Page 7 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

Chapter 4

My phone buzzes, and whenI see his name, I smile. Obviously, James has decided to respond to my email with a phone call because that’s what small-town people do.

I texted him a few weeks after Ben died. We—us and the kids—were supposed to be back in Canopy to do more planning and tackle some easy projects as a family. James was insisting on taking us out to lunch in celebration of the new house. I don’t know why, but it was one of the most challenging texts I had to send during the whole initial ordeal. A call was out of the question; I learned quickly that I would fall apart during those conversations.

Ben and James had hit it off during our home search. It started six months before we found the Craftsman, during a frustrating lull in the market. They would talk about college basketball and hiking while I walked the houses, hoping to manifest the magic feeling that we had foundthe one.

James was devastated by the news. Like many of our friends and coworkers, he saw himself in Ben—in his forties, young kids,successful career. All gone. Poof. He and Ben got on so well. I also suspected that James felt the loss of a future fishing buddy and missed a potential friend that he never really got to know. James proceeded to check in on me at least once a month via text, usually wrapped in a compliment about my most recent essay. The thing about good, nice people is that they can be painfully sincere. More than once, his messages and commentary on my writing made me cry. Okay, sob.

I remember one text a few months into this internet-famous-because-my-husband-died-and-now-I-write-about-it roller coaster:Good news: I have everyone in Canopy hooked on your writing and they can’t wait to meet you. Bad news: everyone in Canopy is a fan and can’t wait to meet you.Something about that message captured the essence of my existence at the time.

I slide my finger across the phone and take the call.

“Hey, James.”

“Gracie Harris, it is so nice to hear your voice!” He’s speaking in a raised voice because at least two of his young kids are loudly running around in the background. “It’s been too long, but I feel like we’ve seen each other because Kendell saw your segment onThe Maisy Showand recorded it for me.”

Kendell is his equally sincere and wonderful wife. She sent a stunning floral arrangement after I shared the news with James.Deepest sympathies from Kendell, James, and frankly, everyone in your new home away from home, the card read.I have Kendells in my life, and I know it pained her that they missed the memorial service for someone they didn’t really know but would’ve loved if given the chance.

“Please tell me that you were too busy to watch it,” I say, feeling my ego take a hit before the conversation even gets started.

“You were great,” he said. “Maisy asked you way too many personal questions and you handled them with grace.”

“I appreciate that you’re skipping right past the part where I blacked out in front of a studio audience,” I respond, laughing—mostly at myself.

“Sure, it got a little rocky, but you kept going,” he says in a stern but still caring voice. “Which is certainly more than I would’ve been able to do in your shoes. You were brave—don’t let anyone tell you different.”

After the episode aired, people in my real life and online had lots of opinions about the interview. Some felt Maisy was too tough, or I was too sensitive, that I should never have been let on in the first place, or that the show should’ve cut the part that showed me crashing out. It seemed that everyone could find someone to share a stance with them. The truth is that I mostly felt numb. Empty. Embarrassed. And far from brave.

“I appreciate that, James,” I tell him. “I assume you’re calling to do more than just say unreasonably kind things to me?”

“Indeed. I’ve got good news—a solution to your problem.” There is a quick pause as if James is psyching himself up. “My brother.”

“Your brother?” My tone is curious and cautious.

“Yup. He has all the skills you need and more. He can jump right into any work you have.”

This seems too easy. I expected the search for a contractor to take some time and to be told everyone was backed up for months. Supply chains! Demand! Labor shortage! James just happens to havea brother available to help? My stranger-danger flags are being hoisted up the flagpole.

“Is he a recently released convict or something? How does he have time to do this?”

James laughs in the way that only a brother can when they’ve heard a solid burn at a sibling’s expense. One of his boys stops to ask, “What’s so funny, Daddy?” but James shoos him away.

“Actually, he’s a GC and has not broken any major laws since reaching adulthood. He runs a very successful building company and spent the last five years working nonstop. Like, literally no breaks—builders like him have been in high demand. We all basically did an intervention and forced him to take a break for the entire summer so he doesn’t drop dead.”

You don’t realize how often a turn of phrase like that is used until you experience the literal version of it. Nobody can say those words around me without instantly feeling like garbage (despite the fact it doesn’t bother me, because people like Ben do indeed drop dead), so James quickly adds, “You know, he needs to get some hobbies, take it easy.”

I throw him a lifeline. “How’s that going for him?”

“He’s bored out of his mind, Gracie. Wakes up at the crack of dawn, goes on long runs, and then is twiddling his fingers by nine a.m. I’m afraid if we don’t find something for him soon that takes just a little of his time, he will sneak back to work. I’ve never wished a video game addiction on anyone before, but he could use it. The man needs a break. His pace was not sustainable.”

“Do you remember the inside of this house? It doesn’t sound like much of a break to me.”

“Gracie, he was working seventy-hour weeks for years.Running from site to site, meeting to meeting, issue to issue. A few hours a day at your place, working at a reasonable pace,is a break. Trust me—plus, the type of work your house needs is the problem-solving stuff that Josh loves.”

So, the brother has a name. Josh.

A real-life GC has landed in my lap. The house could actually be nice by the end of the summer. If I decide to keep it, I’ll have a beautiful home to enjoy and share with friends. If, more likely, I decide to sell it, I might actually be able to make a significant profit, thanks to the repairs.

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