Raising Connor

by Loree Lough

  Hunter gave Mitch the Sheridans’ address and told him to drop the boys off at six-thirty. “That’ll give me twenty minutes or so to give them a quick tour of the place—and run down the rules—before the rest of the guys get there.”

  “Can I hang around, listen to your ‘How Boys Become Men’ speech?”

  Hunter laughed. “Only if you bring coffee. Large. Black.”

  Of the seven kids Mitch had sent him last summer, three returned to high school in the fall, two moved on to college and one—still employed by Stone Contracting—was racking up the hours required to earn journeyman status. The seventh had been taken from the job site by ambulance after overdosing on crystal meth, and last Hunter heard, the boy was still in rehab.

  “Any problems I should know about?”

  “Not this year,” Mitch said. “At least, none I’m aware of. Yet.”

  “That’s good, for your sake and mine and the kids’. See you at six-thirty.”

  Last thing he heard before dropping the phone into his pocket was Mitch groaning, “Six-thirty.”

  “We thought you’d never hang up,” Deidre scolded when he returned to the table. “What was so important that it couldn’t wait until after your brother’s party?”

  She had never approved of his work with the once-troubled boys who called the Last Chance home. But gratitude—that she’d forgiven him and treated him like a grandson—had inspired his long-standing decision to keep his involvement to himself. “Just lining things up for work tomorrow.”

  He glanced at Brooke. “I’ll have a full crew at the house first thing in the morning, so we’ll probably make some serious progress by day’s end.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’m glad.”

  She sure didn’t sound it. Didn’t look it, either. Maybe it had hit her, finally, that she was stuck in this house, surrounded by people she barely knew, people directly related to him.

  “Well, kids,” Constance said, gathering her grandchildren close, “what do you say? Is it time?”

  His nieces and nephews squealed happily and followed their grandmother into the kitchen. When the last child rounded the corner, a ripple of envy coursed through him at the affection shining in his sisters-in-law’s eyes, the unadulterated pride beaming from his brothers’ faces. Hunter wanted that. Wanted it so much that he ached inside. But unless he found a way to put his guilt to rest, he’d spend the rest of his life feeling unworthy of a life like theirs.

  Connor, wide-eyed and quiet, was drinking it all in, too. Seeing that, Hunter’s ache dimmed; he might never have everything his brothers had, but soon he’d have a slice of it. Don’t worry, li’l guy, Hunter thought. You won’t feel like an outsider for much longer.

  Constance entered the room, barely visible behind the halo of forty candles flickering atop Rafe’s cake. “I think I know what the Pied Piper felt like,” she joked as five eager grandchildren trailed behind her. “Everybody back to their chairs now,” she told them, “so we can sing to the birthday boy and let him open his presents.”

  Connor pointed. “Cake,” he said, looking at Hunter. “Conner have cake?”

  He was about to say of course when Gabe’s wife, seated beside him, beat him to it. “You can have a great big slice, cutie,” she said, ruffling his hair. She shot a guilty look Brooke’s way. “If it’s all right with your mommy, that is.”

  Connor looked at Brooke, too. “Mommy,” he said, pointing again. “Mommy.”

  Only moments ago Hunter had reiterated the importance of not letting too much time pass before making his move. As Brooke basked in the glow of her new title, fear clutched his heart: Was it already too late?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SHE’D BEEN FRIENDLY during the party, chatted amiably as they drove Deidre home. But after they’d dropped her grandmother off, and as he helped her carry Connor, his diaper bag and leftover lasagna and cake to the apartment, Brooke barely said a word. And when he left, she barely said goodbye.

  Hunter tried everything from watching black-and-white Hitchcock flicks to reading Grisham novels to get Brooke out of his head, and when that failed, he started pacing the length of his living room…

  …until he stubbed his toe on a table leg.

