(Life reflects art. See if you can guess where.
)
WATCHING BRAD
Part 186
It was a busy week, and almost a disaster in one respect, which I will get to in a few moments.
That first week in August saw the return to work for me. I had spoken with my co-workers on the telephone since my return from England, of course. They had offered their sympathies to our situation and any assistance that we might need, but that was the first time I'd seen them in person since the wedding. Fortunately, most of them weren't exactly sure what they should say other than to say ‘welcome back' and to let me get back to doing my job. Truth be told, it was nice to be back. It took my mind off my other worries for awhile and I immersed myself into my work, finding comfort and satisfaction in quickly solving two problems which had remained unsolved during my absence.
That week also saw the return to work for Terry following her rather impromptu vacation. Still, she had remained in town for the most part, spending some quality time with her friends and boyfriend. "Just in case you needed me," she told me with a caring smile. Not for the first time, I considered adopting her.
David (along with Brook on his days off) became something of a regular fixture at the house each day that week, joining Brad and Mark in clearing out the rest of the house. For his own safety, Mark wasn't allowed to enter the house, but he was given his own yellow, plastic overalls, rubber boots, mask, and gloves, and he wore them proudly and worked diligently and tirelessly. For hour after hour, he lugged everything which the guys tossed out the windows to the dumpster bins. As always, Mark wasn't particularly bothered by the job he was given. He was more delighted in actually having one and earning money by it. It was difficult not to like the lad.
One thing happened, though, which would not have happened had I been there to supervise the site. David, displaying his infinite abilities and fearlessness, took it upon himself to remove the sheet of plywood from the kitchen window and to place it the kitchen floor for extra support. He then removed what remained of the broken window and frame (which Mark carefully tossed into the dumpster) and, with Brook anxiously watching from the kitchen doorway, proceeded to empty out the kitchen cabinets cupboard by cupboard. When he finished all the cupboards, he also cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer and the pantry. All the food products were tossed away, of course, but David carefully salvaged everything which hadn't been cracked, broken, or melted in the heat from the fire.
By the time I arrived at the house after work that afternoon, David had completed his task. The kitchen was virtually empty. Even the cupboard doors had been removed. The few items he'd been able to salvage had been taken over to Bernice for a thorough cleaning. Everything else was in the dumpster. David had even dragged the refrigerator and dishwasher across the kitchen floor into the livingroom by himself and then, with Brad and Brook helping him, had shoved and pulled them across the room to be dumped out the large picture window into the back yard, then carried around the house for disposal.
"Are you
crazy, David?" I shouted.
He stood there in front of me, peeling off his yellow overalls and boots. Beneath, he was dressed only in a pair of cut-off denim shorts. It still impressed me how much man was stuffed into that little body. "No, I'm not crazy, Ted," he replied. "Just doing my job."
"It's not your job to get dead!"
"We tried to tell him, Ted," Brook said, "but he's just as stubborn as you are."
I ignored Brook's comment and continued staring at David. He didn't back down and neither did I.
"I've told you before, Ted," David said firmly. "It's what I do."
"But the damned floor fell in last time you tried a stunt like that!" I argued.
"And that was the weak spot," David insisted, "and it already collapsed. It wasn't a danger anymore. Besides, I crawled on the counter most of the time."
"Gee-sus, Murphy, David! That's not the point! What if you were hurt!? I'd never forgive myself!"
David faced me, putting his hands firmly on my elbows. "First of all, Ted, you're not responsible for me. No-one is. And ‘B', I know what I'm doing. I've been playing this construction game since I was a kid and the only time I've ever been in the hospital was when those assholes put me there last week. Believe it or not, I know how not to get hurt on the job. I know what I can do and I know what I
can't do. The line is very clear. . ." and then, with a quick smirk and a wink, he added, ". . . most of the time."
I stared down into his eyes as he stared up into mine. I could see the sincerity there and knew that he was telling me the truth. It calmed me. "I just don't want you to get hurt, David."
