Page 32 of Coach
The house had great bones: a classic Italianate style with a generous front porch, cornices, arches, corbels, and a clapboard finish that had seen better days.
I could tell immediately which side of the duplex was Este’s, thanks to the front porch that had been sanded and repainted.
And, well, the dog that was barking at me through the front window when I climbed out of my truck.
“I wish I could say she will calm down eventually, but she barks the whole time the lawn service mows across the street. Thankfully, the place isn’t occupied, so apparently, they only come in to mow every couple of weeks.”
“She won’t bother me,” I assured her. “There were always a ton of dogs where I grew up. So are you doing the wholebackyard?” I asked, falling into step with her as she led me around the side yard.
“Well, it would have to cut off here,” she told me, stopping between a set of windows at the back. “No one is in the other side right now, but someone could move in at any time. I don’t want to have any issues with Trix. But the whole other side would be great. I mean, if it’s not too much.”
“Not at all. It’s a good yard. Needs some love, but you’ll get there.”
“Yeah. I have all kinds of boards drawn up. I think those two trees are going to be perfect for a hammock. Though I think I need a shed too for all my tools.”
“Doesn’t this place have a basement?” I asked, eyeing the little windows near the foundation of the house.
“Apparently, but the access must be in the other side of the duplex. So, no basement and no garage means my dining room has kind of become my tool station right now.”
“In that case, I’ll build a double gate, so when the time comes, the company can drive through the backyard to drop the shed. I have a ton of extra wood lying around. Once I unload here, I’ll run and grab it.”
“You’re amazing,” she said, shooting that megawatt smile at me. I swear that thing packed a punch. Straight to the solar plexus. It was hard to fucking breathe when it shone in my direction.
“Can I help you unload everything?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Can I offer you some coffee? Iced?”
“That I’ll take.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Splash of cream.”
“I’ll be right back with that.”
She was, too. In a massive reusable cup with dinosaur-shaped ice cubes.
While I was gathering supplies, she clearly ran to the market, coming back with several reusable bags to, I presumed, make me a meal.
The promise of that kept me going even as the auger beat the shit out of muscles that hadn’t used one of the damn things in years.
It was a surprisingly cushy life, being an arms dealer. At least compared to the ass-breaking work I used to do from sunup to sundown.
Still, by the time the sun started to go down, I had all the posts placed with braces to keep them straight as the cement set.
“Sorry, she couldn’t wait,” Este called as her dog started to bark.
Turning, I saw her trying to keep the sturdy black-and-white dog in the front yard while she clearly wanted to come and inspect my presence more closely.
“It’s fine. Bring her on back.”
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” But Trix clearly had other plans, though. She eased up on the lead in an attempt to give Este a false sense of security. Then, as soon as there was a little slack in the lead, Trix charged forward, dragging Este with her.
“Trix, stop!” Este yelled, attempting to dig in her heels. But Trix was one determined dog, finally giving the leash too hard of a tug and making it slip out of Este’s grasp. “No!” Este yelled as the dog bounded toward me, barking maniacally.
“Trix, sit!” I called, tone brooking no argument. She didn’t sit right away. But she did stop charging. Her head cocked to the side, watching me. “Sit down,” I demanded again as Este ran up behind her dog to grab the leash.
