Page 84 of The Sleight Before Christmas

Twenty-Two Years Ago . . .

Exiting my rusted Silverado, I approach the bear of a man on the front porch of the house as his eyes roll over me. “Hey there, Thatcher?”

“It’s Thatch,” I say, extending my hand. “Good to meet you in person, Sir,” I extend the welcome, shaking firmly while hoping he can’t feel the sweat in my palm. Joshua’s last call scared the fuck out of me. I can’t go back to the life I barely escaped, nor a cell—not a second back in time. But if I don’t land this job, I’ll be stuck in my past, possibly for good.

With what this man’s offering, I’ll be able to pay up almost all of my restitution and get space from the dumpster fire I’ve been trapped in.

“Come on back,” he says, walking down the short set of stairs to the backyard. “I’ll show you what I’m thinking.”

“Yessir,” I say, trailing him.

“Allen,” he states.

“Still Thatch,” I joke, and I take his answering grin as a good sign.

“Smartass, huh? I speak it fluently, thanks to my kids.”

Shit. Fuck!

“Shi—uh, I didn’t mean it that way, Sir. Please take no offense.”

He cuts his eyes back at me as I break out in a cold sweat. “None taken, Son, ease up. This isn’t a desk job interview. If youhave two hands, you’re damned near qualified. I only have one other who answered the ad.”

God, if you’re there, it’s me Thatch. Please. Just this job. I beg you. This job and I’ll never ask for anything else.

“So, you do much carpentry?”

“I’ll be honest, the minimum basics, but I take orders well. I only have to be told once, and I can haul every bit of this wood where you need it,” I nod toward the gigantic stack of lumber.

“Well, what I have in mind is a bit complicated. This isn’t a simple blueprint,” he palms the back of his neck and looks over to me. “I’ll be honest, it’s pretty complex. This is a wrap-around, multi-level deck. Once we’ve poured cement and got the decking boards in, I might have us consult on more additions.”

I nod as he grins over at me. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No, Sir. I’m afraid I don’t, but I will show up every day and do exactly as asked.”

“I really could use an experienced hand,” he delivers like a blow.

“I really could use this job, Sir. I’m quick on the uptake, I assure you.”

“Where did you work before?”

“Odd jobs,” I offer instantly.

He tucks his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans. “I see.”

“You’re not buying it,” I swallow and swallow again.

“You’re a little jumpy, Son, and frankly, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

“I’m jumpy because I’m terrified of not getting this job,” I state, and his warm eyes flit up to mine instantly.

“I’m sorry, Son, really. But I need someone with experience. This is a highly detailed project, and I was kind of hoping to find someone to helpguide me.”

“I understand, I really do. If I’m being honest, beginner was a stretch for me. Thank you so much for your time,” I offer my hand, and he takes it, pumping it. Turning, I ignore the clog in my throat and the sting in my eyes, knowing that I just cost myself for lack of the right fucking words. My damned Achilles heel. My fucking father, my brother, they can both talk a nun out of their habits, but I can’t get a fucking job as simple as a carpenter’s hand. Can’t keep my fucking cool enough to have a regular Joe view me as competent enough.

“Hey, Thatch,” Allen calls behind me, and in a two-second stretch, I know I have to make the decision either to pretend not to hear him or try to come up with more words. I’m far enough away that his call could go unanswered, and he would know I’m ignoring him purposely to save face, but something, some whisper inside me, has me stopping in that yard and glancing back. Going with my gut, I stop my footing and face him, allowing him to see the tears rolling down my face as I run my wrist over them.

“You need this job that bad?”

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