The Fix (Carolina Connections #1) (2 page)

“No!”
Fiona cried excitedly. “That’s just it! He was interviewing for a
job
!”

My
hands dropped. “Shut your face! At Starbucks?!”

“No,
of course not.” She waved a dismissive hand. “He’d have to shower for that.”

“And
wear a shirt,” I replied, taking in this revelation.

“And
pants,” Fiona finished thoughtfully.

Hmm.
The source of Rocco’s “underwear only” policy was becoming evident.

“So
where was he interviewing then?” I asked.

“At
some construction company with an office next door to Starbucks. He said
something about the company renovating the Harris Teeter on Friendly by my dry
cleaners. Not that you would know what a dry cleaner is, my fashion impaired
friend.” She gave a little giggle. Why was I friends with her again? “But I
digress…apparently the company is growing really big and they need some new muscle
to push it hard on a couple new jobs.”

I
snickered only momentarily at her inadvertent dirty remark, too distracted by
the notion that my beloved ignoramus may actually be growing up and attempting
to take on responsibility.
Wow
. I might cry.

So
there I was in my laundry room at 7:15 in the morning where I was sifting
through clothes while trying not to spill my Diet Coke. Rocco’s wardrobe was a
snap: shorts, t-shirt, socks, sneakers.
Bam
. I’m not one of those moms
who dress their kid like a tiny grown up in collared shirts and pleated pants
with belts and Top-Siders. He’s not executing a business deal – he’s going to
pre-school. Where he will most likely get paint in his hair, will most definitely
get someone’s boogers (hopefully his own) on his shirt, and will quite possibly
pee his pants. Shorts and a t-shirt work fine for that.

Aha!
I finally uncovered a slightly wrinkled white eyelet button down for myself that
I could pair with my low rise black pants, kickass silver studded belt, and
some comfy ballet flats. Clothes in hand, it was time for me to wake up my
little streaker.

Halfway
back to the master bedroom, I heard music. Billy Idol, to be precise, his plea to
“ride the pony” coming from the extra bedroom where Gavin had been squatting
for the last few weeks. The song was abruptly silenced (
thank you
) with
what sounded like a cell phone hitting a wall. That was odd. Gavin had the same
sleeping-in gene I did so why would–
Yes!
I remembered now – today was
Gavin’s first day of work! I squeed to myself and executed some super cool
dance moves. I may soon be able to afford the $7 bottle of wine. Not that I
could tell the difference, but whatever. This morning was already looking brighter.

***

With
Rocco, now fully dressed, settled in at my awesome turquoise shabby chic kitchen
table munching on his bowl of Cocoa Krispies – sans milk, of course – there was
still
no sign of Gavin. It had been twenty minutes. Further inspection back
in the hall revealed a closed door and a muffled snore.

“Knock,
knock.” I rapped as I pushed open the door. “I figured I should rattle your
cage since eighties rock doesn’t seem to be doing the trick –
Oh God! Put it
away!
” I slapped my hand over my eyes so hard I could practically feel the
shiner forming, the vision of Gavin’s pale white ass cheeks burning a hole
through the back of my head. The only thing keeping the vomit down was the fact
that he had been lying on his stomach instead of his back. 

“Guhfmm…what?”
came the drowsy male snuffle from the bed, accompanied by a rustling of sheets.

Still
shielding my eyes, I whispered-yelled, “Get your hairy ass covered now!” I did
not want to alert Rocco to any possible distraction involving his favorite person
and unfortunate role model.

“Hey,
it’s not hairy,” Gavin protested with a yawn. “You’re just jealous cuz mine’s
perfect and yours is, well, you know.”

I
retreated from the room, tossing over my shoulder, “You can’t be late on your
first day, Gav. And for God’s sake, put on some pants – there’s a minor in this
house and there is no way to un-see that whole mess you’ve got goin’ on, Billy
Idol.” I made a vague circular motion with my finger and hurried away to finish
getting myself ready for the day.

