Nameless

by Marni MacRae

  Ezra nods as if he understands perfectly and turns off Brighton Valley’s main street. “You must be sleeping well after all the exercise.”

  I laugh at his obvious quest for information and relax back in my seat for the last few blocks. “I am. Like a baby. I go to bed tired, and I wake up refreshed. No dreams, no distractions.”

  It was true, I have been sleeping well, and although I am enjoying the routine, the comfortable dependability of it, every night I wish I was distracted. I miss Nick. Although I see him every day—we spend an hour having lunch together before I begin my cleaning duties—he hasn’t been by this week. We haven’t kissed or even held hands. Everything in this new life of mine feels perfect except for that.

  I decide as we come to a stop at the dirt road that runs in front of the row of houses that I will ask Nick over tonight. Maybe for a movie or just to talk. Just to be near him.

  “I’m glad. You call me when you need me to pick you up, Miss Eve.” Ezra reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze as I open the car door.

  Impulsively, I reach over and hug him. “Thanks, Ezra, you’re the best.”

  I feel his free arm come around me, and he returns the hug. He doesn’t say anything more and I hope I haven’t made him uncomfortable, so I slide out of my seat and smile at his old, wizened face that looks somewhat sad now and close the car door.

  As I turn to make my way down the street to the finished homes at the end, I see Odell approaching. He waves his hand in greeting, his black skin gleaming in the sun. Nick had introduced me to some of the men working on the site on Monday. Explaining their titles of foreman or superintendent and what their main duties were. Odell is the foreman on a home that was in the beginning stages only two days ago.

  I am amazed at how much they accomplish in so little time. What had been just a square shape of concrete only forty-eight hours ago now has the clear lines of the home it will soon be. The walls are up, and as Odell reaches my side, I can see beyond him that there is equipment and large stacks of lumber surrounding the site that hadn’t been there yesterday.

  “Boss wanted me to grab you when you got here.” Odell takes off his hard hat and gestures to Nick’s truck parked across the street from the activity on Odell’s site. “Says he thought you might like the show.”

  “Show?” I follow as Odell shortens his stride so I don’t have to jog to keep up with him. The big man winks down at me, his white teeth flashing in his dark face.

  “You’ll see.” Walking beside him I feel like a child. His size is overwhelming. When first meeting him, I had been speechless. His dark skin had glowed almost blue-black in the sun, his chest stretching so wide I had wondered how he found shirts to contain it. But it had only taken a minute for the intimidation to wear off. Odell is huge beyond imagining, but his gentleness matches his size. I liked him instantly.

  We reach the large white truck, and Odell rests an immense hand on my shoulder.

  “You stay here.” He pulls open the driver’s door to the truck and fetches a hard hat. “Set this on your pretty head, and I’ll hunt down the boss.” Handing me the white plastic hat, Odell strides off toward the house under construction, his long, powerful legs eating up the distance in only a few strides.

  I watch as men crawl over the site. Calling out to each other, nail guns sounding off in the clear afternoon air. It has a music and rhythm that could be mistaken for chaos or taken abrasively, but I had been surprised on Monday to find I really like it. The men are hard, tough, and have foul tongues, but they are real about who they are. Every one of them is a part of a whole, each achieving a goal that fits to the common plan. And what they accomplish is like magic.

  Nick emerges from the front door alongside Mike. I prefer Odell to the superintendent, and after mentioning that to Nick during lunch yesterday, he had laughed.

  “Everyone does. Even I do, but Mike has a sharp eye and a head for juggling multiple projects. He’s good at his job even if he is rough around the edges.”

  Rough is an understatement. I hope he doesn’t come over to the truck and sigh when the short, burly man turns from Nick and heads around the house to the back. Nick’s eyes light on mine, and I can’t keep the smile from my face.