"Neither do I, Ted. You just have to trust me, okay? I promise I won't do anything stupid that's a serious danger to me or to anyone else." He removed his hands from my arms and looked at the house. "You have to understand, Ted," he said calmly and quietly as he turned back to face me again. "This isn't work to me. This is fun. It's an adventure. Just like rock climbing or sky diving is exciting to other people. Just like you solving computer program problems is exciting for you, construction and demolition is exciting for me. I enjoy the challenges, but I enjoy the successes a lot more. I managed to get you a set of cookware and silverware, most of a set of dinnerware, and a pile of mugs and glasses and a bunch of other stuff for you. That was worth the effort as far as I'm concerned."
I looked at him for several long moments before speaking. "Just be careful, okay?"
"Always," he promised with his typical, cocky grin. "I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm not about to screw that up by breaking my friggin' neck."
* * * * *
For the first time since she was born, I forgot my daughter's birthday, and it infuriated me. Thank goodness for mothers, though. Mom reminded me about it after Lindsay went to bed Sunday night.
"Gee-sus, Murphy, Mom," I said loudly as I checked the date on my watch. Unfortunately, my sudden anger at myself for being so negligent slid into my voice before I could catch it. "Her birthday's on Wednesday! Why didn't you remind me before!?"
"Don't take that tone with me, young man," she said with her hands on her hips. "You're not too old or too big that you can't be taken over my knee."
I quickly got my temper under control and took a deep breath. "You're right, Mom," I apologised calmly. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you. Now," she continued, " I didn't tell you earlier because I felt you've had plenty on your mind and I didn't want you having to worry about this as well when I could take care of it for you. We're having our own little birthday party for her at Wednesday dinner, but Bernice and I have arranged a larger party for Saturday afternoon. Warren and Bill have promised that they will be coming, as will David and Brook and Nathan and Barry. Nathan, of course, will be doing barbeque. Bernice will be baking the cake. Lindsay has already invited several of her friends from the football camp."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Nothing, Dear," Mom replied, "except to buy her gifts. Oh, and you may have to make a run into the city with the van to collect the children."
Sally, the secretary where I work, came through for me one more time and phoned every video and department store on Monday morning until she tracked down the full set of
Anne of Green Gables movies on DVD for me. I bought it for her during my lunch hour, then went browsing for a new nightgown and a pair of slippers to give to her Wednesday night. I also picked up two new jean and top outfits to give her at the big party on Saturday. She still liked her ‘girly' things, but she was getting more and more into grownup things each and every day.
The weather leading up to Wednesday evening had once again been warm and humid, but nowhere near as bad or oppressive as the heat wave which had ended with our house almost burning down. Still, this minor heat wave would also end in a spectacular and very unusual storm early Wednesday evening.
I picked up Lindsay at the camp that afternoon and stopped to pick up Brad at the house where he and David were working. David was going back to Toronto, but John and Bernice Hayes would be following along later after John got home from work.
We knew that a cold front would be passing through the region and bringing a drop in temperatures and humidity. Environment Canada released severe weather bulletins throughout the afternoon, so we were prepared to deal with three potentially panicked children.
When the cold front finally came through, it. . . how shall I put this? . . . it ‘fell' across Ontario. When it reached Lake Huron after passing through Michigan, it was a vertical line reaching from Lake Erie to Lake Superior. And then the northern-most portion of the front ‘bowed', indicating that it was now moving at a greater speed than the rest of the front. From there, it was like someone had lassoed the southernmost section of the front and held it fast whilst the northern portion continued on its trek eastward. The front literally toppled like a falling tree until, by the time it passed through Maple Grove, it was almost horizontal and, for several minutes, lay balanced along the entire northern shore of Lake Ontario, running along the MacDonald-Cartier Freeway from west of Toronto to east of Cornwall, before drifting southward over the lake where it soon became little more than a fading memory.
The kids were understandably nervous and frightened in the beginning. They clung to us for protection, jumping at every brilliant flash of lightning and each rolling crack of thunder, fearing a repeat of their other adventure only two weeks and two days earlier. The adults continued to act as normally as we could, keeping them occupied and trying to show them that there was nothing to fear.
