Eugene and the Box of Nails

by Jaime Samms

  Inside the trailer, Eugene became acutely aware of how tiny the space really was. For one person, it was livable. He didn’t need a lot of space for himself and his meagre belongings. With another not-so-small man standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, examining his building plans, the space was minuscule.

  The scents of coffee, bacon, sawdust, and winter chill permeated the air. Eugene glanced at Cullen to find Cullen watching him, gaze intent and earnest.

  “These have changed quite a bit.” Cullen indicated the front wall of the house, which had been drawn and redrawn on a few pages of Eugene’s sketchbook until he’d figured out a workable solution to the tall door.

  Shit. How to explain without explaining. “It’s sort of a found-materials project, I guess you could say.”

  Cullen grinned. “Now there’s a new meaning to ‘build on a budget.’”

  “Guess you could say that. Sure.” This was getting too close to home for comfort, but Eugene wasn’t sure how to change the subject without seeming obvious.

  The silence that took over instead was deafening.

  “I should get down to the site, I guess,” Cullen said at last.

  “Sure.” Eugene nodded.

  “You need help with this”—he pointed to the final wall drawing—“you let us know. It’ll be tricky to raise on your own.”

  “Sure. I mean, I need more materials first, but yeah. If I need a hand.” He smiled. “Kind of you.”

  “Work safe, I always say.”

  “Su—” Eugene cleared his throat. “Um. Yeah. Right.”

  CULLEN LEFT his truck where it was and walked to the head of the path that led down between the two properties. He waved just before ducking under the trees and disappearing.

  Eugene let out a heavy breath once he was gone. There was no way Cullen hadn’t noticed all the “found items” lying around Eugene’s yard. Why he hadn’t said anything, Eugene had no idea. Did he really not care? Or was he gathering information for a lawsuit?

  There was no way to know, so he did the only thing he could, and began extracting nails from the blue-painted two-by-fours. By lunchtime he had the wood cleared of nails and was ready to start pounding said nails straight. He’d figured out the best way to do this was to hammer them flat against a rock he’d positioned near his log by the fire. It was boring, repetitive work, but he prided himself on the fact he was that thorough a recycler.

  People might think he was nuts for doing it, but in fact, he’d nearly framed out a twenty-by-twenty-six-foot story-and-a-half home, on a budget of less than five hundred dollars so far.

  So long as Cullen didn’t sue him or make him pay for any of the materials he’d removed from their bin.

  He was still sitting by the fire hammering nails when the crew came up from below to go for their lunch break. Since it was a Friday, they went to a local pizza joint for a warm meal. Eugene waved as they passed, and decided it was time for him to eat too. He ducked into the trailer and turned on his radio as he cooked a meal.

  When he returned to his spot by the fire nearly an hour later, he was shocked to find his stolen bucket had been emptied of bent nails and refilled with straight ones. There were also two cases of brand-new screws sitting on his stone. The nails, he saw on closer examination, weren’t new. Someone had hammered hundreds of nails straight and left them here for him.

  “The hell?” He glanced around, but the drive was empty of all vehicles but his own tiny beat-up Toyota pickup. There was no note. Nothing but the fasteners awaiting his use.

  As he stood in the trailer entrance, the crow flapped down to the edge of the bucket to examine the contents. It pecked through the fasteners, tossing a few argon nails on the ground before it selected a screw and puffed up, flapping its wings in triumph.

  “Hey!” Eugene stormed out, waving his arms. “Get out of here!”

  The crow fluttered up to the wire, holding tight to its prize.

  “Not careful, I’ll stuff you, cover you with glitter, and stick you on top of the Christmas tree!”

  The crow bobbed its head a few times, then let go of the screw. It sailed down to thump into Eugene’s chest. “Fucker!”

  It sounded like the crow was laughing as it flew away.

  Scooping up the screw and the nails the crow had scattered, he contemplated the unexpected windfall again. “Don’t question it,” he told himself, and hauled the bucket over to his pile of lumber.

