boss, and he signs the checks.”
Margaret tried to interrupt. “There's no need to - “
“There's no need is right,” said Ben. “I'm sorry, Margaret. I liked Vince a lot; we all did. But Sue's due in July and I can't afford to lose my job over... well, this.” He waved dismissively at the ark. “Personally, and I don't mean to sound snide, I swear, but I think you need help, Margaret, but not what we can give you -”
“That's enough, Ben,” Marty said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is. Sorry.” He turned and walked back towards the firehouse. He moved stiffly, as if expecting to be tackled from behind.
Margaret's stomach tightened. She turned to the others. “You don't need to stay.” One muttered something about “making sure Ben's OK” and followed his path in retreat. Another followed, but the third looked at Margaret, then the chief, and moved to help Al tape and glue the starboard side together.
By six o'clock, the sun was setting and the western sky behind the fire station was afire in red and yellow. A myth from her childhood told her that a blazing sunset meant good weather the next day.
Reluctantly, she agreed it was time to stop.
Marty finished trimming the hull to conform to the curve. As he did so, the others leaned temporary supports against both sides to keep them from falling overnight, securing them with a few nails each from inside. The bow and stern remained open.
Katie and Robin had already forgotten the earlier tension, and were busying themselves stowing away the tools. Marty hefted anything portable into the back of Margaret's station wagon.
Waving at the other fireman as he wandered wearily back towards the station, Al brushed at his moustache and stood facing Margaret. He was looking beyond her.
“I think we've got company.”
Margaret turned. Throughout the day, cars had been pulling to the curb to see the spectacle taking place on their common. Some ventured out after parking on the far side, but came no closer than the gazebo in its center. Eventually, Margaret stopped noticing them. Now she turned and followed Al's gaze.
A woman with a 35mm camera slung over one shoulder and a yellow notepad walked briskly towards them. As she neared, Margaret could see a small portable tape recorder pressed against the notepad.
“Are you in charge here?” the woman asked Al, who merely pointed to Margaret before turning to help Marty with the last minute pickup.
“I'm Margaret Carboneau. Can I help you?”
The woman offered her free hand. “Kristy Cowles. I'm a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle . I was wondering if I could interview you. I assume you're one of the people claiming to have a vision and --”
Margaret raised a hand between them. She was about to tell the woman she wasn't interested, then hesitated. How else could she reach the people she needed, especially now that her workforce was about to abandon her? “How soon,” she asked, “would the story run, if I agreed?”
Kristy looked taken aback at being interrupted. She stared at the ark and said, matter-of-factly, “Well, if we can talk now, after letting me get some pictures of the boat before it gets too dark, we should make it in for Monday morning's edition. Tomorrow would have been better, since everyone reads the Sunday paper, but you know how it goes. Some things just won’t keep the presses from running.” She laughed.
Margaret's arms ached. All she could think about was an extended, hot bath. “Listen, I'd very much like to talk, but as you can imagine I'm pretty beat. I'll be here as early as possible tomorrow morning. Can we talk then? Will that make you too late for Monday?”
The reporter shuffled uneasily. “Well, that would be OK, I guess. I'd certainly like to be the first to get an interview with you.”
“If you can wait until tomorrow morning, I won't talk to anyone else. I promise. Come around nine o'clock.” Before the reporter could object, Margaret smiled weakly and
Margaret tried to interrupt. “There's no need to - “
“There's no need is right,” said Ben. “I'm sorry, Margaret. I liked Vince a lot; we all did. But Sue's due in July and I can't afford to lose my job over... well, this.” He waved dismissively at the ark. “Personally, and I don't mean to sound snide, I swear, but I think you need help, Margaret, but not what we can give you -”
“That's enough, Ben,” Marty said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is. Sorry.” He turned and walked back towards the firehouse. He moved stiffly, as if expecting to be tackled from behind.
Margaret's stomach tightened. She turned to the others. “You don't need to stay.” One muttered something about “making sure Ben's OK” and followed his path in retreat. Another followed, but the third looked at Margaret, then the chief, and moved to help Al tape and glue the starboard side together.
By six o'clock, the sun was setting and the western sky behind the fire station was afire in red and yellow. A myth from her childhood told her that a blazing sunset meant good weather the next day.
Reluctantly, she agreed it was time to stop.
Marty finished trimming the hull to conform to the curve. As he did so, the others leaned temporary supports against both sides to keep them from falling overnight, securing them with a few nails each from inside. The bow and stern remained open.
Katie and Robin had already forgotten the earlier tension, and were busying themselves stowing away the tools. Marty hefted anything portable into the back of Margaret's station wagon.
Waving at the other fireman as he wandered wearily back towards the station, Al brushed at his moustache and stood facing Margaret. He was looking beyond her.
“I think we've got company.”
Margaret turned. Throughout the day, cars had been pulling to the curb to see the spectacle taking place on their common. Some ventured out after parking on the far side, but came no closer than the gazebo in its center. Eventually, Margaret stopped noticing them. Now she turned and followed Al's gaze.
A woman with a 35mm camera slung over one shoulder and a yellow notepad walked briskly towards them. As she neared, Margaret could see a small portable tape recorder pressed against the notepad.
“Are you in charge here?” the woman asked Al, who merely pointed to Margaret before turning to help Marty with the last minute pickup.
“I'm Margaret Carboneau. Can I help you?”
The woman offered her free hand. “Kristy Cowles. I'm a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle . I was wondering if I could interview you. I assume you're one of the people claiming to have a vision and --”
Margaret raised a hand between them. She was about to tell the woman she wasn't interested, then hesitated. How else could she reach the people she needed, especially now that her workforce was about to abandon her? “How soon,” she asked, “would the story run, if I agreed?”
Kristy looked taken aback at being interrupted. She stared at the ark and said, matter-of-factly, “Well, if we can talk now, after letting me get some pictures of the boat before it gets too dark, we should make it in for Monday morning's edition. Tomorrow would have been better, since everyone reads the Sunday paper, but you know how it goes. Some things just won’t keep the presses from running.” She laughed.
Margaret's arms ached. All she could think about was an extended, hot bath. “Listen, I'd very much like to talk, but as you can imagine I'm pretty beat. I'll be here as early as possible tomorrow morning. Can we talk then? Will that make you too late for Monday?”
The reporter shuffled uneasily. “Well, that would be OK, I guess. I'd certainly like to be the first to get an interview with you.”
“If you can wait until tomorrow morning, I won't talk to anyone else. I promise. Come around nine o'clock.” Before the reporter could object, Margaret smiled weakly and
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