Foundation

by Lainey Davis

  Mick talks about Isaac’s early aptitude for math, describing earth dams he’d build in the puddles on work sites and the ways he’d put on a tiny hard hat to join his uncle inspecting mine shafts. “I think my boy here can feel the earth move beneath his hands,” Mick says. “That’s why I want him to come with us to Paraguay.”

  The food arrives and I dig in to my omelet, catching Isaac’s eye as he just looks at me, smoldering and sweaty. When I lick my lip, I taste salt on my skin, reminding me of how he tasted the other night in my kitchen. Mick keeps talking. “You know, we’re going in late February, right at the tail end of their rainy season. Did you know that?”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t read much about the country…” I pretty much only read up on Augusto Cruz and his immediate family.

  Mick nods and winks. “That entire region has terrible landslides. Just devastating. They don’t have a lot of infrastructure to start with, I mean compared to here. And what they do have gets washed away in these monsoons. Your Mr. Cruz would know all about it, especially if he managed to make a name for himself as a ball player despite all this.”

  “Hm.” I start to feel a bit foolish that I don’t already know more about the region we’re visiting, and make a note to start skimming the news sections and reading up on Paraguay and surrounding nations.

  “I ask you,” Mick continues, pausing to eat some fruit. “What do you think is important to this flashy baseball player? These other guys, they start foundations, it buys what? Shoes and gloves for kids in Puerto Rico? Batting helmets? Those things aren’t going to do a sniff of good to kids who can’t walk to school because the road washed out.”

  “Dad, I don’t think Nicole wants to hear about landslides while she’s eating.”

  “Of course she does,” Mick counters. “Her client is creating a foundation. That foundation could service the foundation of his homeland. Reinforce the roads so they don’t wash into the sea.” This is starting to sound more and more interesting, and I can see why Tim likes spending time with this guy. I would never have thought to care about how the rainy season somewhere might impact how its celebrity athletes share their wealth. But I’m also not convinced it’s relevant to a foundation that Augusto Cruz will create.

  “This is really fascinating,” I say, and I swear I can see Isaac’s neck muscles spasm. I pull out my phone and tap in a few notes to remind myself what Mick is saying. “Flood relief,” I say. “That could have appeal to donors. And people in Pittsburgh can relate to that, especially fans who live along the Mon River.”

  I’m not fully convinced what I’m saying is true.

  Mick nods. “Now, do you know what flood relief means?”

  “Oh, Jesus. Here we go.” Isaac throws down his napkin, crosses his arms, and leans back. I shake my head.

  “We’re not talking about boxes of Red Cross rations or sand bags to hold back the river. Flood relief, real relief, means someone with geotechnical knowledge proposing sustainable, affordable solutions. To repair roads, restore power. Secure the foundations of the homes built on the hillsides before they slide into the roads that just got repaired. Getting the nation functioning again at full capacity. That’s flood relief.”

  “I have never thought about that at all,” I tell him, truthfully. I chase my orange juice with a glass of water and try to process everything Mick is saying. “So where do you and Isaac come in to all of that?”

  Mick grins. Isaac shakes his head. “Well, Augusto Cruz’s foundation could help the government of Paraguay finance these infrastructure improvements. Pay the right experts to develop plans, supervise and execute the repair work for the nation.” He claps Isaac on the back and rubs his shoulder. “Imagine if my son leads off his small talk with the president of Paraguay, talking about how he saved your house from falling into the Allegheny River?”

  Now it’s my turn to squint and cross my arms. I’m feeling really manipulated here, and I don’t like it at all. Mick points a long finger at me. “This could be a very mutually beneficial trip for our companies, Ms. Kennedy. If we play our cards right.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Zack

  I SPEND THE next few days in a black mood. My dad always does shit like this, steam rolling everyone in his path. Sure, his idea is sound. Probably even good. But he should have tipped me off to this plan from the beginning. He wants me to be all grateful to him that he saw this long term vision when he sent me to Nicole’s back yard initially, rather than give me the promotion I’ve been working toward for years.

  And I hate how Nicole looked steamrolled about the whole plan. I could tell that’s not what she was going for at all, but also that she was in a hard spot between my dad and her boss leaping at Dad’s ideas.

  He wants me to be thankful that he’s bothering to bring me by his side on this grand humanitarian mission. “Pah.” I growl at the dirt in Nicole’s yard. Blowing out a long breath, I note that the ground has sunk at least another foot since I was here last. It doesn’t seem to be moving more horizontally, but I know I’m going to have to involve the city inspector soon if the slide doesn’t settle. Nicole is going to murder me if her house gets condemned.

  “But I’m going to tell her this is happening so she’s well informed. Because I fucking respect her and nobody likes this sort of surprise,” I mutter to myself, letting my tape measure snap back in with an angry snick.

  I hate how I’m a sidekick for my father. All that shit about him fostering my love of the earth, as if his twisted version of childcare, dragging me to construction sites, was a positive thing.

  “Yoo hoo!” I look over to see Nicole’s neighbor waving her arms at me from her patio. “Can I talk to you?”

