by Lorrie Kruse
Two…no, five…five more websites and he’d call the search done. Five or six searches wasn’t bad, was it? She couldn’t really complain if he looked at just seven or eight more sites.
As he backed out of his tenth site, he wished his eighteen months were over. He could tell his father: “Sorry, I’m never going to walk again, don’t count on me for the group home.” His father would have to hire someone then. He could stop worrying about impressing his father.
Except he didn’t want to be stuck in this chair forever. So he clicked on another site.
He was scanning his fifteenth website when he heard the truck doors slamming in the driveway. He hadn’t found any nuggets today, but he was certain there’d be at least some little glimmer of hope this afternoon. He stashed his printouts in the lower drawer and then wheeled out to the kitchen. His father, brother, and friend were dusted with bits of sawdust. Their smiles were broad. Invigorated. Just like whenever they started a major project. Matt crossed his arms and glared at each of the guys like it was their fault he’d spent the morning watching cartoons instead of slinging a hammer. It wasn’t their fault. It was his own.
“Got the group home all built?” he asked as he forced his arms to unwind.
His mother held a finger to her lips. “Kaylee’s sleeping.”
Derrick nodded and then whispered, “Got one side framed in already.”
Matt had wanted to be there for that first cut, the first nail, the first everything. Working on the group home had been his idea, and now it was barreling along without him.
He dried his hands and then dropped the towel on the countertop. Lunch didn’t even appeal to him today.
His mother picked up the towel and hung it over the oven handle while Matt took his place at the table. The place where the chair had been removed. His father and Brad were working on their food like there was a race. Derrick dished up a heaping serving as though it were his last meal. Matt filled his plate with twice the amount he’d eaten on any day since coming home. If he couldn’t be like the guys at the jobsite, then he’d try to fit in at the table.
When the plates were nearly cleaned for the second time, Matt felt an overwhelming sense of suffocation. They’d be leaving soon. Back to the jobsite. Back to life. Matt’s big plans for the afternoon were to clean his bellybutton and trim his nose hair, maybe alphabetize the useless printouts detailing other people’s miracles.
“We could use a fourth set of hands out at the site,” his father said, looking at Matt.
He felt a stronger tingle of anticipation than he’d felt the other times his father had tempted him with going back to work. He wished going back was as simple as saying yes, but he’d mentally worked the jobsite numerous times. The little he could do wasn’t enough. He put on a smile to soften his words, as much for himself as for his father. “Then I guess you’d better be hiring someone.”
His father’s jaw tightened. “You need more time, then tell me you need more time. But don’t you dare give up before you even try.”
Jenny’s stomachache last week had been just that—a stomachache—but she wasn’t home free. Matt flashed a look at his brother. Back me up here. Brad pushed a tomato-soaked macaroni noodle around his plate. Thanks for the help, Mr. I-Need-To-Be-Home-With-My-Family. “I don’t need to try it, Dad. I know I can’t handle the job.”
“Your arms still move, don’t they? You can swing a hammer the same as any of us can.”
Matt stared back at his father and thought about how happy Crystal was going to be. Give her her frigging wish. “Fine, Dad. I’ll come swing the damn hammer, but only if you promise to hire someone when you discover I’m no help.”
“The day you prove there’s not one single thing you can do, that’s the day I’ll hire someone. But not one second before.”
“Anybody ever tell you how stubborn you are?”
His father smiled, knowing he’d won. “And I’m damn proud of it.”
Despite resisting going back to work, Matt felt a tremor of excitement when they filed out of the house toward his father’s truck. In one of the rare moments where he wanted to be wrong, he hoped his mental wanderings around the jobsite were nowhere close to reality.
His excitement faltered when he realized how high up his father’s truck was. “Maybe I should have Mom bring me over in the car.”
“Can’t,” Brad said. “Kaylee’s sleeping. Unless you want to wait until she wakes up.”
No, he didn’t want to wait. Not now that his going back to work was set into motion.
