Page 30 of Echoes of a Southern Song

Chapter Eleven

Jack

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ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER trip to the lumberyard. I’m thinking this whole construction thing might be a good fallback plan. I enjoy it. I even did a little sketching. I’m building a back deck for Aggie. She prefers it in the winter because it’s south-facing. I haul the two by fours around back. I have to admire my framework.

I did good.

I grin and can’t resist taking a picture of the soon-to-be deck and sending it to Michael. I’ve been trying to keep up with them, but they’re busy with pulling in the second cutting of hay. It’s hard to believe it’s already happening. Soon, it’s going to be fall and then winter. I won’t miss winter, but there are times I get a little homesick.

I adjust the framing square, making sure the angle’s perfect. My hands are calloused, raw from the wood and tools, but it feels good to be working with my hands again. I grab the drill and sink another screw into the joist.

I step back, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my shirt, and survey my work. The deck’s starting to take shape. The frame is solid, level, and ready for the boards. Aggie’s going to love this.

I grab another board, hoisting it onto the frame. The wood smells fresh. I measure twice, mark the cut line with my pencil, and grab the circular saw. The blade bites into the wood, sending a spray of sawdust into the air.

I fit the board into place, lining it up exactly where it needs to go. The drill spins another screw into place, securing it tightly. I run my hand over the smooth surface of the wood, feeling the satisfaction of something being built right. Aggie is already talking about the stain color. I know there is a lot of sanding in my future. I don’t mind. It’ll keep me busy.

The screen door creaks open behind me. “Wow!” Aggie exclaims. “Would you look at that!”

She’s balancing two plates in one hand and a pitcher of lemonade in the other.

I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. “Big enough?”

“Oh, I would say so! This is amazing! I can’t wait to have my morning coffee out here.”

She sets the food down on the little patio table—thick turkey sandwiches, chips, and what looks like homemade pickles. My stomach growls on cue.

“Eat,” she orders, pouring lemonade into a glass. “Before you pass out and I have to explain to Jinnie why there’s a dead musician on my new deck.”

I snort, putting down the drill and dusting off my hands. The sandwich is perfect—just the right amount of mayo, tomatoes still cool from the fridge. Aggie watches me eat with pride in her expression.

“This is really impressive, Jack,” she says. “I don’t know what to say.”

I nod, swallowing a bite. “I think I’ll have it done this week. Then I’ll sand it and you can tell me what stain you want on it. Need to get it stained and dried before the rain comes.”

She waves a pickle at me. “I’ll pay you for this.”

I shake my head. “No, you won’t.”

“Jack—”

“I’m living here rent-free,” I point out. “Least I can do is fix a few things.”

“This goes beyond fixing a few things,” she says. “This is absolutely incredible.”

“I like it,” I tell her. Believe it or not, the work helps me think. I can write better.”

Aggie sighs. “Fine. But I’m buying pizza next week.”

“Deal.”

We eat our sandwiches while talking about the future deck. It’s peaceful here—so different from the farm’s constant noise of machinery and livestock.

Aggie leans back in her chair, sipping her lemonade. “You know, Jack, you’ve got a real gift,” she says after a moment. “Not just with the music, but with this too. You’ve got an eye for detail. That’s not something everyone has.”

I shrug, half-smiling as I take another bite of my sandwich. “Just trying to make it look good. Figured if I’m gonna do it, might as well do it right.”