Lifelines: Kate's Story by Vanessa Grant Page A

for
his belt—she had a woman’s hips now, and she loosened it a notch.
    Mac
had already driven a row of nails down the middle of the first sheet of OSB
with the nail gun. He threw her a glance, then seated the bottom nail.
    “I’ll
get the next sheet,” he said. “You can finish this one.”
    She
wasn’t as fast as the nail gun, or as smooth, but over the next half-hour they
developed a rhythm. He locked each new sheet of OSB in place with four
well-placed nails, then walked away and left it for her to finish. She hadn’t
his unerring eye for the hidden location of the studs, but she could locate the
spot with the tape measure.
    After
half an hour, her hammer arm tingled from swinging a one-pound hunk of metal,
and she’d fallen two sheets behind him. Then Mac reached the doorway and she
heard the whine of a saw. By the time he’d fitted OSB around the door, she’d
caught up.
    “Want
to try the nail gun?” he asked.
    “I
think I’ll stick with the tool I know.”
    After
the doorway came two windows; more cutting and measuring for Mac, fewer nails
for Kate. She kept up across the front of the house.
    The
feel of hammer and tool belt, the whine of the saw, the magical transformation
of the skeleton of studs into walls, Mac’s silent company. They brought back
the magic of working with her father.
    “Save
your breath for the work,” Han often said when she chattered, and certainly Mac
wasn’t talkative. Working on Mac’s house, she felt closer to her silent father,
as if she were preparing to bring him back into her life.
    She
saw Socrates frown and knew he was reminding her that she couldn’t assume Han
would still be alive. Or he might be alive, but refuse to see her. Whatever the
truth of her sixteenth year, there was no denying Han sent both Kate and Evelyn
away.
    She
smashed a nail home with a powerful strike and heard the solid echo of
well-fastened wood. She’d accepted her mother’s prohibition on the subject of
Han for too many years. Time for the truth, even if it did hurt.
    Mac
reached the far corner of the house. “Time for a break,” he announced, his
first words since he offered her the nail gun.
    She
drove another nail home. “I should have brought coffee.”
    “I’ve
got a thermos.”
    She
smashed another nail below the last and felt the impact right through her body.
“I’ll just finish up this sheet.”
    Evelyn
and Jennifer might both be avoiding Kate’s calls, but she could hammer a mean
nail into a helpless sheet of OSB. She drove the last nail into the corner,
unfastened her tool belt and hung it on the sawhorse next to Mac’s, then walked
over to join him.
    He
filled two mugs and handed her one, then sat on a big rock facing the house.
She sat at the other end of the rock and felt her arm tingle when she lifted
her coffee. They studied the newly-covered walls in silence. Admiring their
work, she thought, and almost laughed.
    Somewhere
close by, a woodpecker hammered on a tree, the sound oddly comforting. “This
feels good,” she said.
    “It’s
hard to lose someone you love.”
    “Yes.”
She turned away to stare at the line of trees. She’d told him she was a widow
last weekend, but she wished he hadn’t remembered. “How long have you lived in
Madrona Bay, Mac?” 
    “I
came up from Peru a few years ago.”
    “I’ve
tried to place your accent; I didn’t think Spanish.” Her voice sounded false.
She took a sip of her coffee too abruptly, rubbed at the trickle on her chin.
After six months, it was time she learned to handle references to David. “Do
you have relatives in Peru?”
    “Just
work.”
    “Where
are you from?”
    “I
was born in Scotland, left when I was five.”
    She
forced a smile. “That’s why I didn’t recognize the accent. If you left at five,
it’s been watered-down.”
    “My
father worked construction jobs. Venezuela, Taiwan, Brazil. We got around.”
    “You
were a construction kid, too?” She couldn’t believe she’d felt so