“We can get you in the truck if that’s what you’re worried about,” Derrick said.
“Worried? Me? Hell, no.” Him. The rock climber who used to be able to lift more weight than any of them. Unable to get into the truck on his own.
His father put his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”
Matt stared at a pebble embedded in the floorboard because he couldn’t stand to look at any of them. If he couldn’t get into the damn truck, how was he supposed to be any help at the jobsite?
Not wanting to go down that road, he forced himself to sit up straighter. So, he couldn’t get into the truck on his own. That didn’t make him useless. “Fine. I need help.”
Derrick took one side and Brad took the other. Together, they boosted Matt upward until he could grab the handle built into the frame.
“Now what?” Brad asked as he gripped the waistband of Matt’s jeans.
“I don’t know,” Derrick said. “All I know is I wish we had my truck instead of Pop’s.” Derrick’s truck was a souped-up low-rider, one of the few purchases he’d consented to spending some hard-earned cash on.
“How ‘bout I just hang here,” Matt said. “If you get up enough speed, I can fly like a kite.”
“Nah, we’ll figure this out,” Brad said, as though Matt had been serious.
Three-ring circus, Matt thought as he hung there. He couldn’t see Mrs. Mezmitz hiding behind her curtains, but he knew she was there. He hoped she was getting her money’s worth. “Why don’t one of you get inside the truck and pull me in, already?”
His father ran around the truck, got in the driver’s side, grabbed a handful of Matt’s jeans, and then reeled him in. Matt rotated his shoulders. “One more minute and I’d have been buying my shirts at “Apes R Us”.”
“You already do, don’t you?” Brad asked.
Matt curled his lip at his brother and then smiled. Damn, he’d missed this. Excitement vibrated within him. He was going to work. Finally.
In less than fifteen minutes, they arrived at the jobsite. The south wall was framed in and braced into place. Two by fours were laid in position on the ground to form the frame for the east wall. They’d been busy, but there was plenty of work to be done, and Matt was raring to go. He pushed open the door and remembered the fiasco of trying to get him into the truck. Getting him out should be a laugh and a half.
Derrick came around and scooped Matt into his arms, like Matt was a Russian mail-order-bride and it was their wedding day. It had been bad enough having Brad and Derrick give him a boost, but being in Derrick’s arms was just plain wrong. Trying to cover his unease, he batted his eyelashes. “My hero.”
Derrick plopped him into the wheelchair and then stretched his back like a hundred and ninety pounds was about a hundred pounds more than he could manage. “Yeah, well, sorry to say, you’re not exactly my idea of a damsel in distress.”
“I need more makeup, huh?”
Derrick laughed. “Try about a case full.”
Matt looked at the beginnings of a building. Adrenaline pulsed through him. This was what construction was all about.
Brad opened the tool trailer and strapped on his tool belt. Matt worked hard to push his chair over the upturned soil. Derrick and his father had their tool belts on by the time Matt reached the trailer. He grabbed his belt and buckled it on. The sounds of hammering echoed all around him. He worked his way over the bumpy terrain, ea
ger to get to work. Brad and Derrick were busy fitting the studs into the frame and hammering them into place.
Matt looked down at another stud ready to be secured. He mentally tried out different positions. Without pounding in one nail, he determined he’d have to leave the framing to the others. But there was still plenty to do. Lots of opportunities for him to prove his worth. Like cutting the studs.
He put all his strength into bouncing his way over to the pile of two by fours. His head and shoulders jerked forward when his chair got hung up, one front caster hanging free in the air. “You can work yourself out of this,” he mumbled.
“Need help?” Derrick hollered loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
With a lot of wiggling and leaning and jerking and four minutes gone forever, he managed to free himself. He made it though. That’s what mattered. Then, he was by the stack of two by fours. Holding on to the edge of the wheelchair, he leaned over, grabbed a plank, and then hung there. Rock hard biceps and triceps apparently didn’t matter when it came to lifting the stud off the ground. Not even ten minutes on the site and he was at two-to-zero on the scale of what he couldn’t do versus what he could.
