The Fix (Carolina Connections #1) Page 2

  “Knock, knock.” I rapped as I pushed open the door. “I figured I should rattle your cage since eighties rock doesn’t seem to be doing the trick – Oh God! Put it away!” I slapped my hand over my eyes so hard I could practically feel the shiner forming, the vision of Gavin’s pale white ass cheeks burning a hole through the back of my head. The only thing keeping the vomit down was the fact that he had been lying on his stomach instead of his back.

  “Guhfmm…what?” came the drowsy male snuffle from the bed, accompanied by a rustling of sheets.

  Still shielding my eyes, I whispered-yelled, “Get your hairy ass covered now!” I did not want to alert Rocco to any possible distraction involving his favorite person and unfortunate role model.

  “Hey, it’s not hairy,” Gavin protested with a yawn. “You’re just jealous cuz mine’s perfect and yours is, well, you know.”

  I retreated from the room, tossing over my shoulder, “You can’t be late on your first day, Gav. And for God’s sake, put on some pants – there’s a minor in this house and there is no way to un-see that whole mess you’ve got goin’ on, Billy Idol.” I made a vague circular motion with my finger and hurried away to finish getting myself ready for the day.

  I returned to the kitchen with five minutes to spare. Gavin, thankfully now clothed in faded jeans and an old concert t-shirt, was leaning against the counter with his own bowl of Cocoa Krispies raised to chin level. He spooned a bite into his mouth and focused on his nephew.

  “But why doesn’t she like ponies?” Rocco’s puzzled expression passed between his uncle and me, his cute little lisp making “ponies” come out as “poneeth”. His soulful brown eyes crinkled in confusion while his short mop of thick dark hair tilted to the side along with his head. “Ponies are awesome.”

  Gavin pointed his now empty spoon at Rocco in explanation. “I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t like ponies, Rock – it’s just that it’s been too long since she’s ridden a pony,” he said, chuckling to himself at his oh-so-lame joke and giving me a sidelong glance in repressed merriment.

  “Ha ha,” I responded and then gestured for Rocco to give me his empty bowl and cup from the table. “Your Uncle Gavin needs to quit with the livestock stories and get going to his new job,” I told Rocco. “And we need to get a move on, dude, or we’re gonna be late for school. Go grab your shoes.” I tossed the dirty dishes in the sink for later.

  Rocco dashed to the side door to retrieve his sneakers and I turned to face my brother as I grabbed my purse from the back of one of our mismatched kitchen chairs. “Seriously, Gavin, good luck today,” I told him and stretched onto my tiptoes to give him an unexpected peck on his scruffy cheek. “Knock ‘em dead!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he replied self-consciously and ran a hand through his unruly mass of dark brown hair – hair that I noted had clearly not been washed on this day. Baby steps, I told myself.

  We both knew that this job was a big deal – a turning point of sorts, I hoped – but not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable than necessary, I threw a small wave over my shoulder, picked up my lunch bag along with Rocco’s backpack and escorted my kid out to the car.

  “Yeah, good luck, Uncle Gavin!” Rocco hollered as the door was closing behind us. “And maybe if you do a good job we can go on a pony ride this weekend!” My backwards glance revealed a spoonful of cereal spewing from Gavin’s surprised mouth onto the linoleum floor.

  One guess as to who’d be cleaning that up later.

  Poop!

  Chapter Two

  If It’s Good Enough for a Caveman…

  Nate

  “I think that about covers it,” said the nurse, handing over the discharge papers. “Any other questions?” Her pleasant smile passed over my mother, sister, and me, finally coming to rest on my father who was perched on the side of the hospital bed.

  “I think we’ve got it from here.” My mother breathed in deeply and released it in a resigned sigh. “Plenty of rest, no alcohol, healthy diet, and no stress – easy enough.” She tried for a small smile with limited success, although it was unclear whom she was trying to reassure, us or the nurse. Nothing about this mess was easy.

