Page 7

Heather

I wake up feeling nauseated. Clasping my hand over my mouth, I make a mad dash for the bathroom sink, barely making it there in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the sink.

I grope for the faucet and watch all the grossness swirl down the oversized hole in the shop sink.

Still, I don’t stop throwing up until I’m dry heaving.

By the time it’s over, I’ve broken out in a full body sweat and feel a headache coming on.

That’s when I pull my clothing off and step into a warm shower.

I allow the water to splash into my mouth and swish it around to rinse my mouth out before spitting it out.

My mouth tastes vile and I feel like the most disgusting creature that ever walked the face of the earth.

Making short work of cleaning my body, I jump out, dry off, and get dressed.

I rush because I’m eager to get a toothbrush into my mouth.

After scrubbing my mouth for a full ten minutes, I rinse and put my toothbrush away.

Standing there, looking into the rough piece of glass nailed over the sink, I brace my hands on the rim and contemplate my life.

I’ve been dealing with a dodgy stomach for a couple of weeks now, but I’ve never woken up so nauseated before.

I probably should make an appointment with my doctor when I get a chance in case it is an ulcer.

I walk out the door and haul in a lungful of crisp, clean air, hoping that it will help settle my stomach.

Standing there, I rest my hands on the new barrel Ghost has bought for us to burn trash in.

It was unused and clean, so it doesn’t trigger another round of what in the hell just happened to me.

Standing there watching the sun come up over the horizon, I admire the soft gold and blue sky.

When my mind clears, I go back inside, fold up my bedding and get ready to face another day.

I grab a brush and a fresh ponytail holder from my gear bag, brushing my wet hair until it’s almost dry and then twisting it up into a messy bun with practiced hands. I quickly pull on my work boots while making a list in my head of everything we need to do before the structural engineer arrives.

The place is a bit too messy for my liking.

I quickly clean up the debris lying around, then put all our tools into the large tool chest near the door.

After that, I head out to mark off where the utility lines should be placed.

Of course, I double-check all my measurements because my grandfather always taught me to measure twice and cut once.

It was a wise saying in the construction trade, and one that has stuck with me all these years.

All the while, I’m pretending like I didn’t throw up a lung an hour or so ago. I really want a morning coffee, but I’m unsure if my stomach will reject it. I’m just brushing sawdust off the table when the side door creaks open and Ghost steps in.

He looks pretty amazing this morning, wearing his cut over a black hoodie.

He has a new pair of work gloves tucked under one arm, and a cup in each hand.

This man always looks like he’s just stepped out of a gritty action movie.

But he also always brings coffee, so that’s yet another mark in his favor.

When he holds out a steaming cup of morning brew, all my doubts disappear, and I eagerly reach for his kind offering.

“You’re up early,” he tells me with a lopsided smile.

Nodding, I tell him, “I wanted to get the place cleaned up and prepped for the structural engineer’s first visit.”

He gazes at me, his eyes sharp and observant. “You look pale. Is anything wrong?”

“I’m fine.” I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip of the warm brew. The smell hits me like a blast of delicious goodness. It’s slightly bitter with earthy undertones. The aroma of hazelnut from the creamer hits just right.

“Is your coffee alright?” he asks.

I nod enthusiastically, taking another quick sip before I answer. “Yeah, it’s fantastic. You made it just the way I like it.”

He doesn’t respond. He just watches me sipping my drink with a gentle expression on his face. This guy is all kinds of nice. It’s easy to appreciate his inherent kindness.

We sip our coffee and make light conversation about the pending meeting with the structural engineer. I take out the plans and notes and place them on the table. We put our heads together and review all the details. We get lost in the work and my stomach eases up after I eat a breakfast bar.

The sound of a vehicle pulling in draws my attention to the driveway.

“That sounds like the engineer,” I say, checking my watch. “He’s right on time.”

Ghost nods, and we step outside together to meet him. I give Rick Mendoza a warm smile and extend my hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Rick.”

Rick’s rugged face lights up at my greeting. His hand comes out to shake mine. “You too, Heather. You’re a busy lady. This is your third project in as many months, right?”

