I look around. “And how late do you think you’ll be working tonight?”
He shrugs. “Nobody around to run me off; I can stay as long as I like.”
“Kind of like being your own boss, then.”
“Kind of.”
“Can the boss knock off early, then?”
“I think that could be arranged.”
“Good. Come by my place when you do. We’ve got things to talk about.”
He nods, looking serious but not grave.
“Yes,” he says, “I think we do.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Okay.” As I turn to go, he adds, “Steph?”
I stop. “Yes?”
“You’re the best thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he says.
“Come by soon,” I prompt and make my way out of the building.
Chapter 28 - Trent
It had been a chore not so much to get a construction job, but to get one so obscure as to keep the media from getting wind of it. I had definitely wanted to keep these activities to myself, especially once I started working on actual houses. The press, as they say, would have had a field day with that one.
I had been coming in for weeks now, working the dead hours of the night. I probably could have worked during the day. Nobody cared who I was, outside of the curiosity about who in his right mind would work through the night when nobody else was around. I wasn’t Trent Stone, I was just Trent, or, to a lot of the other workers, “the night guy.”
Not that I had given up being Trent Stone, though. I still went into the office each morning, determined not to neglect my own business. The routine had quickly gone from taxing to grueling. I would go home earlier than I would have otherwise, which never failed to raise my secretaries’ eyebrows, and actually took a power nap before donning my jeans and work shirt and heading for the construction site.
I had been a little surprised to find that I liked the work. Not that I had thought I wouldn’t, just that I wouldn’t be any good at it, thanks to a lifetime of inexperience.
It had come to me relatively quickly, though, and by the time I had called Kevin to ask him for a job, I had felt like I could hold my own.
I hammer in another set of nails into the wall stud I’m setting into place and smile to myself.
I’d been so intent on not mashing my fingers with the hammer or hitting myself in the head with a board that Steph had slipped right up on me. It had been jarring, looking up and seeing her there. She had looked even better than I remembered. I didn’t count the glimpse I’d gotten of her on television during my hurried trans-Atlantic flight a couple of weeks back. Seeing someone live and in person always trumps an image on a screen.
There had been something different about her, although I had been hard-pressed to say what. Something in her face, or maybe the way she looked at me, told me that something was up. She had seemed happy, so whatever it was probably wasn’t bad, or at least I hoped it wasn’t. She’d been through enough bad times lately without any fresh misfortune to befall her.
Then she had left, telling me to come see her soon. The faint pang of loss I felt when she walked out was mitigated by the fact that I knew exactly where she would be later.
I figure I’ve given her enough of a head start. Besides, for me anyway, waiting is done. It’s time to see what comes next.
I pack up the tools that are mine and tidy up the ones that belong to Kevin. I am indeed punching out very early tonight, and I want the place to be in good order for when he comes in tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning, I muse as I roll up an air compressor hose. It’s been more than a few days since I put together the words “tomorrow” and “morning.” Rather, it had been a case of at one or two in the morning thinking of upcoming appointments and responsibilities as “later on today.”
I had been pleased that Steph wasn’t angry with me for being around and not telling her. It had been the only way I could think of to directly help her without overstepping my bounds again. The look on her face had told me that it had been the right decision. Wasn’t that worth a series of evenings of lost sleep?
Yes, indeed.
Curtis always picks me up when I finish with my “night shift,” as there are no cabs out in the wee hours of the morning. I have hopes that I can flag one down, as it’s not too terribly late at this point, but there don’t seem to be any out and about. I’m going to have to walk it.
I don’t mind. It’s not far, but just far enough to draw out the anticipation of seeing Steph again.
After a couple of blocks, her apartment building comes into sight. I thumb the call button beside the ground floor door. It buzzes faintly, then more loudly as she rings down to allow me entrance to the building.
Again, it isn’t late, but I don’t pass a soul on my way up to Steph’s floor. That’s just as well. Other people would only feel like obstacles to me at the moment.
I pause at her door, suddenly wishing I had at least changed clothes. But that would have entailed going all the way home, then all the way back, an agonizing wait that I’m not sure I could have taken.
I knock. There’s a brief silence, then comes the sound of the door’s locks being drawn open. The door itself swings wide, and there she is, just