  He started a pot of coffee at 3:05. By 3:15 he was at his desk, sipping the strong black brew while flipping through suppliers’ catalogs in search of a faucet for Mrs. Carter. But not even trying to please his most difficult client took his mind off Brooke. If he didn’t get a grip, a throbbing toe could be the least of his troubles.

  At 4:00 he settled into his La-Z-Boy and opened his laptop and fell asleep surfing the Net. How long would he have slept if the trash truck hadn’t lumbered down the road? Well, at least he didn’t need to make coffee. Hunter nuked a cup and showered, hoping to clear the no-sleep buzz from his brain before heading to the Sheridans’ to meet Mitch and the kids. When he arrived at 6:15, he found his foreman already setting things up for the day’s work.

  Sam took one look at him and commented, “Another nightmare night, eh, boss?”

  What night wasn’t? But rather than dwell on the disturbing images that plagued his sleep, Hunter grumbled about the impossible faucet lady, who owed Stone Contracting nearly fifteen grand…and pretended discontent with materials and subcontractors was reason enough to hold on to that money. He grumbled about plumbers and electricians who didn’t show up on time and suppliers who delivered the wrong materials—or the right ones in the wrong quantities.

  His foreman plugged in the Sawzall. “Don’t bellyache to me,” he said, adjusting his safety glasses. “I’ve already told you how you could solve most of those problems.”

  The blade bit into a 2 x 6 upright, spewing an arc of sawdust behind it. Hunter winced, not at the noise but because he knew exactly what Sam would say the minute that board hit the floor: “Long workweeks are the price you pay…when you’re a control freak.”

  Hunter agreed. Hiring a project coordinator to help with estimates and orders or a secretary to handle the phones and filing would definitely save time. If he had the time to place an ad and interview candidates. If he found someone, how was he supposed to fit the employee—and an additional desk—into his already-overstuffed home office? And if he did manage to squeeze them in somehow, when would he find the time to teach them things specific to Stone Contracting, like which subcontractors consistently performed well, which supply houses stocked affordable quality merchandise, and how to finesse customers who expected ten-million-dollar results from ten-thousand-dollar contracts? Facing all of that, it made more sense to do things himself.

  As it turned out, Sam’s impatience with his decision was the least of Hunter’s problems. The minute the walls came down at the Sheridans’, it became clear that what should have been a simple rewiring project would require a full-scale interior rebuild. In addition to using inferior wire throughout the house, the previous owners had also slapped inferior shingles over the originals without patching leaks. So for decades, rainwater and melting snow had been seeping between the exterior brick and the interior plaster, building a layer of mold that had gnawed into every board and beam. Now it was up to him to make things right without bankrupting himself, all while setting the adoption process in motion. Good thing he’d learned to get by on three hours’ sleep, he thought as his cell phone rang.

  When he saw that it was Deidre, Hunter groaned under his breath. The woman could be sweeter than rocky candy when she put her mind to it…especially if there was a leaky faucet to fix or a squeaky hinge that needed oil. He left the Last Chance boys in Sam’s capable hands and headed outside to find out what Brooke’s grandmother needed this time.

  “Hey, lady. What’s up?”

  “I just got home from signing the papers to make the little theater mine, all mine!” she announced.

  The excitement in her voice was rivaled by his own surprise. He hadn’t heard that the place was for sale, let alone that she’d been interested in buying it. Evidently, keeping secrets
and making decisions without consulting anyone really was an O’Toole family trait.

  “I was hoping you could meet me over there later today,” she said, “and since you have an inspector’s license, I thought maybe you could have a look around, see if you think I got my money’s worth.”

  “Deidre. Are you kidding? Why didn’t you have the place inspected before you bought it?”

  “Calm down, Mr. Worrywart. The price was so good I couldn’t pass it up for fear someone might come along and buy it right out from under me! Besides,” she said, laughing, “if there’s anything wrong with that gorgeous old building, I have a handsome young contractor friend who can fix her up good as new.”

  So she’d made that decision, too, without running it past him.

  “If today isn’t good,” she said, “we can do it tomorrow….”