  Time to get that wall built and the door framed out. If he could finish the wall, he’d be able to start on the roof trusses. He was pretty sure he had all the materials he needed for that, and he’d carefully planned the inner dimensions of the house to allow him to build the trusses from corner to corner on the flat floor.

  He’d discovered some of the lumber he’d salvaged for the front wall was cracked too far down to be useful for this part of the project, sadly. He put it aside for the time being. Later, he would cut all his leftovers into blocks for his floor. They would be set like tiles, grouted and waterproofed with one of his main splurges: marine varnish. When Paul had purchased some for the boat he was restoring, he bought wholesale to help Eugene out. Now, though, he had to find some longer pieces to complete the wall. It was a setback, but he was used to those, and the nails had saved him more time than the damaged wood had cost him. Overall, a net gain, and that was unusual enough to make him cheery.

  He barely noticed the workmen returning from lunch, and later was putting the last touches on what he could do of the wall when they ascended the stairs, ready to leave for the day. Cullen was the last to climb the path, and Eugene was just straightening up from driving in the last nail when he appeared from between the trees.

  “Hey there.” He waved and strode to the fire, which was a pile of hot coals into which Eugene had shoved a triple-foil-wrapped potato and an aluminum plate filled with fish, seasoning, and butter, then carefully covered to keep out the ash. Pulling in a deep breath, Cullen sighed. “Now that smells good.” He crouched and peered under the grate.

  “Fish and potatoes. Nothing fancy.” Eugene slung his hammer into its loop on his belt. “Good day?”

  “Productive,” Cullen agreed, glancing around the site. “For you too, I see.”

  Eugene narrowed his eyes. “Had a visit from a helpful construction elf.” He motioned to the bucket, now lighter by half the straightened nails. “Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  Cullen shrugged. “Looks like it sped the process up a bit, though.”

  “More than a bit. I’d have been here all day prepping if I’d had to do that myself.”

  “Good thing, then.”

  “Though I’m a little surprised someone else took the time to do it. Most people might have just brought new nails.”

  “I guess whoever it was noticed you like to do things a little differently.” He shrugged again. “Even I can get behind a bit of recycling.”

  “Sure.”

  “So. Enjoy your supper,” Cullen said after a moment of silence. “Smells like it might be almost done.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “Good.” Cullen lifted one side of his mouth in a kind, easy smile. It was barely visible through his beard, but it reached his eyes, which heated as they caught Eugene’s attention. “Stay warm, yeah?”

  For an instant Eugene lost his words. He nodded, stumbled out a “sure,” and lifted a hand in a half wave as Cullen turned for his truck. “You too,” he called, then blushed, because… duh. Cullen was probably going home to a warm house and wife-cooked meal.

  If Cullen heard him, he didn’t turn, and a moment later, his truck backed out of the yard and was gone down the road towards the highway.

  THE WEEKEND proved frosty and made it difficult for Eugene to, in fact, stay warm. His wall froze to the earth, and he had to wait most of the day Saturday for the sun to thaw enough of the moisture so he could finish the build. He’d found more two-by-fours, these ones suspiciously only very lightly used, in the bin. He’d a
lso had a windfall of plywood that had been used to make concrete forms. He didn’t care one bit that the wood had bits of concrete still sticking to it. He was adept at getting rid of that. More than one job site he’d been on over his construction summers had reused concrete-form wood for other parts of a build. With this and what he’d already collected, he had nearly enough to close in the walls.

  By Sunday Eugene was tired enough—and cold enough—to give in and take his ass to the Old Rock Café for a cup of warm, sweet coffee and something someone else baked. The little shop roasted their own beans, and Eugene grabbed the table next to the roaster to warm up.

  He was deeply engrossed in a game of Angry Birds on his phone when someone cleared their throat above him. He glanced up.

  “Oh!” A smile sprang to his face. “Cullen.”

  “Mind?” Cullen motioned to the seat on the other side of the table.

  “Sure.” Eugene’s belly tightened at the glimpse of muscled thighs and a lovely ass as Eugene twisted slightly to hang his coat on the back of his chair. The man had all the right proportions to make Eugene’s mouth water. He started when Cullen plopped a hat and gloves on the table next to his coffee.

