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CHAPTER1
Sam
The sun beats down on me, baking me in the heat of the day. We’ve got one more day on this job and then we’re moving to a new one. A nice, long driveway that shouldn’t take too long and then we’re on to the next job.
I like my job but it does get lonely. I’ve been alone since my wife got pissed and left while I was at work, cleaning out our accounts and leaving the house trashed from searching through it for everything she could find worth money. She left me and never looked back. After a few years, divorce papers showed up for my signature. Her address was on there and I suppose I should have gone after her and made her pay back what she’d taken.
But I didn’t care. I considered myself lucky that I got out of it with my dignity intact. A long, drawn-out court case would just lead to humiliation on my part. I considered that bridge burnt. I didn’t care what she took. What she left me with. As long as she was gone and left me the hell alone.
I work my ass off every day and go home to an empty house, lonely and exhausted. But no woman has interested me since my wife left.
The guys hoot and holler at a pretty girl jogging up the road but she doesn’t interest me.
I sigh and wait until the truck dumps more asphalt into the paver. Then as soon as he starts moving, I follow along behind him on one side, pushing and checking the edges, making sure it’s as clean and even as we can humanly get it.
The heat from the hot mix billows around us and the smell sinks into your pores. When I go home, my clothes, my boots and even my skin smell like fresh asphalt. The bitter gasoline smell used to make my wife sick. Now I don’t have anyone to impress. It’s embedded under my nails and stains my clothes with dark splotches. I never get away from the smell.
“Hey, man. It’s about time to wrap this shit up.” The last trucks are pulling away and we’re just finishing up the final quarter mile stretch. The church parking lot is huge and luckily, it’s a fairly easy job as well. No real sharp turns or weird angles. Just straight stretches.
I nod at Mike where he’s starting to clean up some of the tools we’re not using.
I brush at the edges again and make sure that they’re good.
One step then two. Over and over. I probably walk at least ten miles a day back and forth. Lifting the heavy equipment’s given me well-defined abs and arms, shoulders. But it’s also given me a back problem and I groan, twisting it as I finish up. My forty years are really catching up with me.
We finish up and clean up the brushes and roller. As soon as we’re done, all the guys start talking about going out to get drunk.
“It’s Wednesday, guys. We’ve still got a long week to go. Why not wait until the weekend.”
All of the younger guys groan and shake their heads. Matt hollers at me as I climb up in my old truck. “Dude, how old are you? You act like you’re an old man.”
I ignore them, sighing and slipping the truck into gear, pulling out. We all met up at the job this morning. Tomorrow morning will be a new one. The day after that another new job. Over and over. I don’t get bored at least. But the work is hard and it’s all I do.
Then I go home and get a beer and a sandwich and drop into my bed, exhausted.
Tonight, I’m so wound up that I can’t sleep so I have a second beer and watch a baseball game that’s on late. I tip my recliner back and just drift off. There’s no one to tell me not to fall asleep in the chair.
Loneliness tugs at my heart and I feel so damn tired and worn down. There’s nothing more for me. Just more work with no one to come home to.
The phone rings late and I pick it up. The boss clears his throat and I sit up, setting my beer down.
“What’s up, boss?”
“I need you to run point on this job tomorrow. I’ve got to go out of town. My daughter’s been in an accident and she needs help. I’ll be home in a few days, as soon as her husband gets there. He was off on an overseas business trip and he’s trying to get home but it’s complicated.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Thanks, man. I know you don’t like riding point but I need someone reliable. Make sure that there aren’t any turn marks or anything on this one. The guy who’s getting it done is a real asshole.”
“Aren’t they all?” I laugh.
“Almost,” he chuckles. “But this guy is a rich guy with an attitude that thinks he knows how to do everything. Don’t let him tell you how to do the job.”
“Humph!” I snort. “I don’t scare that easy, man.”
“I know. Just keep your wits about you. Especially if the daughter is there. She’s a handful.”
Immediately I picture a snotty little brat who thinks she’s god’s gift to men. A pretty little princess that’s got a trust fund and way too much time on her hands. She’ll have pink clothes that have designer labels and long, painted nails, dyed hair and perfect makeup.
