The Carpenter's Daughter (22 page)

Sarah

Mack was pleased with the drawings. He’d come to the truck while Jesse was unloading his equipment, but he was looking for me, not Jesse. Something warm and exciting bloomed in my middle as I went over my ideas with him. I hadn’t done this before—a total home reno. But as I walked him through the drawings, I could see the finished product, the open spaces where walls had been, a brand-new home where a total disaster had once stood. Except that total disaster hadn’t been replaced. It had been made new.

He grunted after I finished the virtual tour. The air felt thick—like those moments at school when you had to give an oral presentation, and at the end everyone in the class sat in frozen silence waiting for the teacher’s reaction.

“You did this?”

“Yeah.” Who else would have done it?

“Done it before?”

“No.” I swallowed. “I mean, I do CAD drawings all the time, but for new construction. I’ve never done a reno before.”

He studied the screen again. “Will it meet code?”

“Should.” I nodded. “Just gotta make sure we get the load-bearing walls supported correctly. Might have to reroute some plumbing. We’ll have to see what’s inside that kitchen wall for sure. But the structure in the drawing is sound.”

Another grunt. “I’ll need printed copies by tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

He fist-bumped the side of Jesse’s truck and then started away. Two steps, and then he paused. “This is good, carpenter-girl. Thanks.”

He hadn’t turned toward me, so he couldn’t see my grin, which was fine. That way I didn’t have to feel embarrassed. I looked through my drawings again and then back to the disaster house. My mind’s eye stripped away the ugly and saw it for what it would be. Taking in a long breath, I felt light and…happy.

This. I could do this job every day and love it. What would Dad think? We had a similar project lined up in Hastings. If I asked, would he let me take it?

As I shut my laptop and stepped out of the truck, a conversation between Jesse and me flashed through my memory. The one where he’d been talking about houses like the one we were working on—old homes that needed someone to look past the mess to see their value and potential. I’d been so offended to think that he saw me like that. But now…

Now I hoped he saw potential in me. Surely he did—he said nearly as much last night. That I was worth more than a one-night stand.

What if this total disaster of a heart that had defined me for twenty-one years could be made new? What if I could be defined by something beyond my history, my work, and my appearance?

Wasn’t that what I really wanted?

Jesse

Troy sauntered onto the job site round about 11:00 a.m. Add lazy and incompetent to the long list of reasons I really didn’t like the guy.

Did I have to forgive him? Standing on an anchored piece of new sheeting, I sighed. People were messed up—I was messed up.

Watching him as he cut a path toward the front door, my muscles coiled.

Nowhere near her, jerk.

Mack intercepted him on the front walk three feet before he reached the entry. I knew I could count on him. Their exchange was brief, involving Mack pointing up, Troy crossing his arms and shaking his head, Mack throwing a
whatever, but I’m not signing off on your time if you don’t cooperate
shrug. Troy tossed his hands down and stomped toward the east side where the ladder was.

His buddy, who’d actually shown up when he was supposed to, punched Troy on the shoulder as soon as he’d steadied himself on the roof.

“Hot date musta gone well, eh, killer?”

Troy looked from him to me and then sneered. “You know it.”

What a dog. I stepped to a roll of roofing felt, kicked it, and then looked back to them. “This needs to cover the sheeting.” I grabbed a staple gun and moved toward Troy. After shoving the tool into his chest, I nailed a hard stare onto his face. “Make sure it’s flat, the seams match, and you’re paying attention. The ground hurts when you hit it after a twenty-foot drop.”

“Yes, Dad,” Troy said.

Such a grown up. Bet the girls loved his toddler act.

Skip it. I had work to do, and so did he. I turned my back and snagged another piece of sheeting to drag into place near the peak. This part wasn’t complicated, just awkward, but I didn’t want any help. I had to scurry over the rafters to shimmy the square into place, making sure the seams met snug, but by the time I had my first anchor nail sunk into place, the two junior high kids in man skin barely had the plastic off the roofing felt.

“Do you boys need help?” Sarcasm edged my voice.

“Yeah.” Troy looked up from his kneeling position and cocked an eyebrow. “Send that blue-eyed carpenter girl over.”

Heat crawled over my skin as I glared at him.

“Come on, Preacher.” Troy crossed his arms over his chest. “I know it’s killing you. She’s got a tight little body under those baggy work clothes, and you know it’s the shy ones who are the hungriest.”

I couldn’t remember the sequence that followed. All I knew was within five breaths, I had Troy pinned against the roofing velvet, one knee buried in his chest and the other pinning an arm down. The staple gun he’d been using lay beside him. I grabbed it, and without pausing to think, I stapled the shoulder seam of his T-shirt to the sheeting.

“That’s enough, you disgusting excuse for a man.” I leaned in closer, pressing the metal of the gun against his face. “I mean it, punk. One more word about it, and this gun will find something far more valuable to you than your preppy shirt. Got it?”

His eyes blazed, and he struggled against my weight. It suddenly dawned on me how out of character this whole scene was. For a guy who hated confrontation, I sure dove in head first.

Still glaring at him, I stood and moved away. Emotion made my body tremble, and I needed to breathe by myself for a few minutes. With a couple of solid swings that sank the nails in deep, I finished placing the piece of sheeting and then scrambled down the ladder. Most of the activity on the ground was happening inside the house, so I was able to slip away unnoticed.

The neighborhood moved with a life of its own. Kids running, playing ball, or digging in sandboxes. Dogs barking every now and then. A woman here and there hanging towels on a clothesline, or weeding gardens. Occasionally a mower cutting paths through thick grass. Typical small-town life. The part of life I’d been avoiding for the past few years. I remembered digging flowerbeds with my mom, working by her side while she taught me that smelling the dirt, weeding a flowerbed, or pruning roses could all be acts of worship.