  “Thanks. This place is really filling up.” He ran a hand through his slightly wavy hair, turning the flattened hat head into a spikey salt-and-pepper array jutting out at all angles.

  Eugene glanced around. He hadn’t even noticed that the tiny shop had filled with patrons both ordering takeout and populating the dozen-and-a-half seats inside.

  “There’s a craft show across the street,” Cullen supplied. “I was there myself for a while, but there are really only so many Christmas tree ornaments one guy needs, you know?”

  Eugene snorted. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a tree for the holidays. “I hear that.” And he heard more. The wording implied Cullen was on his own. No wife? Could he be so lucky as to believe “no boyfriend” was more accurate?

  “What were you after, then?” he asked. Not fishing at all, there, Kraft.

  “Not sure. Something for the folks who have everything.” He popped the top off a drink brimming with whipped cream and caramel syrup. “It’s tough to buy for them when they spend half the year in Florida in rented digs.”

  “Nice.”

  Cullen made a so-so motion of his upper body. “If you’re built that way, I guess. I like it here. Sure, it’s cold sometimes, but the snow has its charms.”

  “Just as long as it keeps its charms to itself until after Christmas. Should be dried in by then, I hope.”

  Cullen looked skeptical. “That’s a lot of work for one man.”

  “Lucky I don’t have anything like a pesky job to distract me, then.” Eugene shouldn’t have said it. The bitterness came through in his tone despite his attempts to sound neutral.

  “Oh?”

  Eugene waved a hand. “Long story.”

  Hunkering down with his arms crossed on the table in front of him, Cullen made a “go on” motion. His dark eyes glinted in the sunlight coming in the window, and damned if Eugene didn’t feel the urge to spill the whole tale.

  “Had a business,” he began, because there was nothing quite like ripping off the Band-Aid. “With my brother—other brother, not Paul. Steven. We had a landscaping company, and we did some great business. It was really going well.”

  Cullen sipped at his drink, the tip of his tongue darting across his lips to get every last bit of the whipped cream. That distracted Eugene for a moment. “But?” Cullen asked quietly.

  Shivering, Eugene sipped his own plain coffee and regrouped. “He found out I—” Eugene shrugged. “Well, hell. He’s traditional, right?”

  “And you’re not.”

  “Depends, I suppose.”

  “On?”

  “I’m all about one guy, one relationship, you know?” He sipped again and gave another shrug. “It was the guy thing Steve got all hung up on. When he figured that out, he moved the business, took all our equipment and the employees who wanted to move with him. Headed east. The guys who didn’t want to relocate, he severed, and since he emptied the accounts and left town, those guys came after me for severance pay. Took all my savings to pay them what they were owed. Sold my house, cashed in my RRSPs, found a job in construction. That was seven years ago, and it I was almost getting back on top of things. Then some asshole got high on the job and didn’t secure a scaffolding properly. I was on it when it fell, and it banged me up good enough the company gave me a settlement to avoid a lawsuit. But that took that kind of work off the table. Too risky to insure now.

  “So there it is. That was two years ago. Been scraping by on settlement money until I get this new place built. The land was dirt cheap, since it’s practically unbuildable.”

  “Unless you think outside the box,” Cullen cut in. “Which you did.”

  “Sure.” Eugene’s face heated. “Wasn’t going to live in a trailer in my little brother’s barn the rest of my life, was I? So I splashed out half that settlement payment on the land, and another chunk getting water and sewer and gas hooked up, and I have to make the rest stretch until I can get the place built and maybe start another landscaping business. On my own this time, because I sure as hell am not putting anyone else’s name on my bank accounts ever again.”

  And that had been a whole lot of personal to dump out there on the tiny café table between their coffees. Eugene stared at his hands wrapped around the colourful mug and waited.

  “You… maybe want to head someplace less busy for lunch?” Cullen asked.

  Eugene shifted his gaze up to Cullen’s face, off-balance from the offer that seemed to have nothing to do with him spilling his guts. Cullen’s gaze never wavered, and Eugene almost immediately went back to staring into his drink. “I don’t really eat out,” he blurted. Because every penny had to be accounted for and made useful, and eating out was not a productive endeavour. One cup of coffee and a cupcake were a huge splurge.

