Foothills Pride Stories, Volume 2

by Pat Henshaw

  I’d lost Christopher’s attention after Henry took out a handheld device and became engrossed in tapping the screen, a scowl on his face. Christopher cleared his throat loudly, and his son looked up in surprise.

  “Oh, uh.” Henry peered over the device at me. “Uh, if this bothers you, Frank, I’ll put it away.”

  I choked on a laugh while Christopher looked at his son in surprise.

  “What?” Henry asked his father. “I was being polite like you said.”

  Without either of us adults saying anything, Henry turned off the device and put it in his backpack with a sigh.

  I took a bite of my sandwich while the two Darlings had a silent conversation. Christopher was obviously pleased, while Henry was equally disgruntled. After I chewed, swallowed, and took another bite, Christopher turned back to me.

  “Yes, well, sorry for the interruption. About the house. I’m not sure they did the remodeling right. We’ve found a few… I don’t know… strange things happening.”

  Once I’d gotten most of the sandwich down, I wiped my mouth with my napkin. I gestured to my unopened bag of chips.

  “Henry, if you’d like these, you’re welcome to them. I didn’t realize they’d be spicy rancho style.”

  I’d noticed he’d gulped his meal down almost in one bite. After hesitating a second, he nodded and grabbed them with a muffled, “Thanks.”

  “So what strange things have you noticed?”

  “No. I don’t want to tell you. I want to show you and see if you think what’s happening is odd or not. If that’s okay.”

  He looked so concerned, I was tempted to pat his hand. Oddly enough, I thought that would have been okay with him. I resisted the urge, however.

  “Sure. No problem. I’ll take a look after the tests.” I took out my pocket watch and glanced at it. “Now I’ve got to run. I’ll see you at two, Henry.”

  The boy nodded, and his father smiled. Christopher’s hand shot out, and he touched my arm.

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  With a happy heart, I walked back to the store and got ready to administer two hiring tests.

  3

  MY PROCEDURE for hiring was pretty simple. In the identification section of the test, I gave applicants a common nail, a Phillips-head screw, a paint stirrer, a tape measure, a claw hammer, a screwdriver, a crescent wrench, pliers, a putty knife, and a box cutter. I gave these objects one at a time to the teen and asked him to identify what the object was, when to use it, and how to use it.

  Then I gave the applicant six pieces of precut plywood, eight corner angles, tools, and other supplies, and had him—it was usually a him—follow simple directions to make a box with a hinged flap. The whole test was either incredibly easy or horribly complex and frustrating.

  My first applicant was a poster boy for the latter. He called both the nail and the screw a screw, then dissolved into a fit of adolescent giggles. I waited for his mirth to subside. He had no idea about any of the tools except the box cutter, which he simply called a wicked-ass knife.

  As I walked into the back room with him for the second part of the test, I was appalled at how little he knew and wondered why he wanted to work at a hardware store. Was it just the money?

  I stopped him after watching for five minutes as he tried to figure out how to make the box. When he looked at me with defeat in his eyes, I called a halt.

  “Thank you for coming in, Seth. I think we both know this job wouldn’t be a good fit for you.” I looked over his application form. “I think working at one of the mall stores might be more your speed, don’t you?”

  He nodded eagerly. “But my folks say that you’re more established and fairer than the mall stores. I wanted to work for the coffee shop or the movie theater.”

  “Well, you can tell your parents I appreciate their support, but I’m voting for you to be a real success at either of those other two choices.”

  He beamed. As we shook hands, I knew his dad would be in later this week to talk about his son.

  HENRY TURNED up alone at two o’clock, and I ran him through the first part of the test. We only hit one snag. We got along too well and ended up having side discussions about the items.

  When I handed him the nail, for example, he took it between his fingers and caressed it.

  “It’s a two-penny flat-head nail.” He rolled it around for a second. “You know, they used to keep nails in big casks like they do wine. Then they sold them by weighing them. They’d scoop them up out of the barrels.”

  Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do? Ignore that? Of course not. I took him into the back room, where we stored everything we’d removed when my father updated the store in the 1970s. I showed him the old scoop-shaped scale, and we weighed a few nails and other items hanging around.

  “This is so cool, Frank. You should put it back on the counter. I’ll bet everyone would want to see it. It’d give the store an epic feel.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed about the epic part, but maybe it was time to give the store another more modern redesign.

  We scurried out of the back room when the bell tinkled and we could hear someone walking around the front of the store talking to Riley. I tried to stop giving Henry the first part of the test, since he still had the box to build. But when we saw the customer was his father, who seemed to be fascinated by the wall of power tools, Henry took out the remaining items in the little bag.

  He held them up one at a time and rattled off their names and purposes.

  “There!” he crowed, smiling up at me. “Now what do you want me to make?”

  I showed him the wood, tools, and directions and left him to the project. When I saw he was reading through the directions, I walked over to his dad. Riley’d already moved back behind the counter and seemed to be working on some inventory sheets.

  “I’m not here to ask how he’s doing, so don’t think I am.” Christopher didn’t turn around when I got up behind him. He was staring at the power saws.

  “He’s doing fine.” I didn’t step too close, but drat if I didn’t want to. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. Or if I was even bolder, I’d put my arm around his waist and snuggle his head back onto my shoulder.

  Weren’t those counterproductive daydreams? Now I’d have to wait a moment before I could go back to check on Henry. Overalls worn in public, especially if I was in the vicinity of Christopher, were my groin’s personal enemy.

  Christopher turned his head. We were close enough to kiss if I leaned in a little more. I didn’t. Instead I stepped back, although I did smile.

  “Can I peek?” Christopher was whispering like we had secrets.

  I leaned back and looked over my shoulder at his son. Henry was nearly finished with the box. He was studying the directions like they were a map to the El Dorado treasure.

  “Sure. Go ahead and peek. He’s just about done.”

  I sounded as stunned as I felt. First off, Christopher and I were standing too close and whispering. I felt his warmth, and my cheeks burned. As I tried to shake myself back to reality, the second reason I was a little stunned hit me. Henry was on the final step of building the box. How could he be done so quickly?

  As I walked back toward him, he held the box at eye level in one hand and opened and closed the hinged door. Henry looked up as I entered the workroom.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. The hinged door snapped shut as he let it go. “What’s it for?”

  He seemed so puzzled that I started to chuckle. Then at his stricken look, I stopped.

  “It’s not useful in itself. It’s just a test to see if you can follow directions and know how to use the tools.”

  His face darkened as I explained.

  “You use up all of this stuff for that? Anybody can make this.” He put the box down, acting a little disdainful and a lot put out.

  “You’d be surprised.” I didn’t elaborate. Why tell him that another boy who was in the same grade couldn’t figure out the directio
ns at all?

  I picked up the box and studied it. He’d done a remarkable job in so little time. He’d even used the flush piano hinges instead of the more cumbersome butt hinge, even though the directions didn’t specify which would be better for the project. His box opened and closed easily, and the corners made perfect ninety-degree angles.

  I started to put the box down, but Christopher reached for it. I passed it over and watched a moment as he held it up, a look of awe on his face.

  “Henry, this is—” he started, but his son stopped him.

  “Dad, I’m taking a test here.”

  With a sheepish grin and an amused side-glance at me, Christopher put the box down, said a short “Sorry,” and returned to the front of the store.

  Again, I hid my amusement at how well they interacted and shelved my amazement at how Christopher had shared the moment with me. I ran my hand over the top of the box. This one I’d keep.

  As I was about to find out when Henry could start work, the bell tinkled. I looked over my shoulder to see a newcomer hurry in. His sneakers squeaked on the wood floor.

  “Hi. You the owner?” he greeted me.

