Page 47 of The Risks of Reuniting

"I think so," I say at last.

"I don't know much about construction, but I could talk to Rachelle and maybe if you're not finished by tomorrow, we could help you on Saturday."

I smile. "All right."

She simply nods, doesn't say goodbye or offer up anything else, and I watch her familiar gait as she's enveloped by the darkness. It's the smallest, most tiny victory ever, but I'll take it.

Chapter 18

Chloe

I'malousyconstructionworker – it's official. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a pampered princess – because I do work hard – but I have an apparent inability to operate a hammer and nail, and I did not know my body could sweat this much. I'm sure I've wasted more nails than I should have, and I'm adding it all up in my head so that tomorrow I can get a ride down the hill to a supply store and purchase an entire caseload to replace it. Rachelle has teased me endlessly, and typically I hate being bad at something, but somehow it's funny and I'm able to join in the joke.

I've been told all my life that the best cure for what ails you is to get to work helping other people, and it's a lesson I've learned well this month. I've been hammering for hours now, and haven't thought much about any of my issues in the meantime. It's freeing.

Right after breakfast this morning, Rachelle and I headed up the hillside with Cesar and Holt to finish work on their last house. When I'd asked Rachelle about possible dental emergencies, she'd winked and told me tofugheddabouditin a mobster accent. When I pressed, she told me that she and Dr. J were scheming and to drop it.

So I dropped it with a slight smile.

They'd managed to finish that sleeping loft after another all-day effort on Friday, and now we're working on buoying up a flat roof and someinterior wall supports on the small structure next door. The long-sleeved shirt I'd put on this morning is draped over a pallet in the corner, and my navy blue tank top is sticking to my sides with sweat. I'm grateful for short hair that I can keep out of my face, because watching Rachelle fight with hers has been amusing. The magical hair isn't so magical today.

Holt is up on a ladder hammering away at the beams of wood resting on the outer walls. I'm told the beams will eventually be covered with plywood and then tarping to create a roof and ceiling. It's basic, but better than some of the other options up here. His face is serious in his concentration. Cesar is cutting wood for the framing, and Rachelle is holding those cut pieces of wood while I hammer them up against existing wall studs to reinforce them.

It's a good thing that most of these structures are only fourteen feet by fourteen feet, because anything larger and I would have to bow out, afraid I'd make it fall down. It's also a good thing that I'm hammering wood to already existing wood, and not designing this thing from the ground up. I've come face-to-face with my lack of knowledge today.

A bead of sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades as my arm swings.

"How many hits will it take to nail it?" Rachelle sings a little ditty she's made up, and then counts as I hammer. "One, two, three . . ."

I laugh. "Stuff it. Your hair has lost its magic."

She smirks down at me, but keeps singing. "Four, five." She gives a little cheer as the nail head is finally flush with the board. "You're getting better."

I laugh again and move up the board. "This is depressing."

"Hey, only positive thoughts allowed," Rachelle reminds me for the fiftieth time.

"I'mpositiveI'm getting worse." I gesture to bent nails that I can't pull from the wood. "These should have stopped happening hours ago."

She nods and swipes at her hair with dirty fingertips, leaving a streak across her brow. "Probably."

"Remind me why you aren't nailing the boards while I hold them?" I ask.

"Because this trip is about self-improvement, and I'm already great at DIY projects." She makes a face.

I can't argue, because she nailed up the first seven boards across a wall and did it like a pro. Is she bad at anything? It might be possible to dislike her if she wasn't so dang nice.

"It's a miracle I managed to get through dental hygiene school," I joke.

"Yes," Rachelle teases, "thank goodness nailing teeth isn't a modern dental practice."

Cesar carries in a long, cut board and leans it against the wall where the two corners meet. His white tank is as sweaty as mine, and he takes off his hat to wave it at his face.

"Last one," he says on a breath.

I look up and smile. "Really?"

"Yes," he smiles back. "Then we do the door."

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