  Hunter visualized this week’s to-do list: estimates to prepare, inspections to schedule—and inspectors to meet on site—materials and equipment to order, teaching Mitch’s kids the difference between a wrench and pliers, finding time to see Connor….

  “Things have been crazy at work lately,” he said. “Best I can do on such short notice is to meet you over there first thing tomorrow.”

  “So exactly what does a fine-looking he-man like you mean when he says ‘first thing in the morning’?”

  He summoned the self-control to keep from saying, Flattery might work on the egomaniac actors you surround yourself with, but it won’t work on me.

  “Six.”

  Hunter heard her exasperated sigh and hoped the early-morning hour would get him off the hook; he kept a short list of home inspectors in his cell phone and would gladly recommend one who’d be straight with her.

  “Well, that’s going to be a wasted day,” she complained. “Up at dawn, over to the theater with you, then back here to babysit Connor. Will I ever learn to say no?”

  “If you do, teach me how to do it, will you?”

  Deidre must not have heard him, because she continued with “If I had a dollar for all the no’s I should have said…”

  The O’Toole women would be the death of him…if they didn’t drive him crazy first.

  Hunter’s call waiting punctuated the thought. “Somebody’s on the other line,” he said. “See you at six.”

  He pressed Talk and barked, “Stone Contracting…”

  “Goodness,” Brooke said. “I’m almost afraid to ask how things are going over there.”

  Oh, great. He’d barely uttered two words, and already she’d taken him to task for his abrupt tone. He might as well dump the bad news on her. At least then she’d have something legitimate to complain about for a change.

  “I was talking with your grandmother when you beeped in.”

  “Well, that explains why you sound like your shoes are on fire. I hope you didn’t let her talk you into another fix-it project.”

  “’Fraid so,” he admitted. Hunter gave her a rundown of the conversation and found himself mildly surprised that Deidre hadn’t mentioned the theater purchase to Brooke, either.

  “For a self-professed savvy old lady,” she said, “that wasn’t very smart, was it?”

  If Brooke thought he planned to get in the middle of a family squabble, she had another think coming.

  “The fact that Gram made a decision that important without consulting anyone tells me one of two things,” Brooke said. “One…she knew I’d try to talk her out of making such a huge commitment at her age, or two, it’s on the verge of collapse.”

  Hunter grinned. “You’re probably right, on both counts. But at least she’s smart enough to know she needs some honest input now.”

  “What do you bet when you get over there, you’ll find a “Condemned” poster hidden away somewhere?”

  Hunter chuckled, because the Sheridans’ house wasn’t in much better shape.

  “So how are the boys from the Last Chance working out?”

  He sensed that she was working up the nerve to ask for a production report, but he saw no point in delivering one until he knew the full extent of the damage.

  He heard two hollow pings in the background and said, “The kids are doing great.”

  Two more pings preceded a nasal announcement: “Dr. Modesto, call on line three. Dr. Modesto, line three…”

  Brooke was calling from the hospital?

  “Who’s with Connor?”

  “Felix.”

  She said it as if he should have known…and approved. Well, he didn’t.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Hunter began. “I like the guy, but he’s a bit long in the tooth to be minding a kid Connor’s age, don’t you think?”

  “Are you kidding? He’s strong as an ox. Besides, Connor is a great kid. Easy to take care of.”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes he can whip himself into a frenzy. I’ve never seen Felix under pressure. Think he can handle a full-fledged tantrum?”

  A tense moment passed before she said, “I would never leave him with someone who isn’t capable. And trustworthy.”

  Amazing, he thought, how quickly she’d reverted to her cool detached tone. Hunter could almost see her, back ramrod straight and chin up as she paced the hospital corridor.

  “Are things going as planned at Beth’s?” she asked.

  “For the most part. But you probably should come over here first chance you get. We uncovered a few problems that could impact the completion date.”