  My father spoke up from his seat on the bed. “Are you sure about this whole no red meat thing?” His hand swung up to point a finger at me, as if this had all been my idea. Not likely. “What the hell do you think cavemen ate, bean sprouts? No! I’ll tell you what they ate – meat! And then when they were done with that, you know what they ate for dessert? More meat! And you think they weren’t stressed? Of course they were; they were being chased by lions and wooly mammoths and who the hell knows what else as soon as they set foot outside the cave. Talk about stressful.” His finger made sure to single out each occupant of the room before his tirade finished.

  Bailey stepped forward. “Props to your cavemen brethren and all, Dad, but you’re forgetting one tiny, important detail,” my younger sister interjected while holding her thumb and index finger close together. “They all lived to the ripe old age of twenty and were about four feet tall.”

  “I’ll leave you all to it. Feel better, Mr. Murphy!” The nurse retreated to the hall.

  It was time to wrap this shit show up. “Alright, Dad, let’s get the hell out of here and get you home.” I put my arm around my mom’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. She leaned into me with a hesitant smile.

  “It’s about damn time,” my father grumbled.

  I couldn’t blame him for his less than chipper mood. If I’d had my chest cracked open days earlier and had to endure a week of bland hospital food and non-breathing plastic sheets, my disposition would be pretty damn sour too. Is there anyone on earth who doesn’t hate hospitals?

  In truth, seeing my old man lying on the bed with his body stuck full of tubes and wires when I’d arrived last week had really done a number on me. His normally robust presence had been completely absent and a frail and extremely, well, mortal looking figure had taken my dad’s place. The shock of it was extraordinary. After that, it had taken very little time for my brain to catch up with my gut. Priorities automatically began to shift in my mind, and decisions that were once complicated and difficult instead became simple and quite inevitable. I was home, and I was here to stay.

  ***

  “Soooo,” Bailey began once she and I were seated at the dining table in my parents’ home, the same home we’d both grown up in just outside of Greensboro. The topic at hand? The family business. “What the hell do we do now?”

  I brought my hands together on the tabletop as I took in the familiar surroundings, all of my mom’s small touches noticeable throughout the space – the Lladro statues lining the sideboard, the dried flowers arranged among the dishes in the china hutch, and a few of Bailey’s paintings hung carefully on the opposite wall. I brought my eyes back to my sister. “Not so fast, Bay. I’ve been here a week – don’t think you’re dumping this whole thing on me as if I have all the answers. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and you can’t play your little ‘Oh, I’m such a right brain person so I couldn’t possibly do anything so uncreative and logical’ game. I’ll drag you with me kicking and screaming if I have to.”

  “Oh, shut up, you pompous turd!” She slapped at my arm. “Have I complained yet? I’m more than prepared to jump in. I just don’t know where to start. Dad oversees everything, and I mean everything. Nothing is outside the scope of his domain.” She sighed. “It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

  She and I had spent the last few days running back and forth between our dad’s office and the hospital, and we were anxious, overwhelmed and pretty fucking exhausted.

  So even though Bailey is usually a pain in the ass, I regretted my earlier tone and started over, “Okay, I’m sorry. I guess I thought you’d have a better idea than I would of the best course of action here. I’ve been out of the day-to-day picture for a couple years now and you’ve been working steadily with him so I guess I just assumed.” I shrugged.

  “Ye
ah, but I’m the design person. I can put together an interior with my eyes closed, but all the administrative and construction crap is not in my wheelhouse, Nate. I’ll help where I can but…” She offered a super fake smile and lifted her hands up in the air. Classic Bailey – trying to be cute.

  “Have I reminded you yet today that you were a mistake?” I asked, because I’m her brother and it’s my job.

  “Nate, I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and crap out a better insult than that.”

  I laughed. “Okay, that was a good one.”

  “I know – I’ve been storing them up since you’ve been away. I’ve missed you, you big butt-head.” She pushed my shoulder. “And I will do my best to help wherever I can. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I pushed her right back and she fell off her chair. “Oops.”