  He is such a sight. Tall, his skin tan, his dark hair curling a bit from under his hard hat, his eyes shadowed beneath the slight brim. Out of all the people I’ve met throughout my time in Brighton Valley, Nick has a presence about him that can take my breath away.

  “You look like you had a nice morning.” He takes my hand when he reaches my side and I squeeze it.

  “I did, thanks. Odell says you want to show me something.”

  “I do.”

  He grins and nods toward the house he just emerged from. When I look in the direction he indicated, I realize he is nodding at Odell who is now perched in the cab of a crane.

  “One of my favorite parts of the process.”

  Suddenly Nick reaches down and wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me onto the hood of his truck.

  “You’ll get a better view from there. Relax and enjoy. This takes a while, but I think you will enjoy the show.”

  He leans his strong frame against the truck next to me, and I feel a tingle of warmth as Nick’s shoulder lines up against my arm.

  I stay focused on the view of Odell and watch as the crane turns slowly, pivoting on its tracks, aligning its dangling cable with a stack of lumber. Like nimble dancers, men begin attaching the cables to the lumber and soon the crane lifts the load, raising the boards into the air. As it rises, I realize the large boards have been affixed in a specific shape I couldn’t see while they were lying flat. Like a large triangle. Slowly the triangle floats up until it is higher than the shape of the house. Then Odell turns the crane again and floats the load to the second floor of the structure where men are waiting to grab it. Gliding smoothly, slowly, voices call out, the men gesture to Odell who skillfully adjusts the alignment and settles the three-pointed shape into place.

  “It’s the roof!” I realize what they are doing now as the men receiving the form begin to secure it to the structure of the house. The cable releases and returns for another triangle load.

  “Trusses,” Nick says. “When I was a boy, I used to go along with my father in the summer. He was a cabinet maker and built custom cabinets for homes all over Kentucky. One day we stopped at a site for him to talk to one of his clients. It was truss day. I watched them do this, and knew I would build homes when I grew up.”

  “Trusses,” I whisper, not taking my eyes off the triangle that was being lifted, almost clear of the second floor now to set in line in front of the first one closer to the front of the house.

  “Truss day is still my favorite time. It’s a turning point in the building process. It marks a bit of a peak, no pun intended.” He smiles. “All downhill from here.”

  I watch through three more trusses being lifted and set, fascinated with Odell’s skill with the crane, the synchronicity with which the men work together, and I see the shape coming to life.

  “It’s amazing that the walls will hold so much weight.”

  “The walls, yes, but the weight is born by the foundation and footings.” Nick relaxes against the truck and points down along the line of the roof and then the walls to the ground. “All the weight from the peak to below ground is followed into the footings at the base of the foundation. The larger the structure, the deeper the foundation. In New York City where some of the largest buildings are, the foundations go down into the bedrock of the island. Had there been no bedrock there that was as deep as it is, that city wouldn’t be as it is today.”

  “Anchoring it to the earth.”

  “Exactly,” Nick nods. “Done correctly, a structure can withstand storms, earthquakes, the test of time.”

  “Like a tree’s roots.”

  “Yes, like a tree’s roots.” Nick gestures at the crane and looks up at me. “He’ll be at it for a while longer. Let’s get some lunch before
you attack the next house.”

  I had finished the first home on the street yesterday and was about to begin the next one today. Nick had come over and walked through inspecting my work and had seemed pleased. I was surprised at how hard cleaning was. Going into it I had thought it would be a simple task, but there are so many details and so much space that after two days I have to admit that house cleaners have a rough job. I can only imagine it is worse when the homes are filled with families who contribute to the mess.

  “You ready to eat?”

  “Starving.”

  Nick lifts me down from the hood, and I take a last look at the impressive sight of trusses piecing together the roofline.

  “It’s like magic.

  “Yep. We are magic men.” Nick grins and guides me to his job shack for lunch.