“Need a little help?” his father asked.
He wanted to say no. Damn it, he should be able to say no. He looked away and stared at a rut he was going to have to pass over in order to get to the saw. He’d probably get hung up on that one too. His father was still staring at him. Damn, how he hated admitting he couldn’t pick up a frigging two-by-four, especially to his father. “Just a little.”
“Tell you what. I’ll carry the studs to the saw. You measure and cut.”
“Wonderful plan.”
His father had the stud on the saw and the measurement marked by the time Matt worked his way over the rough ground.
“Both cuts are marked for you,” his father said as he went to get another two-by-four.
Matt pulled the blade across the wood. Mixed in with the scent of fresh-cut pine was an acrid scent, like burning plastic. He leaned closer and sniffed, but all he smelled was pine. Such a wonderful smell.
He grabbed hold of the stud to turn it around and then puffed in frustration. Stuck in the chair, it’d take him forever to reposition the stud to cut the other end. Not impossible but impractical, considering he needed to keep ahead of Brad and Derrick or they’d be twiddling their thumbs. He should just wave the white flag now and go home.
His father came up behind him with another two-by-four. He looked at his son and then at the uncut end of the stud. Looking back at Matt he sighed. “Do you think if I put the stud across your lap you can take it over to Brad and Derrick?”
Forty feet of bumpy ground stood between him and where Brad and Derrick were working. Forty feet of bumpy ground he had to cover while balancing a stud. Hell no, was what came to mind, but he knew his father wouldn’t let him give up that easily. If he could master rock climbing, then he could do this. “Sure.”
It took his father only a minute to turn the stud, make the cut, and then lay it across Matt’s legs. Matt pushed against the wheels, but his arms immediately hit the stud. Put him on smooth, even blacktop, he could probably get there without a decent forward push. Stuck in the ruts from the backhoe, there was no way in hell he’d get across the lawn.
Brad patted his tool belt. “Shit.”
Derrick looked up and grinned. “Didn’t load yourself with nails again, huh?”
“Shut up.”
Finally. Something he could do. “I’ll get you some,” Matt said. He threw the stud as far as he could toward its final destination. He worked his way to the trailer, filled his own belt with nails, and then bounced his way back to his brother.
Derrick swiped his wrist over his forehead. “Damn. A cold Coke would be good right now.”
“I’ll get it,” Matt said. He made it halfway back to the tool trailer before he realized his worth in the crew. A gofer. That’s all he was good for. Nothing but a damned gofer. Not even a good one, considering Brad or Derrick could have been to the tool trailer and back before Matt even shaved off a quarter of his trip.
He eyed the framed-in wall spread out across the ground and pictured them lifting it into position. There was no way he’d be any help. Then there’d be the rafters, another job he couldn’t do. Forget roofing. He’d pretty much be useless with the siding. He couldn’t put in drywall.
Other than running for nails or sodas, he was useless. His being here would do nothing more than slow down the project. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, ready to call his mom to come get him. To hell with what his father expected of him. He’d disappointed his father his whole life. Why stop now?
He dialed in the first few numbers. His father came up beside him and put his hand on Matt’s shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out,” his father said.
“Dad—”
“Just give it some more time.”
He could almost hear the unspoken please hanging in the air. “Fine. But if I can’t do anything more than run for soda and nails, you’re hiring someone—got it?”
His father answered with a smile that had no power behind it.
Matt went back to the framework. Nailing might be difficult, but not impossible. He eased himself from the chair onto the ground and then reached for his hammer, only to find it was missing. He looked at his brother who waited a heartbeat before he offered his own.
While Matt set his first stud, Derrick pounded out three. Brad managed two, and that was with him running for a new hammer. Matt wanted to throw the hammer across the lawn, but he held tight. So, he’d only nailed in one stud. The point was he had nailed in a stud. He wasn’t totally useless.