  I looked around for Riley but couldn’t see him anywhere. Had he called it a day and gone home? I wouldn’t blame him. Except for the Darlings, it’d been slow.

  When I nodded at the customer, he launched into a fairly typical request. He and his wife had bought some IKEA furniture, and now he couldn’t put it together. I told him what I told everyone, to bring it into the shop and we’d assemble it for him.

  Then I told him the setup fee, said it would take a week or so, and took down his name and contact information as he started to thank me. After I told him the store was actually closing right now, he left reluctantly, looking at the merchandise around him as he shuffled to the door. This time I locked it and put out the Closed sign. Christopher had said he wanted me to visit the Adams-Scott House this afternoon, but first I had to hire Henry officially.

  “So, Henry, when would you like to start?”

  He was staring at the door and the escaping customer. I had to ask the question twice.

  “Who puts together the IKEA stuff?” Henry responded instead of giving me a date.

  “Riley and I do. When we get a chance. We do it between other things. Why?” The truth was we both hated assembling the furniture because it was tedious.

  “May I do it?” The eagerness in his question caught me off guard.

  “You want to put together IKEA furniture?” He didn’t mean it, did he?

  “Yeah. Cool. I love IKEA!” Henry beamed at me as if to ask “Doesn’t everyone?”

  I turned to Christopher, who was smiling fondly at his son. “He’s really good at it,” Christopher commented.

  I nodded and asked Henry again, “When do you want to start?”

  I felt like I’d fallen into a twofer. Not only had extraordinarily competent summer help dropped into my lap, but I’d also solved the nagging problem of Mount IKEA. Usually, as the summer people rolled into town, my back room started to pile up with knockdown furniture boxes. Some nights Riley and I’d been here until past midnight putting together the stuff.

  I started off charging what I thought was a reasonable fee, but slowly over the years, I had upped the price to be what I thought of as a rip-off. But still people came to their recently purchased condos, houses, or cabins with boxes and boxes of unassembled furniture and happily paid whatever I asked rather than put the pieces together themselves. I would never understand it.

  But it didn’t matter if I did. The important thing now was that I had my nights free to do whatever I wanted. Maybe those nights would include Christopher and dates.

  AS WE walked down the street toward the house the Darlings had just moved into, I felt at peace with the world. For one thing, it looked like Christopher and I would be getting to know each other better. There was something between us. I wasn’t sure exactly what. Even thinking it, though, gave me the feeling I’d made a turn into a better life and maybe an exciting summer.

  Beyond our bond, whatever it could be called, I’d taken to Christopher’s son too. Henry was bright, engaging, and a joy to be with. No matter whether Christopher and I became closer than friends, I felt like I could love both of them. This might be as close to fatherhood as I would ever get, so I was on board to make the most of it.

  As we neared it, I remembered more about the Adams-Scott House. Built in the early twentieth century, it was a masterpiece of native rock and redwood, a two-story beauty on a big lot with mature shade trees surrounding it. A porch spanned the front of the house, and a dormer window in the attic kept an eye on the street. The façade said the house had been built for a large family with lots of kids. That was somewhat misleading since the house only had four bedrooms. I knew because I’d done minor repairs a couple of times for Doc Adams when he was alive.

  “You’re having problems?” I asked Christopher.

  He grimaced.

  “Maybe. I’d like to know what you think.”

  I glanced at Henry for a hint, but he seemed to be studying his shoes.

  I was shocked when Christopher opened the front door. The four large rooms on the ground floor had been turned into one huge space. Open floor plan, I think they call it. Very modern and very chic. Even the fieldstone fireplace had been ripped back and covered with drywall. Instead of a cozy lodge-like ambiance, the interior resembled a gutted fish to me. But I could see where others might think all the sunlight and space was more freeing.

  “Do you want me to go upstairs?” Henry asked his dad softly.

  At Christopher’s nod, the teen climbed the flimsy-looking stairs that replaced the solid staircase that had once dominated the right-hand side of the room.

