Page 6 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I spend a fair amount of time on construction sites, and this is the exact kind of bullshit I won’t take from any man.

“I’m sure she does,” I retort. “But she wants it done in a reasonable manner and not before eight in the morning, little hammer.”

“Little hammer?” he repeats.

“Oh, sorry. I assumed we were exchanging sexist and demeaning nicknames.” My gaze falls to his crotch to make sure he got my meaning—his buddies laugh under their breath. “Perhaps I misunderstood, though I’d be surprised if mine was inaccurate.”

This is entirely false. He carries himself like a guy packing an entire tool chest down there, but he doesn’t need to know that.

I turn to go back in the house with a sigh. I’m already alienating people and the day’s just begun.

* * *

Surprising no one, the guys I hired to renovate the grocery store are nowhere to be found when I arrive downtown midday, though the owner, Gary, has been assuring me for weeks that they get in each day at seven and work ’til dark.

Gary and I do not have a fun, friendly relationship, which would be fine if I didn’t suspect Gary was a worthless piece of shit. While Liam’s been reporting back to me regularly about where things stand, Gary is intentionally vague. I ask for visuals and he sends me photos of a project that is not mine. I ask for dates, and he says he’ll have to get back to me.

That is why I did not warn Gary I was coming. I wanted to see exactly how much of a fuck-up he is, and apparently, it’s even worse than I’d thought: I’ve just unlocked the door to the grocery store and the gleaming hardwood Gary said was done two weeks ago is completely absent.

I do not need this shit—not right now. Not when I’ve got to get the new stores stocked and staffed, buy up a few more properties, sufficiently kiss the mayor’s ass, and attend all the meetings necessary to get our apartment complex built, all while keeping my mother alive following her surgery. I’m in Elliott Springs to kill several birds with one stone, which is, of course, simply a metaphor—none of the birds are supposed to die, no matter how ambivalent I am about the survival of one of them.

I step inside the dark store. It looks little different than it did four months when I came here to buy the space. “Hello, Gary,” I say crisply when he answers the phone. “How’s the space coming along?”

“Still right on schedule,” he says with a heavy sigh.

Poor Gary is tired of my nagging. Poor Gary is about to learn how good he had it when I was only nagging.

“Wonderful!” I reply cheerfully, pulling the contract out of my bag. “I’ve got store fixtures being delivered next week. Is that going to be an issue?”

“Well, I’m not sure about next week. Let me get back to you.”

Let me get back to you is Gary’s favorite phrase. My presence here is going to rob him of fifty percent of his vocabulary.“And the hardwood? You said that’s done?”

“Yep, we’re all good there.” There’s chatter on his end, and he returns to the phone. “Well, I’d better get back to it.”

Man, I really want to fire Gary. It’s a charge in my blood, that desire, but I don’t know for a fact that Liam’s much better, and I do know for a fact that once I meet Liam in person, this friendliness of his will fade away. That’s what tends to happen when people meet me in person. Actually, it tends to happen long before then—Liam’s been unusually difficult to offend and I’ve done my absolute best.

“I’m confused,” I reply. “Because you’re making it sound as if you’re in the store, but I’m in the store and it’s otherwise vacant. I’m also confused because I don’t see any hardwood.”

There is a long, awkward moment of silence.

I should add that it’s not awkward for me. I’m savoring this moment like the burn of a good scotch.

“Oh, right. Hardwood didn’t arrive,” Gary says. “Should be there tomorrow.”

I take a glance at the contract in my hand, though I don’t actually need to read it. “I’m not sure how carefully you read the terms of our agreement, Gary, but we reserve the right to assess a ten percent penalty on any stage of construction that does not meet deadline, and an additional ten percent penalty for each week that passes. You were due a check for ninety thousand this week. It’ll be eighty-one thousand if the job isn’t done by the end of the month.”

“I’d basically be working for free at that cost,” he sputters.

“Then if I were you, I’d get ahold of some hardwood,” I reply as I hang up.

Down the street, there are trucks in front of the theater. I loathe the part of me that’s excited about this meeting with Liam and putting it off at the same time, like a twelve-year-old with a crush she already knows is misguided. I loathe the part of me that’s made giddy by the thought of him.

Just get it over with. Liam is definitely going to disappoint me, and it’s time to face the music. Texts are deceptive anyway. For all I know, he’s a grandfather of twelve with a hacking smoker’s cough. Maybe he’s one of those aging hippies who pulls his remaining wisps of hair into a scraggly ponytail and only wears sandals. Maybe he drives a truck with a sexy girl painted on the side or isn’t allowed within fifty feet of the local schools because of an incident he says was a misunderstanding.

In the end, though, he’s none of these things.

He’s worse.

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