As he continued working, he perfected his awkward method. After a few studs, it no longer took his full concentration to balance his weight while swinging the hammer. He set another nail into place. His arms ached. Somewhere along the line, he’d slowed down. One stud to four of Derrick’s and Brad’s. The hammer felt like it weighed three hundred pounds. He lugged it back up and swung, hitting his thumb instead of the nail. “Shit mother almighty,” he swore as he threw down the hammer. “Shit, damn, fuck.”
His father came over and crouched. “You’ve put in a good day’s work. Maybe it’s time we have your mother come get you.”
His thumb throbbed. “I haven’t even been here two hours.”
“You haven’t been out of the hospital all that long, either. I don’t expect miracles.”
They stared at each other until Matt looked away.
“We’ll bring you back tomorrow after lunch. We’ll make you work for two full hours and then some, no matter how much you beg us to let you stop earlier.”
Matt laughed, but he wished he had the confidence his father had.
“That’s better.” His father had nothing but love in his eyes. “Little by little, it’ll come.”
He wanted to buy into what his father was selling, but he couldn’t. He could come back tomorrow and the next day and the day after that and he didn’t think it’d make any difference. What he couldn’t do would still outweigh what he could.
“You look beat.” His father stood up, pulled out his cell phone, and punched a few buttons. “Why don’t you rest while waiting for your mother.”
Brad and Derrick kept pounding in studs, but he knew they’d heard. That’s right boys. Little Mattie’s going to take a nappy while waiting for his mommy.
He stared at the hammer laying where he’d tossed it. There were still nails in his belt. It’d take at least twenty minutes for his mother to load Kaylee and her favorite doll into the car and make the trip across town. Plenty of time to hammer out a few more studs and pretend he was one of the boys. But what was the use? Two or three studs more didn’t prove anything.
The throbbing of his thumb reached up through his arm all the way to his temple. The thought of having to work himself back into the chair seemed like an overwhelmin
g proposition. Then, he still had to navigate the hills and valleys left by the heavy machinery. He’d be lucky to make it to the driveway by the time his mother showed up.
With his version of waving the white flag, he popped the clasp on his tool belt and abandoned it on the ground not far from the hammer. At this point, he didn’t care if it laid there through eternity. Brad and Derrick kept working, but he felt them watching as he hefted his ass onto the chair’s leg strap. His muscles quivered and almost gave out as he worked himself higher. What he wouldn’t give to be able to stand, for even a second. He threw his weight backward, throwing his ass onto the seat.
Using his final reserve of energy, he pushed his way out of the construction zone, going over ruts that seemed as deep as the Grand Canyon. Him, without his rock-climbing gear. When he reached level ground, he dropped his hands onto his lap, closed his eyes, and waited. Behind him, he heard the whack, whack, whack of hammer to wood. The table saw whined as it chewed off excess lumber. Work in progress.
They’d be better off if he’d died in the accident.
Deep down, he knew that wasn’t true, but right now that fact seemed fuzzy. He hung his head and wished for a freak accident to take him out of his misery. Then he thought about never holding or kissing Crystal again. His thoughts expanded to not making it to his wedding day only two months away. To never seeing Kaylee grow up and get married. Never seeing the new baby. Never having the chance to have children of his own. Plenty of reasons to want to stay alive.
Like his father had said, little by little, it’d come. Somehow, he’d prove his worth.
He lifted his head and opened his eyes. The sun was bright and the sky was filled with cotton candy clouds. Much too beautiful a day to waste with bad thoughts.
“It’ll come,” he whispered.
His father walked toward him. There was nothing out of the ordinary in his father’s stance, yet Matt knew he was about to deliver bad news. Matt looked down the road, wishing to see his mother’s car. The road was traveler-free.
“Your mother just called. Mrs. Mezmitz needed a ride to her doctor’s appointment, something about her daughter being sick and couldn’t take her. It’s going to be about an hour before she can get here.”