  “I’m off at two today. Then I’ll need to swing by the apartment and get Connor. Will you still be there between three and three-thirty?”

  “Not sure it’s a great idea to bring him down here. Place is a wreck. Too dangerous for a kid his age, so you won’t be able to put him down. He’s not gonna like that.”

  “You could be right, but we won’t be there long.”

  He chose to ignore the “could be right” comment. “So how are things going with the new job?”

  “We lost two patients, and I had to tell both families. One right after the other.” She exhaled a ragged sigh. “I need to learn how to distance myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, when they get teary eyed, I do, too. And that’s the last thing they need at a time like that.”

  He’d never forget the look on his mom’s face that rainy afternoon when a stiff-lipped nurse blurted, “Dr. Naik sent me to tell you that your husband is dead.” Her voice had held less emotion than if she’d just told them visiting hours were over. Hunter shared the experience with Brooke, adding, “Getting bad news from someone who cares is exactly what families need at a time like that.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think what they need is someone strong and calm and—”

  “Who fed you that load of baloney?”

  “It’s… That’s the impression I get watching the woman who’s training me. She’s considerate but in an arm’s-length, no-nonsense way.”

  Hunter snorted. “In other words, her way makes things easier for her. If you ask me, it’s a blessing for everyone concerned that she’s leaving. Bad news—especially that kind of bad news—is a whole lot easier to hear if it’s delivered by someone who’s kind and empathetic, not some stone-cold clinician.”

  Brooke was quiet for so long that he took the phone away from his ear to see if he still had bars and battery power.

  “I’m sorry losing your dad was so hard for you and your family, Hunter.”

  It made him wonder how she’d been told about her own parents’ deaths and the words the deputy chose to deliver the news about Beth and Kent.

  “Millions of people have lost parents,” he said. “But for now, I hope you’ll forget everything that heartless broad taught you and remember this, you can’t go wrong if you’re honest with people.” He thought of all the Connor-related decisions she’d made without including him. “And if you don’t hold back important information.”

  “Right. Well, it’s something to think about, anyway.” She paused as the call went out for Dr. Modesto
again.

  “So I’ll see you around three, then?”

  Hunter checked his watch. He had just under four hours to give the boys some pointers, visit his other job sites and get back here in time to write up the list of unexpected repairs—and extra time—the Sheridans’ house would require.

  “Sounds good,” he said.

  As he hung up, Sam tossed a waterlogged two-by-four onto the trash pile. “Who was that?”

  “Connor’s aunt. She’s the homeowner here, sort of.” It would have been good to see the debris mound growing if it weren’t symptomatic of all that was wrong with the place.

  “How does somebody sort of own a house?”

  “Connor’s mom and dad didn’t leave a will, so everything they had automatically becomes his. But since he’s not even two, his aunt will probably act as his guardian.” For now, Hunter thought.

  “Probably?”

  “Brooke—I mean Connor’s aunt—is the only blood kin capable of handling the legal stuff on his behalf.”

  Sam chucked another two-by-four onto the pile. “Uh-huh.”

  Hunter added a board, too. “Uh-huh what?”

  “Sounds like somebody’s been talking to a lawyer.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, no reason.” Sam shrugged and kicked a nail aside. “Except maybe that you’re spewing legalese like a fountain.”

  Close, Sam, he thought. Maybe too close.

  “All I can say is, this aunt of Connor’s must be one heck of a shrew.” Another board slammed into the pile. “’Cause you usually reserve that kind of snarling for deadbeats and suppliers who don’t supply.”

  If he’d sounded that angry to Sam, who was used to the way he talked to people who didn’t hold up their end of things, how had he sounded to Brooke?

  Hunter smacked sawdust from his palms. “I have to check out the Fox and Nakamura jobs,” he said. “I should be back around two.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Put the boys to work taking down the kitchen and bathroom cabinets.” He handed Sam a business card. “And when they’re finished, call Mitch to come pick them up. Tell him I’ll pay them for a full day.”