  “Eugene.” Cullen touched two fingertips to Eugene’s wrist. “I just asked you on a date. That means I’m paying.”

  “Um….” Eugene pulled his head up to find Cullen’s soft gaze on him. He had to swallow twice before he could make his vocal cords work any better than that. “Sorry. I—”

  “Please? I’d like to continue this, but I haven’t eaten yet today, and I’m about ready to murder a steak.”

  “Someone would have already done that part,” Eugene muttered. Stupid, Kraft. Shut your damn mouth before you’re chewing on shoe leather. Too late. He flushed hot and once more glared at his coffee, raking his hands through the hair flopping over his forehead.

  “Well, then it’ll be perfect for filling my belly. Come on. We’ll eat, then wander the craft show. Who knows. You might get some ideas for your place. There are plenty of home-decorating booths.”

  It actually sounded like a good idea. And what the hell was he doing, making a hunk like Cullen practically beg him for a meal and an afternoon of company? He lifted his gaze, and the excited light in Cullen’s eyes set him back on his heels.

  “Sure,” he blurted. His go-to brilliant response to everything, it seemed.

  “Perfect.” Cullen smiled, and the expression brightened his entire face. Tiny lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes and curved around his lips, marking out features clearly vary familiar with smiles and laughter. Beyond tongue-tied, Eugene couldn’t help an answering grin that lightened his mood considerably.

  They gathered up their winter gear and Eugene got his coffee poured into a to-go mug; then they wandered down the sidewalk in search of something open. On a Sunday afternoon in Sudbury, it was slim pickings. They ended up settling on the Laughing Buddha, which would dash Cullen’s daydreams of a sizzling steak since the more hipster fare was hardly steak and potatoes. Luckily, they had Kilkenny on tap, so that made up for the lack of cow. The back room was quiet, lit with strings of twinkle lights and old-timey cardboard cut-outs of Santa, reindeer, and elves. It
all lent an intimate holiday cheer to the meal, and Eugene’s heart sped to a pleasant, fluttery rhythm.

  They talked of nothing and everything over lunch. Eugene learned Cullen had three sisters, two older and one younger, all with a gaggle of children—there were three sets of twins—and his parents, who were in Florida until March.

  “So who will you spend Christmas with?” Eugene asked. “Which sister gets the honours?”

  “Oh no.” Cullen shook a finger and washed some fries down with a swig of beer. “No chance am I braving that much chaos on Christmas. Do you even know the kind of devastation a handful of rug rats can wreak on a living room when there are presents to open? Armageddon. Not even joking.”

  “But then you don’t get turkey and fixings either.”

  “Small price to pay, my friend. Believe me. Besides, Beth will make sure I get leftovers and probably come pester me and make hot turkey sandwiches on Boxing Day.”

  “Beth. She’s the younger one?”

  “Baby of the family, yep.”

  “And the one with the most kids.” Eugene picked the names out of his brain. “Cullen Jr.—that’s adorable, by the way—Katie and Kim, and Patty.” He frowned. “Oh. And the baby… Jessica?”

  “Points for the right initial, anyway. Jennifer.”

  “Well, I was close.” He took the last bite of his fried eggplant sandwich and thought. “Jessica is your oldest sister, then. J and J bookends.”

  “That’s right. So you have tricks, do you?”

  “I do. Jessica is married to Andrew. Her name ends with A, his starts with A. They have Andy—easy one—and Claire. Then Dianne. Backwards alphabet, you see. Beth is the youngest, then you, C, then Dianne is D and Jessica. J. Dianne’s kids are Paul—also easy, because that’s my brother, and he’s married to Deana, so similar names. So Paul and Peter, and Abby and Allison. The alliteration is a little cheesy, I gotta say, though.”

  “You missed Beth and Dianne’s husbands.”

  “Now see, you’re trying to throw me off, because Dianne isn’t married. She’s divorced and living with Penny, the girl she dated in high school. And Beth’s husband is Marty.”