I pull back after shaking his hand. “Yeah, only instead of just designing the space, I’ll be more involved in the building phase this time around.” Turning to Ghost, I make introductions, “This is the homeowner, Mr. Nick Ross.”

Rick reaches out his hand and Ghost shakes it. Gesturing to the patch on his cut, my employer tells him, “You can call me Ghost.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ghost. Is this the building that needs to be inspected?”

“Yes, thank you for coming out,” Ghost tells him before leading him into the garage.

Rick is a seasoned structural engineer. I’ve worked with him twice before. He’s very down-to-earth and in his late fifties, a little round in the middle. He has a clipboard under one arm with his forms in it.

Once inside, Rick opens his clipboard. “Let’s take a look around.”

I walk the inside perimeter with him, explaining along the way, “This building seems structurally sound. We’re not planning to remove any walls or supports. In fact, we might end up adding supports in order to rearrange the space into rooms.”

Rick checks the concrete slab for cracks, pulls out his level and moisture meter, and rattles off questions that make sense for this particular job.

I answer as best I can, with Ghost chiming in to answer when the garage was built, whether there are existing drainage issues, and where the nearest power and water lines are buried.

Ghost does his part in making sure Rick has what he needs in terms of information. Getting through this inspection is proving to be a team effort.

“In our initial contact you mentioned that this will eventually be a mother-in-law suite, right?” Rick asks, examining the framing.

“That’s the long-term goal,” I tell him. “It will be a short-term rental for now, then a permanent space for his mother later.”

Rick makes a noise that sounds halfway between impressed and doubtful. “You’re gonna need insulation upgrades, new joists here—these aren’t up to code if you’re raising the ceiling or doing ductwork.”

Ghost steps forward, his hands in his jean pockets. “We’ll need to do ductwork for the HVAC system. Is there a way to do it without ripping everything out?”

Rick comes to a stop, giving Ghost a curious look. “You in construction?”

“No,” Ghost tells him flatly. “But I’ve helped work on our club house build and know what I like.”

His voice isn’t irritated, just matter of fact.

Rick gives a thoughtful nod. “Alright. Let me see what I recommend after I finish the inspection. I need to fully understand what I’m working with to make a good recommendation.”

We continue with the inside inspection, Rick using his flashlight and level to make sure the interior corners are at right angles. He examines every inch of the interior space.

And I answer all his questions about zoning, setbacks, utility access. Again, Ghost speaks up as well, which things like which breaker controls the garage, and how much of the old wiring still works.

When Rick finally finishes his outside inspect, he scribbles something in his notes, and announces, “This could work. It’s gonna take a little reinforcement, but nothing too expensive. You’ve got a good shell to build from.”

“That’s what I hoped you would say,” I tell him, unable to hide my relief.

“Are you two planning to do the labor yourselves?” Rick asks.

“Yes. That’s the plan,” I say. Ghost is going to be hands on, making most of the decisions for the build. I’m responsible for the design elements and managing inspections. I also know how to swing a hammer.”

Rick gives Ghost a look and a wink. “Better hold onto this one. She’s gonna be worth her weight in gold by the time this build is over.”

I freeze for half a second, surprised to hear Rick’s compliments.

But Ghost doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d never take Heather for granted.” he responds smoothly.

Hearing Ghost’s reply makes pride well up in my chest. I feel seen and valued for the first time in a long while.

By the time Rick pulls away in his truck, the sun has crept higher. The air is just warm enough to make the garage feel like we’re working in an oven. I peel off my hoodie and shove up my sleeves, already sketching out the new wall measurements in my head.

Ghost is quiet as he drags the old plywood and leftover framing lumber into a rough pile outside.

I follow behind him with a roll of heavy-duty trash bags, scooping up nails, splinters, and debris from the far corners of the floor and yard, surprised that I missed so many pieces when I swept up earlier.

***

We work in companionable silence. I’m finding that the silence isn’t awkward or weird with Ghost. It’s comfortable. It’s nice to not to feel like we have to fill every moment with mindless banter.