I
returned to the kitchen with five minutes to spare. Gavin, thankfully now
clothed in faded jeans and an old concert t-shirt, was leaning against the
counter with his own bowl of Cocoa Krispies raised to chin level. He spooned a
bite into his mouth and focused on his nephew.

“But
why doesn’t she like ponies?” Rocco’s puzzled expression passed between his
uncle and me, his cute little lisp making “ponies” come out as “poneeth”. His soulful
brown eyes crinkled in confusion while his short mop of thick dark hair tilted
to the side along with his head. “Ponies are awesome.”

Gavin
pointed his now empty spoon at Rocco in explanation. “I don’t think it’s that
she doesn’t
like
ponies, Rock – it’s just that it’s been too long since
she’s
ridden
a pony,” he said, chuckling to himself at his oh-so-lame
joke and giving me a sidelong glance in repressed merriment.

“Ha
ha,” I responded and then gestured for Rocco to give me his empty bowl and cup
from the table. “Your Uncle Gavin needs to quit with the livestock stories and
get going to his new job,” I told Rocco. “And we need to get a move on, dude,
or we’re gonna be late for school. Go grab your shoes.” I tossed the dirty
dishes in the sink for later.

Rocco
dashed to the side door to retrieve his sneakers and I turned to face my
brother as I grabbed my purse from the back of one of our mismatched kitchen
chairs. “Seriously, Gavin, good luck today,” I told him and stretched onto my
tiptoes to give him an unexpected peck on his scruffy cheek. “Knock ‘em dead!”

“Yeah,
yeah,” he replied self-consciously and ran a hand through his unruly mass of
dark brown hair – hair that I noted had clearly not been washed on this day.
Baby
steps
, I told myself.

We
both knew that this job was a big deal – a turning point of sorts, I hoped –
but not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable than necessary, I threw a small
wave over my shoulder, picked up my lunch bag along with Rocco’s backpack and
escorted my kid out to the car.

“Yeah,
good luck, Uncle Gavin!” Rocco hollered as the door was closing behind us. “And
maybe if you do a good job we can go on a pony ride this weekend!” My backwards
glance revealed a spoonful of cereal spewing from Gavin’s surprised mouth onto
the linoleum floor.

One
guess as to who’d be cleaning that up later.

Poop!

If It’s Good Enough for a Caveman…

Nate

“I
think that about covers it,” said the nurse, handing over the discharge papers.
“Any other questions?” Her pleasant smile passed over my mother, sister, and
me, finally coming to rest on my father who was perched on the side of the
hospital bed.

“I
think we’ve got it from here.” My mother breathed in deeply and released it in
a resigned sigh. “Plenty of rest, no alcohol, healthy diet, and no stress –
easy enough.” She tried for a small smile with limited success, although it was
unclear whom she was trying to reassure, us or the nurse. Nothing about this
mess was easy.

My
father spoke up from his seat on the bed. “Are you sure about this whole
no
red meat
thing?” His hand swung up to point a finger at me, as if this had
all been my idea. Not likely. “What the hell do you think cavemen ate, bean
sprouts? No! I’ll tell you what they ate – meat! And then when they were done
with that, you know what they ate for dessert? More meat! And you think they
weren’t stressed? Of course they were; they were being chased by lions and
wooly mammoths and who the hell knows what else as soon as they set foot
outside the cave. Talk about stressful.” His finger made sure to single out each
occupant of the room before his tirade finished.

Bailey
stepped forward. “Props to your cavemen brethren and all, Dad, but you’re
forgetting one
tiny
, important detail,” my younger sister interjected
while holding her thumb and index finger close together. “They all lived to the
ripe old age of twenty and were about four feet tall.”

“I’ll
leave you all to it. Feel better, Mr. Murphy!” The nurse retreated to the hall.

It
was time to wrap this shit show up. “Alright, Dad, let’s get the hell out of
here and get you home.” I put my arm around my mom’s shoulder and gave her a
squeeze.  She leaned into me with a hesitant smile.