I feel Jesus here with me most, like He’s right beside me, listening to me as we work together
, she would say.
I tell Him how amazing His creation is, and thank Him for putting beauty into everything.

That single memory opened the door for a whole lifetime of moments with my parents. Dad worked with precision, because he said God wanted his best every day. He loved to quote Martin Luther:
The Christian shoemaker does his duty not by putting little crosses on the shoes, but by making good shoes
, and then he’d twist it to fit our life.
Our duty then, son, is to build well, for the glory of God. He’ll take our work and make it useful. We simply must be faithful to work.

Though I knew he never intended it, I felt failure in his shadow. Today, for example. Or this whole week, actually. I’d kissed Sarah when I knew I shouldn’t—had made her feel worse than she had when she’d left home. I hadn’t offered an ounce of grace to Troy, and maybe if I had, he’d have left Sarah alone. And that scene on the roof? Deplorable.

God, I’m sorry. I keep failing.

Again, the steamroller of emotion passed over me. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t love Sarah the way God called me to love her. Not when my selfish desires kept getting in the way. Honest confession:
I
wanted to be her everything. But what if she took that and settled? That would be tragic. Like soda on a hot day, it would quench the immediate thirst but wouldn’t meet the real need. I’d be sugar when she needed life-giving water. Long-term, I really did want her to find that spring of life.

I wanted both. More than I knew how to put into words. God and me. Couldn’t we both claim her heart?

I reached a park and found an isolated bench under a locust tree. The sweat that had gathered at my hairline chilled as I stepped under the shade, and I sagged onto the seat, propping my elbows on my knees. Three months ago my life made sense. Granted, I didn’t have a clear vision for the future, but my everyday living made sense. Now I had a picture of what I wanted for my future, which included a blue-eyed carpenter’s daughter close by my side, but my every day didn’t make any sense. Because that future didn’t seem possible, and life seemed to go sepia toned in that light.

What now, God?

He’d asked me to trust Him, and I thought I did. Now I stood on what felt like a precipice, and I wanted to turn and walk back to the safety I’d known before.

My phone vibrated against my jeans in my back pocket. Probably Mack wondering what the heck happened with Troy and why I wasn’t working. That should be a fun chat.

I sighed as I shaded the screen. It wasn’t a phone call, but a text alert. Actually multiple texts—eight to be exact. Then I remembered. Shane had sent me a message this morning, and I hadn’t even checked it, let alone responded. Yikes.

They were all from him. Couldn’t be good.

6:20 a.m.
Jess, big storm came through. Call me.

6:50 a.m.
You need to call me.

7:15 a.m. Pic text. My parents’ house. Shutters askew, major roof damage. Tree limbs everywhere. My mother’s gardens… A lump swelled in my throat.

7:20 a.m.
Turn your phone on and call me.

8:30 a.m.
Are you sick?

9:30 a.m.
Dead?

10:30 a.m.
Seriously, Jess. It’s important.

11:55 a.m.
At least text so that I know you’re still alive.

My shoulders folded, and I tugged my hat off and pushed my fingers through my soppy hair. I needed to go home. Not exactly the answer I’d been hoping for.
 

Sarah

My wet hair dripped onto my neck as I stared at my phone. Showered after the full day of work, I sat on my bed and debated. I should call my dad. The thought kept surfacing in my mind. Especially after talking to Mack this morning about my drawings. The idea of doing this kind of work full time had taken firm root as we continued demo today. Tomorrow we’d start rebuilding, and I’d see my vision come to life. Butterflies did swirlies in my stomach. I couldn’t wait to have the vision in my head become reality. Disaster redos. Maybe this was me, my sweet spot in life.

I was desperate to share my newfound burst of joy with my dad. But we weren’t on good terms at the moment, and if he had any idea what I’d done the night before, how I’d behaved, he’d be livid. Maybe disown me. Because I’d behaved like my mother, I was sure.

Where was my mother? Would he tell me if I asked? Would he hate me if I contacted her?

Three days had passed since I’d left, and I had kind of expected that he’d call me, even though our last phone conversation hadn’t ended well. The fact that he didn’t… Fear squeezed hard in my chest and made my heart rate jump. What would I do without my dad? He was the only sure thing I had in my life.

Except Aunt Darcy. And maybe Jesse.

Was Jesse a sure thing? I snorted in my empty room. Not even close. He kept me confused at almost every turn. Heated stares, a passionate kiss, and then rejection. Followed by more looks that made me melt and words of value whispered against my hair while held securely in his embrace. What was I supposed to do with all of that?

I wanted him to be my friend. He made it clear that was all it was ever going to be between us. Except for when he felt it was okay to bend that friendship line. Was this normal?

Pushing against the mattress, I got up from the bed and stalked across my room, replaying every touch that had danced across my skin, every wisp of breath that had warmed my face and neck. And that kiss…

One sweet, emotion-filled kiss with Jesse superseded all of the sultry lip action I’d experienced with Aiden or Troy. Theirs meant nothing except that I was an object of their lust, which I had settled for in those empty moments.

But Jesse’s kiss… My insides melted, and my heart kicked hard at the memory.

Why was I torturing myself?

Pacing from the bed to the door and back again, I fisted my hair and moaned.
Stop.

A hollow knock interrupted my monologue. Jesse? Of course that would be my first hope. I was in too deep, and I didn’t know how to swim. Maybe it was time to go home. Patch up with Dad and forget the whole summer. Besides, I hadn’t seen Jesse most of the day except for when he drove me back to the hotel, and he’d been silent. Completely silent until we parked, and even then all he said was,
I’ll see you, Sapphira
.