  As the boy walked around, the ceiling bowed and shimmied.

  “Henry!” I yelled. “Get back down here. Don’t run.”

  I whipped out my cell phone and started dialing as he obeyed my command.

  “Abe? You need to get over to the Adams-Scott House. Quick.” I clicked the flip phone shut after reminding him of the address, which was down the street from his office.

  Christopher was staring at me like I was a madman. I couldn’t believe he’d let his son go back up there after he’d seen what I had. Was the man a lunatic? The floor appeared to be seconds from collapsing.

  I was herding both the Darlings out of the house when Stone Acres’s premier contractor, Abe Behr, hurried up to us.

  “Frank? What’s the problem?” he gasped. “You sounded like the end of the world was around the corner.”

  “I’d like you to go inside and see if you think what I do. And be careful.”

  Abe gave me a headshake and opened the door. He took two steps inside, looked around, stared at the ceiling, and backed out carefully. He slowly closed the door.

  I nodded as he stared at me in shock. Then he turned to Christopher and led us all off the porch and onto the sidewalk.

  “Okay. Hi, I’m Abe Behr, head of Behr Construction. And you are?” He stuck his hand out to Christopher, who introduced himself and shook hands. “Well, Christopher, we have a problem here. Do you have someplace else to stay tonight?”

  As Abe talked Christopher through the danger he and his son had been living with since the support walls had been removed, Henry sidled closer and closer to his dad.

  “So you mean the top floor could have fallen through?” Christopher sounded aghast. “But it’s a stone house. Stone is sturdy, right?”

  “Uh, yeah, up to a point. I can’t tell you why it hasn’t collapsed yet.” Abe took out his phone, dialed, and walked away, talking in a low, serious voice.

  “Do you have somewhere else you can stay?” I asked Christopher, putting a hand on his arm.

  “What? No. This is our home. This is where we live.”

  “Not tonight, it isn’t.”

  I took out my phone and called Zeke at the Bandy Hotel. Christopher looked so shell-shocked I figured I could
at least get him a room. But not only was the Bandy filled, when I called the motel off of the highway, it was too. So much for my help. Too many fly fishermen in town had packed all the area accommodations.

  Then I remembered my spare room. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t about to collapse either.

  “Tell you what. You’re coming home with me, both of you.”

  Christopher turned and stared at me.

  “We can’t intrude on you like that.”

  “Well, unless you want to go to Stockton or Sacramento or Tahoe tonight, it’s the only option I can figure out. You can find another place tomorrow.”

  Christopher nodded, but I could tell he was overwhelmed.

  Henry said, “I’ll go get us packed.”

  I stopped him before he could reach the porch stairs.

  “No. Don’t go in there. Let Abe do his job. He’ll take care of it before….” I let the sentence hang. No point in drawing them a picture of the destruction waiting to happen inside.

  In silence, they nodded. Slowly, we headed back to the hardware store and my truck.

  So much for getting to know them under perfect circumstances. Once their housing problems shook out, I’d be lucky if Christopher was still speaking to me—or anyone else in Stone Acres. At least that’s what I figured as we walked behind Henry.

  When we got to the store, I checked to make sure everything was locked up for the night. Henry hurried outside to get in my vintage truck. Christopher stopped me in the back room.

  “Uh, Frank, can I ask you to do something, uh, weird?”

  He’d been quiet on the walk back, and we’d bumped shoulders more than a few times. I didn’t mind him being so close to me and found something exhilarating about his nearness. I let my imagination run wild about where we could be going if he gave us a chance.

  “Sure, Christopher. I guess. What can I do for you?”

  He blushed a deep scarlet.

  “Could you, uh, just, uh, hold me for a minute? I need….” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I understood how dismayed he felt and didn’t mind his request. He needed a stable, solid adult presence to grab on to and ground him. I was more than happy to comply.