For the most part, though, we managed to distract them with Lindsay's eleventh birthday celebrations, complete with plenty of gifts and cherry-chocolate cake served with double scoops of black cherry ice cream. Despite the storm, the children all had fun and came through it unscathed and seemingly unaffected.
Although Lindsay's birthday was a bit of a disaster, what with the storm and all, it would have been even more of a disaster if the major party had been planned for that evening instead of for Saturday afternoon. Even then, though, it could not have compared to the disaster which may have ensued had I forgot my daughter's birthday entirely. I could never have forgiven myself had that happened.
* * * * *
The official investigation reports were in. . . finally. . . and I was presented that week with a cheque by my insurance company. The fault of the fire had been a result of a failure in equipment which designed to prevent such incidents. A breaker switch should have prevented the bolt of lightning from travelling along the wire to my hous. I was also presented with a separate cheque for the household furnishings which had been insured through the same company. I had yet to receive compensation for the ‘specialty' items such as my grandmother's furnishings and chinaware and our jewelry and keepsakes and such, though. They had been insured separately and with a different company. They, too, had been awaiting the official reports and would be sending the claim cheque through the post.
The house plans also arrived that week, delivered to the house by (as I was told later) a handsome, blond-haired young man driving a brown delivery van and wearing brown shorts and cap. They were signed for by a very excited ‘Bradley de Villiers Hayes'. "My name looks so neat when I write it down now," he said as he beamed his chipped-tooth grin as his green eyes glistened with pride. He hugged me in his strong grip, practically squeezing the breath right out of my lungs.
The plans were complete architectural plans as far as I could tell and they included a basic supply list (as built directly from the plans with no alterations) for easy pricing estimations. Any adjustments or customisations in the plans, of course, would undoubtedly increase the cost, especially when the cost of paying an architect to make the changes and redraw the blueprints was taken into consideration.
Thursday evening, after dinner, John and Bernice drove out to Maple Grove with John's friend, Grant. We were all sitting in the livingroom enjoying tea and coffee for the adults and chocolate milk for the kids. The twins were already bathed and dressed in their pyjamas and robes and sitting in our laps, munching on apples. Lindsay sat beside me listening to the conversation and nibbling a bunch of green seedless grapes.
"So, John tells me you're looking for a General Contractor," Grant said.
"Yes, we are," I replied, "and, apparently, you come highly recommended."
"Grant and I have known each other for. . . what?" John looked at his friend. "Thirty-odd years or so, Grant?"
"‘bout that, John," Grant replied. He was around my father's age, but his face reflected a life full of hard work and lots of worry. He was a large man, both in height and in girth, yet there was still a lot of power in him. He certainly appeared as though he could hold his own against his younger cohorts. "We met when we worked on the Olympic Village in Montreal, didn't we?"
"That's right," John agreed.
"When was that, Dad?" Brad asked.
"Well, now," John replied as his gaze dropped to the floor in front of him. "That was in. . ."
"Nineteen seventy-six, John," Bernice replied. "But I believe you first met each other in seventy-four."
"Thank you, Dear," John said as he nodded and took another sip of his coffee. "Yes. You know, I read somewhere that Montreal expects to finally finish paying off the Olympics this year."
"‘bout time," Grant giggled in a surprisingly high voice which didn't quite go along with the size of his body. The twins found this funny and giggled right along with him. "I'm surprised they even managed to pull them off in the first place. Drapeau's dreams were bigger than his piggy bank. But it was the guys working on ‘The Big Owe' that I felt sorry for," he added, shaking his head in memory.
John's head bobbed up and down indicating his agreement. His lips curled up into a smirk of recollection. "The Olympic Stadium," he said. "Could have been a Cadillac and turned out to be an Edsel. They should just nuke the damned thing and put it out of its misery."
Grant agreed and giggled his high-pitched giggle again, which brought another round of giggles from Justin and Jeremy, then he breathed in a heavy breath and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "So, you want me to build you a house, eh?"
I handed him three photos which had came with the plans as Grant pulled a pair of eyeglasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on his face. "These two are the ones I can afford to build," I said. "This one is the house that everyone else wants, but I think it's way out of my budget."
"You have the plans?" Grant asked as he leafed through the photos.
