I stop in the doorway and watch my three men work for a minute. The construction crew doesn’t work on Sundays. Walker cleared them all himself last week after the unfortunate incident on the trail.
I refuse to label it as anything other than an unfortunate incident right now.
Walker’s face is so close to a level he balances on the wall, I’m surprised he doesn’t go cross-eyed. Levi and Santiago work together to hold up a giant framed wall.
Walker squints at the bubble in the level. “A little more.”
Santiago and Levi grunt as they adjust the wall.
“A little more.”
More grunts.
“More.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Santiago murmurs in a strained voice.
Levi groans. “You two stop your yammering before one of us drops this thing.”
“You’re doing it wrong,” Santiago criticizes Walker.
Walker snorts. “I’ve been building barns longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Lies!” Santiago accuses. “You’re only a year older than me.”
“Itfeelstrue,” Walker grumbles.
I don’t interrupt. Watching the three of them bicker has become one of my favorite pastimes. They fight like family. Five minutes after they threaten each other with bodily harm, they’re laughing as if nothing happened.
Santiago notices me first and smiles immediately. Walker gives me a quick glance. Levi blushes.
I wave in greeting. “Hey, guys! How can I help?”
Their heads swivel to each other. They have an entire conversation with just eye squints, frowns, and arched brows. They don’t utter a single word. They nod to each other, coming to some sort of an agreement.
Walker snags a few bulky Folger’s coffee cans. “We need these separated.” He plunks them onto the concrete at my feet.
Peering down, I find each can filled to the brim with a variety of nails and screws. I do a slow blink. “That’s the job you’re giving me? Organizing nails?”
Levi guffaws unrestrained. “I’m not giving you a hammer.”
I frown at him. “Why not?”
“We don’t need anyone getting hit in the head,” Levi remarks.
I cross my arms. “Human heads don’t look like nails. I think we’re good there.”
Walker quirks a brow. “Between the three of us, we’re bound to say something stupid. Something that will probably warrant a hammer to the head.”
“Speak for yourself,” Santiago smirks.
Lowering myself to the concrete foundation, I cross my legs and start sorting.
The bang of hammers turns into a cadenced tune that fills the comfortable silence. Every now and then, one of them asks foranother board or a handful of screws for the wall blocking, and I retrieve it for them.
Without realizing it, I fall into their rhythm, finding where I’m comfortable.
Martha’s words of caution from last week drift to the front of my mind.
