Page 48 of This Is How It Started
I find the cords over the workbench and chase after him. By the time I get to the pool house, he’s up on the roof, spreading the tarp over the spot where the crew ripped off the shingles for the expansion.
“Be careful up there,” I call up, hoping he can hear me. The wind has picked up, and it’s gone from sprinkling to full-on raining. I think about my father and then Josh. Neither was the type to climb up on a roof in a downpour. I correct myself, neither was the type to climb up on a roof period. Even Josh, who spent a good fraction of his job on construction sites, left the physical stuff to the contractors.
“Toss me up those bungie cords.”
I throw them as hard as I can, only to have them bounce off the roof and onto the ground. “Hang on.” I try it again, only this time, one at a time.
Campbell catches the first one and attaches it to the tarp and manages to strap it down MacGyver-style on one side.
“Toss me the other one.”
I throw up the second cord, but this time it doesn’t even make it as far as the roof.
“Put a little English on it,” Campbell calls down.
I throw it again, this time with more power. He catches it in midair and securely buckles the other side of the tarp down.
“This should do it,” he says and walks to the edge of the roof.
I hide my eyes as he does a tightrope walk along the roof’s slope so he can scramble down. “For God’s sake, Campbell. You’ll kill yourself.”
“Nah.” He gets to the bottom of the slope, grabs the edge, lowers himself onto the ladder, and drops down. “Who are these assholes?” He could only mean the construction crew.
“Someone Brooke hired. Bleu Construction.”
He shrugs, indicating he’s never heard of them. “They shouldn’t have left you in the lurch like this.”
No, they shouldn’t have. “Thanks for saving the day.”
“No problem.” He ducks inside the pool house to check his handiwork.
I follow him inside, and we both stare up at the ceiling. No leaks. Hopefully it’ll keep until the crew returns.
Campbell gives the interior a once-over. “Wow, they took it down to the studs.”
“Brooke wants to add a bedroom, enlarge the bath, and reconfigure the kitchenette.” I leave out the part about how she’s planning to rent out the big house too. I’m still digesting her admission that she can’t really afford the place and is only hanging on to it for the sake of the Gold kids and our nonexistent offspring.
“Does it look like they know what they’re doing?” I ask. Even though Campbell is a master carpenter whose work is more art than construction, he understands the fundamentals of building. Even as a kid he could fix anything. A fence, a rotted windowpane, a door that wouldn’t close right. A kickass tree house.
“It’s just demo,” he says. “Anyone can do it.”
By the end of the week there will be more progress, I assure myself. It’s not like they have anything left to rip out.
Without the insulation, the construction site is chilly. I can hear the rain pattering down on the tarp, and it reminds me of the one time Josh and I went camping. It was the first summer we met, and we decided to do a weekend in Yosemite. The original plan was to stay at the Ahwahnee, not realizing it books out a year in advance. We wound up staying in a campground in a two-person pup tent during a summer storm, the only summer storm in the history of California.
“Let’s go work on your offer,” I tell Campbell, who’s continuing to examine the bowels of the pool house.
We run across the yard, trying to dodge the rain, only to go inside soaking wet. I jog upstairs for a couple of towels so Campbell can at least dry his hair. He’s always had really great hair, dark and full with just enough curl to give him that slightly disheveled look everyone is going for these days. The difference is Campbell comes by it naturally.
I toss Campbell one of the towels and spill out our cold coffees and make a fresh pot. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.” He hops off his stool and opens the fridge. “What’ve you got?”
Having grown up with this being his home away from home, he’s as comfortable here as I am. We used to spend the summers in the pool, letting our bodies turn copper in the sunshine. And winters, playing in this house, building forts or anything our imagination came up with.
Then Campbell, Hannah, Adam and I used to climb up on the stools at the center island while my mother made us triple-decker peanut butter and sugar sandwiches.
“How ’bout a triple-decker?” I ask, wondering if he still eats them anymore, wondering if they bring back a flood of memories that at once makes him smile and his chest ache, like it does me.