"Yes." I handed him three plastic tubes containing the rolled-up plans.
Grant took them and opened them one at a time.
"They all comply with Canadian codes," my father said.
"Good," Grant nodded without looking up from the photos and plans. "How much would I have to play with?"
I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my pocket and handed held it out to him. He took it, unfolded it carefully and glanced quickly at it, then tucked it away into his shirt pocket.
"I've done the math on the big house," I told him. "I don't see how I can afford it." For emphasis, I added, "Besides, I want a basement for storage and for an extra freezer and pantry and things, and that would just add to the cost."
"A full basement already exists beneath the old house," my father announced firmly. "It will be necessary only to lay new footings and foundations and backfill the rest. We believe it is possible to remove the closet beneath the staircase and create a stairway into the basement instead." As if for emphasis aimed toward me, he added emphatically, "And the basement need not be finished nor heated. It would require only proper drainage, electrics, and plumbing."
Grant, still looking at the photos, quickly located the suggested closet and pointed at it, quickly reinventing the plans with a few experienced strokes of his finger. "Bonus," he said. "Shouldn't be a problem. You'd need an architect to redraw the plans, you know."
"I already have one that I've used before," I told him. "I suppose I can give him a call to see if he can work us in. He's a pretty busy guy, though."
"The house is mine to plumb, Grant," Dad said. "I am properly licensed. Also, I am certain that I can get you a good deal for the materials." When Grant looked up at him, Dad added with a bit more than a hint undisguised pride in his voice, "I manage Ace Plumbing Services. I have. . . what is the term?. . . ‘strings which I may pull'?"
"I have a few strings I can pull, too, Grant," John Hayes said. "And the boys have promised plenty of sweat equity."
Grant nodded absentmindedly as he glanced through the plans one more time, then rolled them up and returned them to their respective tubes. "I'll get right on these tomorrow, make a few calls and do a bit of pricing. When did you want to start?"
"As soon as possible," I told him.
Once more he nodded. "Right. Well, I'm available right now. Now, the two smaller houses won't be a problem price wise, at least at a quick glance. How about I do some homework on the big house, check a few prices and such, and we can get back together on Monday night and see if we can come to some sort of a deal?"
"Sounds like a plan," I said.
"May I keep these until Monday?" he asked, indicating the plans he still held in his large hands.
Of course, I told him that he could, but secretly hoping that he might lose the plans for the big house somewhere, or accidently drop them into a paper shredder. Maybe his dog would eat them. That would solve my problems quite adequately.
* * * * *
Brad and I lay in each other's arms after making love that night. To be more precise, I lay on my back and he lay on his side, pressing his satiated body against mine with his left arm tossed casually over my chest and his head resting on shoulder. I tenderly stroked his back with the fingers of my left hand.
"Are you sure we can't afford to build the big house?" Brad asked suddenly, his soft voice splitting the silence like an explosion. It actually startled me, probably because I expected us to simply fall asleep in the afterglow as we most often did.
"I'm sure, Brad. The mortgage payments would be too high."
"I can get a real part-time job to help pay for it."
"Can we talk about this later, Tiger?" I asked. "I'm beat."
"Okay, Pops," he whispered back to me in the dark. "Love you."
"Love you, too, Tiger."
Brad fell asleep in my arms long before I eventually fell asleep several hours later. I had spent that time lying there in singular silence with only the darkness and the sound of Brad's shallow breathing to keep me company.
My life had changed so drastically lately, and I felt as though I was losing control of it. In just a little over a year, my family had grown from myself and my darling daughter to include two beautiful sons and a handsome, loving husband. I adored each and every one of them and couldn't imagine my life without them now. I have no regrets and, if I had it all to do again, I would do it without hesitation.
Still, there was one thing that I
couldn't do, and that was to admit to them that I was a failing them all as both a father and a husband. It was my job - no, it was my ‘duty' - to provide for them. . . and I couldn't do it. All they wanted was a house, and, as much as I might want to do it, I couldn't give it to them.
I was a failure to them all.
To Be Continued
(Even if they can be a "Pain"!) 
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