

“Good. That’s the way it should be. When she was younger and tagging along on jobs with me, I swear I had to threaten more than one young buck with a two-by-four if he kept leering at my daughter.”

I smiled. “I bet.”

“She might be old enough to make her own decisions, but that doesn’t mean I just stop looking after her,” he said. I didn’t miss the hint of warning.

“She’s lucky to have someone looking out for her,” I said.

“John!” someone hollered.

“I better get going.” He walked away, his body moving just a little slower than the rest of the guys roaming about my house.

I liked the man. He was a straight shooter. I got the feeling he couldn’t give a shit what my last name was or how much money I had. It was refreshing to be talked to like one of the guys and not the boss. I stepped outside to see what was going on.

I saw Catherine approaching her father. She went to his truck and pulled out what looked to be a lunchbox. John tried to take it from her, but she snatched it away and opened it. I watched as she pulled out what looked to be fried chicken. Everyone heard her lecture.

“Dad,” Catherine’s voice echoed across the work site as she tossed the chicken back in the insulated box. “You know you need to watch your cholesterol. Your blood pressure was up last checkup.”

“I’m a grown man, Catherine,” John replied gruffly, attempting to snatch the lunchbox back. His daughter backed away, leaving him lunging at air.

“You’re my father, and I worry about you.” Her voice softened but held a stubborn edge. “I can’t lose you too. I bought you all those fruits and vegetables. I brought you that chicken salad you said you liked. Why would you buy this crap? I know this is from the deli.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” It was said with a gentleness that I found surprising coming from such a burly man.

Catherine seemed to cave then, her shoulders slumping slightly. She returned the lunchbox to John, who took it gruffly.

“I know you’re not,” Catherine’s voice was barely audible as she said this. “But that doesn’t mean you can just eat whatever you want. You have to take care of yourself. You have to eat, so eat the chicken, but the rest of the week you’re eating celery.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded.

She looked up and saw me watching. Her chin went up and she stomped back toward the house. “Did you need something?” she snapped.

“Definitely not,” I said, not daring to smile.

“I need to get back to work,” she said.

“I was talking to your father,” I said.

“Uh oh,” she groaned. “Let me guess, he told you he was disappointed in the work.”

“No. Definitely not. He did say he never wanted you to follow in his footsteps.”

“Because it’s a man’s world,” she said, smiling.

“But you’re making it your own.” I admired her for that.

She seemed surprised by my comment, her hard expression softening just a bit. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’ve got the whole crew in line and the work’s getting done faster and better than I’ve ever seen before.”

“Well, I learned from the best,” she said, looking toward her father, who was digging into his chicken while trying to hide it.

“I’m sure you did,” I said, smiling. “But you’ve also added your own touch to things. It’s impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“The work you and your team have done is really impressive. I’m not just saying it. It looks just like it did when I was a little boy. I cannot wait to see it finished.”