My father kneels on the concrete floor, marking measurements and cursing under his breath.
He's angry. I can feel it like waves from across the room.
I'm on the far side of the kitchen, just out of his view, smearing thick putty over the gaps where the drywall meets. I think I'm doing it wrong. I swipe with the putty knife and the cracks seem to reject it, making a small bubble along the entire seam. Like a speed bump on an otherwise smooth blacktop. It won't even out and I'm tired of going over the same spot. But it's not flat. The paint won't sit right. He notices things like that. It needs to be flat.
It's getting dark and we’ll have to stop soon. The new house has electricity but no light fixtures yet. We have the work light but it's not bright enough to lay the carpet or do much of anything productive. I'm dreading the ride back. It's either silence or a recounting of my failings of the day. After he inspects this wall I know what is coming.
I hear the loud groan from the other room as he lifts himself from the floor.
“I can't see shit!”
He swings the head of the work light in my direction and it hits me like a spotlight.
“You done yet?”
“Almost. Trying to get it even.”
He walks forward and I shrink back, my eyes to the floor, shoulders slumped in defeat. He runs his finger over the dryer portions at the top.
“We’ll sand it tomorrow. Clean up, let's go.”
. . .
Spring on the lake is cold. I get a swift reminder with a gust of wind to the face as I step out the front door and climb into the passenger seat of the Camero. I'm glad it's just him and I today. When Becca and Michael are here I always have to sit on the hump in the back. They are in California for spring break with their dad. The goal is to have everything done by the time they get back next week. We've already transferred schools and the drive from my grandmother's would be a pain, but we can take the bus from here.
I jump at the sound of the slamming front door. He is in the car in a beat. The engine roars to life and White Snake spills from the speakers. He turns it up.
I roll my window down, the music and air washing over me as I sink back in my seat, relieved.
Safe.