  I knew she was right and the bulk of the responsibility would have to fall to me. I’d been working in construction in one manner or another since I was sixteen and could legally enter a jobsite. Even before that, I had spent many childhood afternoons on the trailer floor of whatever project site my dad was working at the time. I built some pretty stellar houses and skyscrapers and, well, superhero hideouts, using Legos or blocks or whatever else I had on hand.

  My dad’s company, Built by Murphy, had been started by his father and was the family’s pride and joy. It was also a legacy that my dad made no secret he wished to hand down to his two kids when the time came. Unfortunately, none of us had anticipated that time coming so soon, or so abruptly. Not that any of us were under the illusion that Riordan Murphy would quietly submit to the laid back life of a retiree just because he had a major heart attack. But he would definitely be taking a step back, or several steps if my mom had anything to say about it. In light of that, someone had to take a step forward, and it looked like I was the only man for the job.

  Construction is tough. There’s a reason that most movie scenes involving construction sites occur during smoke breaks or lunch breaks. It’s hard to glamorize dirt and concrete dust, let alone try to carry on a conversation through the deafening buzzes and whirs of heavy equipment and power tools. Hard hats and hard work make you sweat and they exhaust you by the end of the day. But then you wipe your filthy face with your even filthier shirt and stand back to take in your work. And that’s when the magic happens, at least for me. The bones of a future house, or the foundation of a parking structure, or even a whole damn building stand before you and you know that you built that. You helped lay that floor, you smoothed that concrete, you hung that drywall. Your accomplishment is self-evident. And, sure, most days you forget to stand back – you’re exhausted and ready to hit the shower or grab a beer or you have some crappy errand to run. But on the days that you remember, there’s no feeling like it.

  There was no reluctance in me to adopt the actual construction aspect of the company – never had been – but as I’d seen with my dad, the guy who runs the show doesn’t wield a hammer. He spends half of his time in meetings and the other half putting out fires. This holds little interest for me, and was the main reason I left town a few years back. I didn’t want to get sucked into the business of doing construction. I wanted to do my job, do it well, and at the end of the day just leave it there and get on with whatever the rest of evening held for me. Taking his work home with him and strategizing to grow a company is what landed my dad in open heart surgery at the age of sixty. No thanks. But what choice did I have?

  It all came down to one thing – family. And worse yet, fucking Irish family.

  ***

  “Come on in,” I beckoned to the kid.

  It was the following Monday and I was starting my day at an apartment building we were putting up on the north side of town. I’d spent the weekend at the office and at the company’s various worksites with Bailey, still trying to get up to speed. We had a few new crew members starting this week and it looked like the first one had arrived.

  So maybe “kid” wasn’t exactly the right word for the guy standing at the open doorway. He was probably early twenties and I had only just turned thirty one myself. But from the looks of his work history that Bailey had passed on to me, I couldn’t think of what else to call him. There was hardly a thing there. What in the hell had this guy been doing since high school?

  He stepped toward me in the site trailer, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, a tentative look on his face. He was fairly tall, probably only an inch or two shorter than my 6’2” and I suppose he looked strong enough. Bailey did mention the stellar character references she’d gotten from a couple of the guy’s former baseball coaches, I think. At any rate, something made her give him a shot so I’d just go with it. The kid didn’t know shit about construction, that was clear, but that didn’t bother me per se. At this point I just needed all the extra hands I could get, and as long as we kept a close eye on him, he could learn a lot of what he needed to know on the job. Nothing like trial by fire.

  “Monroe, right?” I asked him.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Gavin Monroe.”

  “Nate Murphy.” I stuck out my hand.

  He took it and gave it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. And, uh, thanks for the job. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Well, I guess that remains to be seen, Gavin.” His Adam’s apple bobbed but he held my eyes. This could work out fine after all. “Follow me and I’ll show you around. You’ll have to pardon me – I’m still trying to get up to speed on all of these open projects but I’m assuming my sister told you all about that when she interviewed you?”

  “Yeah, she did. I hope your dad’s doing better.”

