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“You’re late,” he says with his standard unlit cigar in his mouth. He quit smoking ten years ago but couldn’t give up the smell. I don’t understand it myself, having smoked one hit from a joint in high school. I choked on the smoke and never looked back.
“I’m exactly on time, asshole,” I say, just to fuck with the old man. He’s Jonathan and Paul’s father. He helps out whenever a boat is needed, so he and I work together frequently. I have a lot of safety equipment when I’m doing an underwater job. The risk of getting electrocuted is high as hell, not to mention the risk of underwater explosions. Gas pockets create a volatile work environment. There is no room for second-guessing or being afraid of the job. If you can weld underwater, you can do anything, at least in my opinion. I reach in, set my equipment into the boat, and climb into it before Nick drops the trailer. He quickly parks his truck, gets in the boat, and we’re off.
We pull up to the fifth trestle, and I gear up. I pull on my helmet and oxygen tank before going down to access the situation. Two joints need to be replaced immediately, but the bridge will have to be closed for that to happen. We’ll have to coordinate with the parish to get it set up. It will have to be done at night since that is the main way into New Orleans. I snap some photos with the camera built into my helmet.
There’s nothing I can safely do now, so I resurface, and we get out of there. On the boat ride back to the beach, I make all of the necessary arrangements to get the road closed and a crew out there. It’s a much larger job than I can handle, but it needs to be done as soon as possible. Tonight, before the joints give way and disaster strikes. The very last thing New Orleans needs is another disaster. The Causeway is the longest bridge in the US and the largest continuous bridge over water in the world. Forty thousand cars a day travel over it.
“Want to grab some lunch?” Nick asks after we get the boat hooked back to his trailer.
“Sure,” I tell him, and we agree to meet at Petey’s Po Boy and go from there.
* * *
Later that night, I am watching SportsTalk, a daily recap show of what’s happening in the world of sports, when my phone goes off. I look at the clock; it’s eleven-thirty. Weird dad mode kicks in since all the girls are out. Marla’s curfew on the weekends is midnight, and the others obviously don’t have one, but I’m here if they need me. I pick up my phone, dreading who it might be, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it’s a text from Belle, the woman from work earlier today.
Belle: How did it go out there? Did you make it safely?
Me: You worried about me, ma chère?
Belle: Yes. I googled underwater welding. I wish I hadn’t done that.
For some reason, my heart skips a beat in my chest. Has it really been so long since someone who wasn’t one of my sisters gave a shit about me?
Me: Yeah, it can be dangerous. I do know what I’m doing though
Belle: Your wife doesn’t mind you putting yourself in danger like that?
The smile that crosses my face is huge.
Me: I don’t have a wife. Does your husband know you are texting me at 11:37 at night?
Belle: No husband
Me: Surely you have someone
Belle: Nope, just me. What about you?
Me: Same. It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out?
Belle: I’m not old enough to drink, so why bother? Besides, I can drink at home for free.
Me: Are you doing on-the-job training for high school credit?
Not old enough? Oh fuck. I need to know if I need to shut this shit down now.
Belle: no, I graduated last year. I’m still deciding if college is right for me. So far, it’s not.
Thank fuck, I think, but I briefly wonder if I’m too old for her. She’s not
Me: It’s not for everyone. I did it, but I hated it.
Belle: But at least you did it.
Me: if you think you should do it, do it.
Belle: Sound advice. Does it work for other things?
Me: It could be applied to any situation, ma chère