  I start muttering under my breath while I extract myself from the trench in Nicole’s half of the yard. It’s deep enough that I had to toss a ladder down there today. I sigh, brushing the mud off my knees as I make my way toward Valerie. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “Have you read about the alligators? In the river?”

  I squint my eyes at her and sniff to see if she’s been drinking. “Alligators?”

  She starts waving a newspaper in my face. “We’ve got alligators in the damn rivers! Some crack pot was keeping them at home and let them loose. Now they’re mating or coming after us or I don’t even know.”

  “Ma’am, I’m wondering if maybe you have me confused for someone else. I’m just an engineer—“

  “What I want to know is whether my yard will become a ramp for these reptiles. Are they going to bite my ass while I’m pruning my hedge?”

  I look out at her half of the yard, severed in half by the jagged trench formed by the landslide. On the far side of her property, her small raised garden beds sit untouched by the trauma. The trench running perpendicular to the shared property line is filled with the remains of what was surely once a fine hedge. “I don’t think you need to be pruning your hedge any time soon.”

  “Don’t be a smart ass. I see why she likes you,” Valerie says, bonking me with the rolled up newspaper. “Are the gators going to climb onto my porch?”

  I sigh. “I really don’t think your yard is at any additional or different risk for alligators than any of your neighbors,” I tell her. “But you’d have to call animal control to be certain.”

  I hear the patio door open on Nicole’s half of the property and she sticks her head out. “Valerie, leave him alone. I hired him first,” she says, but I can tell she’s only half trying to sound mean.

  “Have to pay me to hire me,” I mutter, but neither of them hears me. Valerie crosses her arms over her chest and stares.

  “You know, I’m on a fixed income,” she says, softer now. I nod.

  Nicole’s face softens. “Val, I told you, I’m on top of this, ok? We’ll rise or fall together on this. Isaac has a lawyer looking into it for us, ok?”

  The three of us stand there for a few beats until Valerie nods and spins around, heading back into her house. “You wa
nna come in,” Nicole asks, squinting at me as I make my way back to her trench to grab my ladder.

  I want to. I want to take out all my frustrations and smack her ass again until the skin turns pink. I want to bite her neck and have her bite me back. But it’s a bad idea. “Can’t today,” I say, not looking up at her. I walk out of her yard carrying the ladder before I have a chance to let my dick change my mind.

  I don’t go home after work, though. I drive over to my uncle’s house, and smile when I see my cousin Orla’s car in the driveway. That means there will be homemade dinner today.

  I knock on the door. Orla throws it open and points at my feet. “Boots off,” she says, pointing next at the black plastic tray inside the door. My uncle hasn’t visited a job site in a decade, but his door is always open to Orla and me and my brothers…which means he’s always ready to intercept our filth before we bombard his tidy home.

  “Like I was gonna drag mud through the house,” I mutter. Orla heads back into the kitchen and starts pouring me a glass of wine. My uncle stands at the stove, stirring something that smells amazing.

  Kellen is as tall and slender as my father, and the pair of them are fit and fast, despite being in their 50’s. But where my father always has an angle, Kellen is pure kindness. And so I frequently drive over to his place and pour my heart out to him, most often when I’m pissed at my dad. Like right now.

  I scowl at the white wine Orla poured and when my uncle catches sight of my face, he gestures at me to sit, and reaches for his bottle of Irish whiskey that he keeps by the stove. Pouring me a few fingers, he wags a wooden spoon at me and says, “Spill, kid.”

  Orla makes herself scarce, mumbling something about her laundry.

  Grateful, I sputter out the whole story from the diner, back track to the day I didn’t get to present about the big dam project. “If he had this long-term vision, why didn’t he tip me off? He made me look like an asshole in front of Nicole.”

  “Nicole, is it?” Kellen’s brows shoot up as he leans on the counter. “That the woman with the rotational landslide in her back yard?”

  I nod and sip my drink, swirling the liquid in the glass and smelling it like I’d been taught, letting it slide into my mouth and down my throat. My father and uncle both agree that it’s a sin to slam back the holy water of our motherland.

  We used to go to Ireland together once a year to see Granny and Grandad’s cousins. There’s no real drinking age over there, and the Brady kids came of age drinking whiskey on the banks of the Duff River. Even as a teen, tipsy, I was interested in the land around the river, how the soil changed as the river charged closer to the ocean.

  A timer beeps, and Kellen stoops to pull a pan from the oven. “Lucky for you, I always make extra if Orla’s coming over,” he says. “Unlucky for her, she won’t have leftovers for her lunch tomorrow.” We share a laugh at that.

  “Need help setting the table?” The question is a courtesy. When we eat here, we fix our plates by the stove and generally stand or sit around the counter on tall stools. By the time Uncle Kellen felt ready to move out on his own with Orla, we were all teenagers, off to track meets and math olympics and robotics clubs.

  Engineers to our souls, we made the most of efficient conversations over hearty food at this counter. Tonight would be no different. “Orla,” Kellen shouts down the hall. “Chicken’s out.” He looks at me and sighs. “Your father should have given you some preparation before he sprung all that on the client. He gets so wrapped up in his long-term visions, he can’t ever figure out the details of the moment.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, that’s where you’ve always come in. I know it. But you didn’t have to stand there while Tim Stag and Nicole Kennedy looked like they weren’t sure who to trust anymore.”

