She stops working and scans the area for him. “There he is,” she says, pointing at the entrance of the store.
“I didn’t recognize him under the shadow of the awning.” He’s quietly observing the volunteers from a distance.
“Yeah. He’s probably having a down day,” she says.
“What’s a down day?”
“A day when he’s down.”
“Oh. I didn’t think that’s what it literally meant.” Then, a second later, after I’ve had time to understand, I add, “Is he okay?”
Callie presses her lips together and shrugs. “I can’t say I know how he feels at the moment, but it could be because the work we’re doing today is changing the way the store looked when his ma was running it.”
“Oh my God. I’m the one who suggested the paint.” I put my palm to my forehead. “If it weren’t for me—”
“No, don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve been telling him to repaint it for a while. He thinks keeping the store as it was whenhis ma was alive is keeping her memory close to him, but the store’s falling apart. And how is that going to honor her memory? Anyway, everyone was surprised when he went along with the idea of a new color when you suggested it. Maybe he’s ready to move on from his grief, and I think the new color will do him good.”
“How do you know when he’s up or down? He always seems so…” I look again to confirm before I say, “Grumpy.”
“On the surface, he seems the same. But once you pay attention to him or know him as long as we have, you see the signs.”
Sure enough, when Hal doesn’t think anyone’s looking, he lets down his guard. The creases around his eyes release, making him seem downcast, and he lets out a sigh. As soon as a person turns the corner, his scowl comes back into place.
“Some people wear their emotional armor so well, it fools us into believing they’re doing okay. But even for them, it gets to be too much. And we’ve gotten to know how to support him.” Then she says, “I’ll be right back.”
Callie goes to her car and grabs a box, then casually walks over to Hal and hands it to him. “Would you mind stocking the shelves? I forgot to do it earlier, and my hands are tainted with paint thinner.”
Without hesitation, he takes the box from her and disappears into the store.
“Hal doesn’t like attention,” she says, rejoining me. “So I gave him something to do.”
Callie never ceases to amaze me with her acts of kindness, making me feel worse about the deception by the minute.
Between the prepping and the painting, we spend the next few hours in concentrated silence. When the siding is all fixed, half of the team works on the roof, and the other half, including Brennan, joins me and Callie to paint.
“That side is all prepped. What should I do next?” Brennan asks me.
“The last thing we need to do before painting is cover the windows and fixtures.” I grab a large plastic sheet and hand Brennan a roll of painter’s tape. “The plastic sheet isn’t an exact fit, so we’ll have to fold it to fit the window.”
“Got it.” Brennan tips his head toward me. A second later, though, it looks like he doesn’t “got it.”
“Um, are you okay?” I stifle a laugh as I watch him wrestle the plastic sheet down.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he tries to reassure me, but it doesn’t look like he’s fine, so I tape down my corner first, then help him with his.
“Fold the bottom under, then the side. Like this.” I model my instructions for him.
“The wind, my fat fingers…” He mutters a few excuses.
I suppress a laugh. “Plastic sheet, one; Brennan, zero.”
“I’m better with heavy lifting when it comes to this stuff.”
“How about this? Why don’t you hold up the ladder while I tape those windows?” I suggest.
“Deal.”
Brennan grabs the ladder and moves it under the window. When it’s steady, I climb up and tape the sheet to the glass. After I’m done, Brennan moves the ladder off to the side while I start covering up the hardware on the doors and light fixtures with painter’s tape. Before I can reach for another piece, Brennan has one ready for me, perfectly timed. When we’re finished prepping the exterior of the convenience store, he trails me to the storage shed. Without being asked, he brings out the buckets of paint while I carry the box of brushes and rollers. We fall into an efficient rhythm, almost like choreography, and I can’t help but notice how weirdly good at this we are. Because I’ve never done this kind of work before and yet, somehow, this works.