  * * *

  Four hours later I gather together the cleaning supplies and rags to set them in the laundry room of the home I am working on. I have finally finished the windows and the inside of all the cupboards. This is a home with three bathrooms and a lot of cupboard space. I went through almost the whole bag of towels just getting the windows to shine and my fingers are sore from scrubbing at the residue of stickers on most of the panes. I’m getting the hang of it though. I have learned to peel off the stickers slowly, then squirt the residue with soapy water and let it soak while I tackle the next window. With each pane, there seems to be a new sticker with the maker’s emblem, or warning, or order information. It is time-consuming, but I am determined to make each one shine.

  “Hey!” Nick shouts through the front door.

  “Hey!” I yell back, stashing the bucket of rags and towels next to the brand-new washer and dryer.

  “You busy tonight?”

  I wind my way through the halls toward the front of the house to find Nick looking up at the beams in the main room with a keen eye.

  “No plans. What are you looking at?”

  “Good work.” He runs his eyes along the beams and then looks down at me. “I used to wander these homes every night before I went home, looking for mistakes.” He shrugs and gestures toward the front door. As we walk out together he continues gazing around the home.

  “I wanted them to be perfect. I would picture myself living in each one, imagining where I would put the furniture or having dinner with my parents.” He closes the front door. “If I could picture myself there and didn’t find any flaws, I figured they were good enough for their new families.”

  “Good work.” I nod and look down the street. “Yes, you and all your men do good work. I would live in one. Invite you over for dinner.”

  “Oh, you cook?”

  We wander down the drive to his truck, and I choke on a laugh. “Of course I cook. Every woman knows how to cook.”

  I haven’t had the opportunity to shop for groceries or supplies, but I had been itching to try my kitchen. Most evenings were spent dining with Elizabeth, and although Cora’s cooking is beyond delicious, I want to make food of my own. Bake bread, mix ingredients, feed myself without waiting for someone to feed me.

  Nick raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “A good amount of them cook, yes. And a generous handful of those cook poorly. Some just heat up frozen meals and call it gourmet, others order out. So, I have to say, I am interested in tasting your cooking.”

  “Not eager. Interested. I caught that, Nick Donovan.”

  He laughs and points at the truck. “I called Ezra and told him I was stealing you for the evening. If you agree, of course.”

  “Hmmm. Theft of a defenseless woman. I’ll keep my phone handy in case I need to call Lee and report your crime. But, sure. I’m interested to see what you have planned.”

  Nick’s laughter rings out down the street as he opens the truck door for me. “Get in, sassy, and buckle up.”

  * * *

  Five minutes out of town, the opposite direction from Elizabeth’s estate, Nick turns off the road down a long dirt drive. I know it’s a driveway because of the mail box posted at the street and turn to Nick who looks a bit nervous.

  “Are we visiting someone?”

  He shakes his head and then nods toward the view in front of us. “This is my place.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, surprised, and turn my face to see a large one-story home laid out before us as we come to a stop in front of it. “Your home.”

  I have wondered over the last week where Nick lives. What his home looks like. Where he sleeps. I’ve tried to picture him in his kitchen, sipping coffee or reclined on his couch watching TV. But I could never envision it clearly. I could only see him with me. In my kitchen, my bed.

  The thought awakens butterflies in my stomach, and now I feel nervous, too.

  He shuts off the engine, and we just sit for a moment looking at the wooden structure, the long front porch. I notice a bench suspended by chains at one end and wonder what it would feel like to sit on its cushions and swing gently, the warm spring evening air surrounding us, a glass of ice tea nearby.

  “It's…perfect.” And it is. The wood hasn’t been painted but still has its natural tone. It appears as if it belongs there, nestled amongst trees that have begun blooming bright green. A long green lawn skirts the structure and disappears into a patch of woods I can just catch a glimpse of behind the home.

  “I built it.”

  I nod, not surprised. With his company at hand, of course he would have them build his home. “It looks different from the ones you are building now.”

  “This is a ranch style. The homes in town are Craftsman two-story homes. I was able to build this with very little equipment and only minimal help.”