  “I’ll talk to my brother about his plans for the Paraguay project,” Kellen says, turning off the burners under the sauce and the vegetables. Orla saunters back into the room with a basket of clean, folded clothes, which she drops on the floor by the back door.

  “Meanwhile,” he says, scooping out a plate of food and handing it to me, “want to tell me about your progress with Nicole.”

  Orla snorts, and I know neither of them is thinking about the project in her back yard. That just sends my mood back further into the dark side. I wanted Nicole to be my private business, a delicious secret just for me.

  In a world with two older brothers, no mother, and a distracted father obsessed with work, I never had very many indulgences. Giving in to my lust for that woman was decadent and intoxicating, and it can never happen again.

  She’s too much. Too wild, too smart, too capable. The kind of woman I could let myself relax around. And, evidently, part of my dad’s business schemes. That makes her off limits for my own emotional safety. Keeping my guard up around people was always the one thing keeping me afloat. It was too easy for people I cared about to walk out of my life otherwise.

  My cousin and my uncle stare at me and I realize they’re expecting an answer. “Project is coming along,” I say. “I’ve got the plans drawn up to secure the yard. Gonna have to build a retaining wall. I’m going there tomorrow to walk the property line again with the plans for the nearby residential construction.”

  The two of them share a glance and a smile, and I know I haven’t done a good job at all of hiding my extracurricular feelings for this particular client. Kellen chews a bit, thinking. “I wasn’t asking about the work, kiddo.”

  I swallow and shake my head. “There can’t be anything other than the work,” I tell him. “Not with her wrapped up in Dad’s business interests.” Kellen frowns, makes eyes with Orla, and nods. I don’t add the part where there can’t be anything more because I can already tell that Nicole Kennedy has the power to eviscerate me. If I let her in, it’ll crush me when she decides to hit the road. It’s better that she kicked me out with my pants around my ankles. Just sex. Just that once.

  We finish our meal in silence.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nicole

  MADDIE PICKS UP Emma, who says she has two hours to chill before she has to go home and feed Ricky, so the two of them come to my house to ogle the trench in the yard. We stand in the sun room drinking wine and staring at it.

  Maddie taps on the glass and frowns. “If only there were a bra for your yard,” she says, adjusting her own fine rack. We nod, sighing.

  Emma squints. “So any movement with getting the insurance to pay? Or finding someone to sue?” I shake my head.

  “And what about your orgasm situation,” Maddie asks.

  I pound my forehead against the glass, muttering, “at least that’s been partially solved.”

  “Partially?” Emma and Maddie raise their brows in unison while I nod.

  “I might have boned the nerdy engineer.”

  Maddie claps her hands. “Ooh, this is excellent information. Where’s the rest of the wine?”

  They pester me until I explain that I came for him, hard, and Emma starts jumping up and down. She knows my whole deal with sex, that I only like it specific ways and under specific terms. But somehow it feels inappropriate to elaborate on the religious experience I had with him in my kitchen. I decide to pivot and tell them how I’m feeling sabotaged at work.

  “Want me to have Thatcher talk to Tim?” Emma starts patting my back.

  “Absolutely fucking not, Emma Stag. This is my career and I’m going to solve it. I just wanted to vent about it.”

  Maddie nods furiously. “Yes. I’m here for you. Vent away, because that’s some bullshit.” She starts to explain how things aren’t going so hot for her at work, either. There are some layoffs coming up at the newspaper and she’s feeling concerned. Emma actually hasn’t been replaced since she left to be a full time author, and Maddie and the other writers were already pulling double duty before the layoffs.

  “Work is shitty,” I say. “Just all around.”

  “Yeah,” they say, nodding.

  “But also I l
ove what I do,” I tell them. I open a box of crackers and we pass that around, still staring at the trench. “I really love my fucking job.”

  We all sigh and munch our snacks a bit longer in silence before Emma says she has to go before her boobs burst. I’m actually sort of curious to see what that looks like, but I trust her to know her body. I walk the girls out to Maddie’s car with hugs and promises to call with updates about the work situation.

  “And the orgasms. Keep us posted about those,” Emma says, looking serious enough that I laugh. I haven’t been able to coax any more from my body manually yet, but the day is young. The sky looks slightly ominous as Maddie pulls out of her parking spot.

  I head inside and decide I could map out some plans for work or I could try out the Babe Rocket one more time. Babe Rocket wins out, and I rummage under my bed trying to find it from where it rolled around on the floor the last time I threw it across the room.

  I’m just about to settle back on my sheets and crank it up when I’m startled by the onset of a sudden rainstorm. Squinting out the window, I see a man standing in the back yard. Isaac.

  What the hell is he doing standing out there in the rain?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Zack

  I SPEND THE morning drawing up the plan of attack for Nicole’s yard. Nobody has contacted me with any more details about traveling to Paraguay, so I do nothing else regarding the research for that project. We haven’t figured out funding for Nicole’s project yet—I know she doesn’t have a quarter million dollars. She can’t even put her house up for a loan at this point.