facts are facts.
“What can we do,” Willard whispered, stunned beyond anger.
“The house is about 1600 square feet, right?”
Willard nodded.
Sai pulled out his calculator and began working it. His fingers flew from key to key, tap tap tap, faster than Willard’s eyes could follow. Then Sai made a few notes on his clipboard.
“Okay. First, you’ll need a geologic survey. Figure about $10,000.”
“Didn’t they do a survey when they built…”
“Sure, but surprise, surprise, the original reports for these two subdivisions disappeared years ago. You’ll need a new one.
“Then permits from the city. Considering what has to be done, another couple of thousand.”
“But we don’t…”
Sai continued inexorably. He had long since realized that it was more merciful to get all of the bad news out at once.
“Then you have a choice. The easy way would be to dig a trench, say three feet deep, all around the house. Install pneumatic jacks every three or four feet and gradually raise the house sufficiently to drill horizontally into the existing slab and insert as much rebar as possible. Then force a layer of cement across the top of the slab to fill in the cracks. That will have to cure for a couple of months, probably, then the house can be let back down into almost its original position.
“Of course, that will create a host of new problems inside, which will have to be repaired. Tearing down a fair amount of the drywall, retiling and recarpeting, repainting the whole shebang.”
“How much would that cost?”
“Conservatively, figure seventy-five to a hundred thousand. Plus loss of living space for several months.”
“But…” Willard began to feel as if he were simply a machine stalled on one word. “But…”
“That would be the easiest way, but probably would end up being only a temporary solution. The ground would continue to expand and contract and the slab, still fractured in places no matter how well supported and repaired, would keep shifting.
“Isn’t there a…what’s the hard way.”
“Oh, that would cost you may be three, four hundred thousand.”
Willard gulped audibly.”
Sai looked around the room.
“Tear the whole place down, start over, and do the thing right.”
From the Malibu Times, 15 May 2003:
SMALL TEMBLOR FELT, NO DAMAGE REPORTED
A 3.5 earthquake was reported yesterday, its epicenter five miles off the Malibu coast. Although windows rattled and floors shook slightly, no damage has been reported.
The quake was not an unusual occurrence for this part of the California coastline, since…
Chapter Ten
The Merricks, June 2006-December 2009
Retreat
1
Moving’s a real bitch.
Jack Merrick wiped the sweat from his forehead with his loose shirttail-already sodden in the June heat- hoisted the box from the back of the mid-sized U-haul van onto his shoulder, and began his umpteenth trip up the driveway, into the garage, and from there into the kitchen.
The movers had already taken care of the heavy stuff-refrigerator, washer and dryer, living room furniture, beds, bureaus, dressers, that sort of thing. Most of the rest of the larger pieces had been sold off, anyway, in a massive yard sale just before they left Oregon-the, the boat, the trailer, and the motorcycle. Jack figured that it would be cheaper to buy new things than to move a truckload of this and that, most of which was junk anyway.
That left just the single van, which he had driven to California, accompanied by his younger son Clark, while Ariel and Mark followed in the Saturn. Most of what was in the van was the personal shit that accumulates, even though they had only lived in Oregon for three years, and in two cities during that time. Dishes, pots and pans, clothes, the kids’ toys-Jack had wanted to sell the bicycles but Mark and Clark had raised hell at the suggestion and, good father that he was, he had given in-a few books, Ariel’s sewing supplies, and on and on.
All neatly packed in cardboard boxes.
That now he had to lug into the new house.
Ariel tried to help, but her hip was still too sore to bear much more than her own weight, so she was puttering around inside, putting this away here and that away there, emptying boxes in the kitchen and bathrooms.
Mark was making himself useful enough, Jack thought, bringing in some of the smaller boxes and breaking down the empties and stacking them in a corner of the garage. They cost enough, and the family might need them again. Who knew?
Clark was probably sitting on his bed in his room. The cast was due to come off sometime next week, and the kid was pretty good at swinging himself along on the crutches, but he wasn’t worth crap as a worker. Even when he didn’t have a broken leg. Lazy shit. Eleven was old enough to pull his weight-Jack knew that from his own experiences as a kid. A broken leg wouldn’t have been much of an excuse for him back then. The old man would have made him tuck stuff under his arms and swing away, or balance boxes on his head. Clark was lucky to have him as a father, rather than Grandpa Merrick.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“Sorry, Dad.” Mark peeped around the corner of the box he was carrying. It was big enough and awkward enough that the kid couldn’t see over it or around it, so he was following the line of the driveway. Came this close to bumping Jack. That wouldn’t do.
“Well, be more careful next time.”
“Okay.”
Jack dropped his burden to the sidewalk and swiped at his forehead again. He watched his son struggle his way into the house, heard him yelling at Ariel, “Mom, where does this go?” Jack couldn’t hear Ariel’s response. She was pretty soft spoke, rarely raised her voice above a whisper. Made for a quiet home, something Jack valued.
He shouldered the box again and made his way into the shade of the garage-it must be ten degrees cooler in there-and then into the house. The air conditioner was running full blast but the place didn’t feel any cooler than the garage. The AC unit sticking up on the roof like a blister was as old as the house itself, nearly twenty years old, Slick Maxwell had said on the final walkthrough yesterday. Maybe they’d have to replace it. Maybe not. Who knew?
Jack continued through the house, down the hallway, around the corner, and on to the back bedroom, his room. His sanctum sanctorum. The place where he would go when the kids got to be too much, when Ariel got on his nerves and he started to lose it.
The room wasn’t large enough to be a proper den, but it would hold a couple of streamlined leather armchairs, his flat screen, his antique liquor cabinet, and the few personal items he carried with him wherever they moved. Mostly mementos from college, a couple of trophies, a football signed by the team the year they went to state and he was voted MVP for the playoff game, that kind of thing. What he needed to make him feel like the man he was…or at least used to be.