  I realize what he is saying and turn to him in surprise. “You built this, not your company.”

  “Yes. I built it. It took two years.”

  “Oh, my.” I am amazed again and itch to see more. “Show me.”

  A flash of pride fills his gray eyes, and Nick opens his truck door. “Yes, ma’am.”

  We tour his home slowly, and I absorb every detail. He points out the beams in the main room, recalling how he had maneuvered them there.

  “It was raining, Lee was out on a call, and I couldn’t get the crane in. I had rigged up a pulley system and used my truck to slowly winch them in place. I got out at least a dozen times in that downpour to check and re-check each one as they set.”

  He laughs, his face lifted up, looking at the large, rough-cut beams above, and it strikes me how much I admire him. How much I care for him. Everything he does, everything he has done for me, how he makes me feel and my need for him.

  His face is alight with pride and happiness. Gazing around the room, his mind somewhere else, recalling a rainy day spent creating his home. I know right then that I love this man. I have loved him since he first touched me standing in the road. He has been my constant and my savior as if God had placed him in that position, in that spot in time, just so I would have him.

  I feel a warmth spread through me. A calm knowing that settles me with a breath. I love Nicolas Quinn Donovan. And all is right in my world.

  That is exactly what I am thinking as a knock rings out. Hard and clear, breaking Nick from his nostalgia and sending a chill through me. Kicking the warm breath of the moment out of my chest. The knock at the door sounds again and a whisper inside me sends a warning.

  Run.

  Chapter 28

  Lee stands on the other side of the door.

  I slowly walk up to stand beside Nick, my feet feeling heavy, my heart slowing in my chest. I feel tired all of a sudden and vaguely glance around for somewhere to sit when my eyes catch the expression on Lee’s face. Grim. Apologetic.

  “Nick.” Lee acknowledges his brother, but his eyes are on me. Nick doesn’t respond he just stands there, his fist clenching the edge of the door, and I tear my eyes from Lee to look up at him. His head is bowed, shoulders slumped, and all the light from only a moment ago is gone from his eyes.

  Lee clears his throat. “Eve, we got a cal
l a few hours ago from the county seat. They asked me to come down to…ah...” He clears his throat again, a harsh cough. “Well, as it turns out, they found something they thought might be of help to you. Might help to identify you.”

  He looks down at his boots, then up at his brother’s hard face, and we stand at the door, the three of us. Silent.

  “And?” Nick’s voice is stiff. Resigned.

  “And we believe we found where you…came from. Where you lived.”

  I knew it already. My own intuition had heard it in the knock. Or perhaps just a cruel balance playing out. I had found myself in a moment filled with love, peace. And the balance of the universe felt it needed to be burst. My fate is yet to be determined. Eve is only imaginary.

  “We could run tests.” Lee is talking quickly now, hurrying in an attempt to smooth over the blow. “We could make sure you are a match for samples taken there. You don’t have to go—”

  “I’ll go.” I hear my voice, but it doesn’t sound like me. I turn to Nick who is reaching for my hand, his eyes full of compassion and a fierce protectiveness that almost makes me change my mind.

  “Let’s go.” I am speaking so softly I wonder if they heard me. I close my eyes for a moment and take a long, deep breath. As I let it out slowly, I feel my heart beginning to beat again, its pace strong and steady. “I have to go.” I find I am comforting him.

  My eyes are open, locked to Nick’s, and I know that he loves me. I can see it there. His strong hand envelops mine, and I want to cling to him. I want to hide there, surrounded by his strength, but I know there is no hiding from truth. Delaying would only leach the life from us both.

  “Come with me.” I hear the plea and forget that Lee is standing on the threshold. I only see Nick. Everything changes from here, and I don’t want to go without him. He pulls me to him, his broad chest a hard wall as he wraps those strong arms around my back, his cheek pressing against the top of my head.