“It’s
about damn time,” my father grumbled.

I
couldn’t blame him for his less than chipper mood. If I’d had my chest cracked
open days earlier and had to endure a week of bland hospital food and
non-breathing plastic sheets, my disposition would be pretty damn sour too. Is
there anyone on earth who
doesn’t
hate hospitals?

In
truth, seeing my old man lying on the bed with his body stuck full of tubes and
wires when I’d arrived last week had really done a number on me.  His normally
robust presence had been completely absent and a frail and extremely, well,
mortal
looking figure had taken my dad’s place. The shock of it was extraordinary. After
that, it had taken very little time for my brain to catch up with my gut. Priorities
automatically began to shift in my mind, and decisions that were once complicated
and difficult instead became simple and quite inevitable. I was home, and I was
here to stay.

***

“Soooo,”
Bailey began once she and I were seated at the dining table in my parents’
home, the same home we’d both grown up in just outside of Greensboro. The topic
at hand? The family business. “What the hell do we do now?”

I
brought my hands together on the tabletop as I took in the familiar
surroundings, all of my mom’s small touches noticeable throughout the space –
the Lladro statues lining the sideboard, the dried flowers arranged among the
dishes in the china hutch, and a few of Bailey’s paintings hung carefully on
the opposite wall. I brought my eyes back to my sister. “Not so fast, Bay. I’ve
been here a week – don’t think you’re dumping this whole thing on me as if I
have all the answers. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and you can’t play your
little ‘Oh, I’m such a right brain person so I couldn’t possibly do anything so
uncreative and logical’ game. I’ll drag you with me kicking and screaming if I
have to.”

“Oh,
shut up, you pompous turd!” She slapped at my arm. “Have I complained yet? I’m
more than prepared to jump in. I just don’t know where to start. Dad oversees
everything, and I mean
everything
. Nothing is outside the scope of his
domain.” She sighed. “It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

She
and I had spent the last few days running back and forth between our dad’s
office and the hospital, and we were anxious, overwhelmed and pretty fucking exhausted.

So
even though Bailey is usually a pain in the ass, I regretted my earlier tone
and started over, “Okay, I’m sorry. I guess I thought you’d have a better idea
than I would of the best course of action here. I’ve been out of the day-to-day
picture for a couple years now and you’ve been working steadily with him so I
guess I just assumed.” I shrugged.

“Yeah,
but I’m the design person. I can put together an interior with my eyes closed,
but all the administrative and construction crap is not in my wheelhouse, Nate.
I’ll help where I can but…” She offered a super fake smile and lifted her hands
up in the air. Classic Bailey – trying to be cute.

 “Have
I reminded you yet today that you were a mistake?” I asked, because I’m her
brother and it’s my job.

“Nate,
I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and crap out a better insult than that.”

I
laughed. “Okay, that was a good one.”

“I
know – I’ve been storing them up since you’ve been away. I’ve missed you, you
big butt-head.” She pushed my shoulder. “And I will do my best to help wherever
I can. Deal?”

“Deal.”
I pushed her right back and she fell off her chair. “Oops.”  

I
knew she was right and the bulk of the responsibility would have to fall to me.
I’d been working in construction in one manner or another since I was sixteen
and could legally enter a jobsite. Even before that, I had spent many childhood
afternoons on the trailer floor of whatever project site my dad was working at
the time. I built some pretty stellar houses and skyscrapers and, well,
superhero hideouts, using Legos or blocks or whatever else I had on hand.

My
dad’s company,
Built by Murphy
, had been started by his father and was
the family’s pride and joy. It was also a legacy that my dad made no secret he
wished to hand down to his two kids when the time came. Unfortunately, none of
us had anticipated that time coming so soon, or so abruptly. Not that any of us
were under the illusion that Riordan Murphy would quietly submit to the laid
back life of a retiree just because he had a major heart attack. But he would
definitely be taking a step back, or several steps if my mom had anything to
say about it. In light of that, someone had to take a step forward, and it
looked like I was the only man for the job.