  “He’s hanging in there, thanks.” I handed the kid a hard hat as I donned my own by the door of the trailer. “You bring a pair of work gloves with you?”

  “No, sir.” The uncertain look was back.

  “We’ll find you a pair.” I took a step down the stairs. “I’m assuming those boots are steel-toed.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Alright, come on, I’ll introduce you to Mark. He’s the foreman on this job and he’ll get you squared away. Not sure if you’ll stay on this site or not but we’ll play it by ear.” He nodded back at me. “And cut the ‘sir’ crap. You work hard and do your job and save the manners for your mom.”

  Chapter Three

  The But Sandwich

  Laney

  “Soooo hungry,” Gavin whined like the little baby he is. He was stretched out on the sofa with his hands cradling his stomach and his sweaty shirt sullying the upholstery.

  “Why didn’t you eat any lunch?” I asked from the kitchen where I was helping Rocco with his backpack. We’d just walked in the door a minute earlier and I was equal parts eager and anxious to hear about Gavin’s first day.

  “I did.” Whine. “But they had me running around so much that I burned that off by about one o’clock. I forgot how much sweat a human body can produce in a day.”

  Eww.

  “I’m hungry too, Mommy,” Rocco said as he pulled off his shoes and left them in the middle of the floor – right by the dried up, half-chewed Cocoa Krispies I had forgotten about from this morning. Double Eww.

  “Okay, baby.” I grabbed the paper towel roll from the counter and went to the sink to wet a few. “How does frozen pizza sound?” I called to the other room.

  “Make it two, and no veggies!” came the response from Gavin.

  “Yeah, no veggies!” Rocco echoed.

  I smiled. I know I probably shouldn’t. But when I didn’t stop to think too hard about whether or not Gavin was the best influence on my son, I was so grateful that there was indeed a man in his life on a consistent basis. One who would never flake out on him and all of a sudden find something better to do. Sometimes it even seemed that the similarity in their maturity levels was, in fact, the very glue that bonded them.

  I admit that one of my fears when my mom and dad moved was that Rocco would be left with just me and I would be depriving him of the
opportunity to have loving and reliable men in his life. That was definitely a contributing factor in my decision to allow Gavin to move in with us.

  My biggest fear has always been messing my kid up.

  I just had to keep reminding myself that in the battle for Rocco’s well-being, a guy who loves him will beat out veggies every time.

  As awesome as my kid is, he obviously did not just spontaneously appear in my womb one day as if my ovaries were having a boring day and said, “Hey, you know what would be fun?” No, he was the result of numerous lime gelatin shots, a hot friend-of-a-friend musician visiting from California, and some extraordinarily bad judgment on everyone’s part.

  Dominic, Rocco’s dad, is actually a nice guy and I have to give him some credit. After the initial, and expected, freak-out when I’d tracked him down by phone with the news every nineteen year old guy wants to hear – guess what? It’s a boy! – he’d tried to step up the best way he knew how. It had been three months since the fateful deed in the back seat of a borrowed extended cab truck (I know – don’t remind me), and only three days since I’d finally stopped Linda Blair-ing my guts out with morning sickness. As I sat on my bed in my childhood room clutching my cell phone, we had discussed possible options – me moving to California, him moving to North Carolina – but in the end it had just made sense for each of us to stay put. My family was here and I was mid-way through my freshman year of college. His family was scattered, but he had just been accepted into a very prestigious music program, and while his family had quite a bit of money, we’d both known that him dropping out and moving across the country for his knocked-up one night stand would not go over well.

  As cringe-worthy as it sounds, we were complete strangers. And while neither of us wanted Dominic to be a stranger to his child, uprooting hadn’t been the best plan. So I had stayed here and Dominic had flown out for the birth. And after a paternity test which his family’s lawyer had naturally insisted on, a reasonable arrangement for child support was agreed upon and we’d worked out visitation. Dominic, even now, didn’t make much money, but with his family’s resources he made sure we got what we needed financially.