Page 24 of Show Me

I check the dispatch tracker. “Fifteen minutes out. Driver got stuck behind a school bus.”

There’s a pause as if he’s looking down the street, even though I just told him that it’ll be another fifteen minutes. “You sure?”

“Unless the bus learned to fly, yeah.”

He chuckles. “Alright. Thanks.”

I hang up, setting the receiver down gently this time, like that might encourage better behavior. I hate answering the fucking phone.

Dad arches an eyebrow. “You’re good with people.”

“I tolerate them.” I shrug and reach for the stack of invoices, flipping through them. Numbers. Materials. Deliveries. That I can deal with.

The phone stays silent for thirty seconds. I glance at it with suspicion. Did I manage not to get the damn thing hung up all the way? It’s tempting to leave it off the hook if I did.

Dad sighs and leans forward again, peering at the screen. “Why is this thing blinking?”

“Did you hit Caps Lock?” The only reason I know what he’s talking about is that I did the same thing last week.

“Caps Lock?” He glares at the keyboard. I move behind him and tap the key. The blinking stops. “Technology,” he mutters. “Designed by idiots.”

My father is not what one would call tech-savvy. To this day, he still doesn’t have a smartphone.

*****

Two hours later, the front door bangs open, letting in a gust of cold air and the sound of boots on concrete.

“Tell me payroll’s done,” Travis steps inside with a clipboard tucked under his arm. Mud cakes his boots.

Behind him, Luis and Mark trudge inside, arguing about whether the Maple foundation was off by half an inch or the entire universe was crooked.

“Depends.” I quirk an eyebrow. “You planning a riot?”

Luis grins. “We left the pitchforks in the truck.”

“Circular saws are more efficient,” Mark adds.

Dad groans. “If you boys would spend half as much time working as you do running your mouths–”

“We finished early.” Travis drops the clipboard on the desk. “Despite the delay by the driver, the concrete’s set. We’re ahead of schedule.”

Dad rocks back into his chair, causing it to squeak under his weight. “Ahead?”

Luis spreads his hands. “It happens.”

The phone rings again. All four of them look at it. No one moves. Of course not. I sigh and pick it up. “Cole Construction.”

While I jot down a delivery change, Travis leans toward Dad. “You get someone set up for the desk yet? Last temp told Mrs. Keller we didn’t do roofs.”

“She misspoke.” My dad hates admitting that he doesn’t have everything under control.

Luis glances at me. “You need someone who knows what we do.”

I hang up and set the receiver down. “Working on it.”

The truth is, we’re not. Not really. Temps rotate in and out, each one a new learning curve we don’t have time to teach.

For a split second, I picture Ruby behind this desk. Answering the phone before the second ring. Keeping the schedule straight, remembering which client hates being called “ma’am.” Not doubling working hours. Making this place run as Donna did.