Construction
is tough. There’s a reason that most movie scenes involving construction sites occur
during smoke breaks or lunch breaks. It’s hard to glamorize dirt and concrete
dust, let alone try to carry on a conversation through the deafening buzzes and
whirs of heavy equipment and power tools. Hard hats and hard work make you
sweat and they exhaust you by the end of the day. But then you wipe your filthy
face with your even filthier shirt and stand back to take in your work. And
that’s
when the magic happens, at least for me. The bones of a future house, or the
foundation of a parking structure, or even a whole damn building stand before
you and you know that
you
built that.
You
helped lay that floor,
you
smoothed that concrete,
you
hung that drywall. Your accomplishment is
self-evident. And, sure, most days you forget to stand back – you’re exhausted
and ready to hit the shower or grab a beer or you have some crappy errand to
run. But on the days that you remember, there’s no feeling like it.

There
was no reluctance in me to adopt the actual construction aspect of the company
– never had been – but as I’d seen with my dad, the guy who runs the show
doesn’t wield a hammer. He spends half of his time in meetings and the other
half putting out fires. This holds little interest for me, and was the main
reason I left town a few years back. I didn’t want to get sucked into the
business of doing construction. I wanted to do my job, do it well, and at the
end of the day just leave it there and get on with whatever the rest of evening
held for me. Taking his work home with him and strategizing to grow a company
is what landed my dad in open heart surgery at the age of sixty. No thanks. But
what choice did I have?

It
all came down to one thing – family. And worse yet, fucking Irish family.

***

“Come
on in,” I beckoned to the kid.

It
was the following Monday and I was starting my day at an apartment building we
were putting up on the north side of town. I’d spent the weekend at the office
and at the company’s various worksites with Bailey, still trying to get up to
speed. We had a few new crew members starting this week and it looked like the
first one had arrived.

So
maybe “kid” wasn’t exactly the right word for the guy standing at the open
doorway. He was probably early twenties and I had only just turned thirty one
myself. But from the looks of his work history that Bailey had passed on to me,
I couldn’t think of what else to call him. There was hardly a thing there. What
in the hell had this guy been doing since high school?

He
stepped toward me in the site trailer, hands in the front pockets of his jeans,
a tentative look on his face. He was fairly tall, probably only an inch or two
shorter than my 6’2” and I suppose he looked strong enough. Bailey did mention
the stellar character references she’d gotten from a couple of the guy’s former
baseball coaches, I think. At any rate, something made her give him a shot so I’d
just go with it. The kid didn’t know shit about construction, that was clear, but
that didn’t bother me per se. At this point I just needed all the extra hands I
could get, and as long as we kept a close eye on him, he could learn a lot of
what he needed to know on the job. Nothing like trial by fire.

“Monroe,
right?” I asked him.

“Yeah,
that’s me. Gavin Monroe.”

“Nate
Murphy.” I stuck out my hand.

He
took it and gave it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. And, uh, thanks for the
job. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Well,
I guess that remains to be seen, Gavin.” His Adam’s apple bobbed but he held my
eyes. This could work out fine after all. “Follow me and I’ll show you around.
You’ll have to pardon me – I’m still trying to get up to speed on all of these
open projects but I’m assuming my sister told you all about that when she
interviewed you?”

“Yeah,
she did. I hope your dad’s doing better.”

“He’s
hanging in there, thanks.” I handed the kid a hard hat as I donned my own by
the door of the trailer. “You bring a pair of work gloves with you?”

“No,
sir.” The uncertain look was back.

“We’ll
find you a pair.” I took a step down the stairs. “I’m assuming those boots are
steel-toed.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,
sir.”

“Alright,
come on, I’ll introduce you to Mark. He’s the foreman on this job and he’ll get
you squared away. Not sure if you’ll stay on this site or not but we’ll play it
by ear.” He nodded back at me. “And cut the ‘sir’ crap. You work hard and do
your job and save the manners for your mom.”