Chapter 13
T he condoms didn’t get used after all. Despite Fiona’s willingness, he wasn’t ready.
She was more than a quick lay, and he wouldn’t treat her that way.
However, as great as kissing and holding her was, he fully intended to do more, and would be prepared for that time.
So Tomas bought two boxes of condoms on his way to work the next morning.
One stayed in his truck, the other he left in a paper bag on the table in the break room, Carl’s name scrawled on it. He doubted they’d go to waste.
Through each interaction during the workday, he thought about what he enjoyed. He didn’t voice that out loud, knowing people would look at him strangely. But he paid attention.
Supported by the college and Keeney Works, Keeney Builds had been up and running for twelve months.
After completing the general contracting program at the college, students rotated through three sessions in groups of four.
One group worked in the KBS store under Ali’s supervision.
The gruff old man patiently taught them the flip side of contracting: processing orders, handling materials, and dealing with customers.
Students initially rolled their eyes, impatient to strap on a tool belt and build stuff, but by the end of their three weeks, they nodded their appreciation.
Another group worked with two of the contractors, going out on calls to repair and build whatever the customer wanted, installing plumbing, replacing flooring, and building decks.
In addition to practical application, they learned to be punctual, courteous, tidy, and efficient.
This part of KBS’s business relied on customer satisfaction, and students learned that the ability to wield a hammer or Skil saw wasn’t the only requirement for the job.
Lastly, under the supervision of one contractor, they worked on a tiny house.
The city contracted Keeney Builds to provide homes for a tiny house community.
Not only did the students build the houses, they delivered them to the location and oversaw the installation.
Tomas was in his element building the tiny houses.
At first, supervising the students was like herding cats, but he figured out a system.
Each day started out with a detailed to-do list, from inspecting work completed the day before to checking supplies were correct to the building itself.
He believed in measuring twice and cutting once.
He’d learned that from his stepfather Carlos, and it was ingrained during his program in prison; supplies were not plentiful, so there was little room for error.
Each new group of students soon learned he was exacting, yet he explained steps carefully and patiently, leaving time for students to ask questions and parrot back instructions.
After a confab with all interested parties, Hilary, Vincent, Ali, and Marcia, it was decided that Tomas would work exclusively with the tiny houses; he didn’t have the patience or customer skills for house calls.
Today would be a little different. A delay in the delivery of electrical equipment meant that his students had the day off while Tomas would do a KBS contracting job solo.
He eyed the tidy little bungalow from the truck, then glanced down at the clipboard.
Ernest Gardiner needed banisters installed on either side of his staircase.
He exited the truck and approached the house, pasting on his politest smile.
A curtain twitched in the window, and the front door opened before Tomas knocked. Hunched over a battered walker, a tiny man with gnarled hands peered up with open hostility. “You’re not Vincent.”
“Nope, he’s on another call.” Tomas pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket, blessing Ali for reminding him to carry them. He handed the card to the old man, noting the swollen knuckles as the man awkwardly accepted it.
“Tomas Alvarado,” he sniffed. “Got ID?”
Gritting his teeth to hold back an expletive, Tomas fished out his wallet and displayed his driver’s license to the old guy.
Through rheumy eyes, the man stared at the license, then up at Tomas, before grudgingly moving back. “Come on in.”
Silently stepping into the foyer, Tomas eyed the small space.
A hall led back to the kitchen from the front door, the living room on the right.
Along the left side of the foyer, a staircase gave access to the second floor.
“I understand you need two banisters installed, Mr. Gardiner.” There was no point in small talk, he figured he should just get to work and get it over with.
Ernest Gardiner grumbled, waving a hand at the staircase. “I don’t need them. My kids paid to have them installed. Too busy to do it themselves.” He glowered at Tomas. “I could do it myself, but they insisted and, what the hell, it’s their money.”
Tomas put his tool chest down, carefully wiped his feet, and walked over to the stairs.
A banister was recently installed on one wall.
He suspected it had been put in around the same time the old man started using a walker.
He grabbed it and shook. Definitely loose.
On the other wall was a banister that was obviously installed when the house was built.
He gave it a shake as well. A little firmer than the other, but he saw the wisdom of replacing both.
“What they really want is to put me in a home. Sell this house and split the profits.”
Tomas listened with one ear as he climbed the stairs, knocking against the wall to locate and mark the studs.
“Don’t you have one of them stud finders?”
“I do,” Tomas looked over his shoulder at the old man. “But this is just as effective in older homes.”
Ernest grunted, whether in approval or disapproval, Tomas didn’t know, or particularly care. He descended the stairs and moved to the door. “I’ll get the materials and get started.”
“About time. I’m not paying for you to stand around.”
Tomas brushed past him with a tight smile and stalked to his truck.
This was why he preferred working with students.
He opened the tailgate and sorted through the materials, wondering why he just hadn’t taken a day off.
His cellphone rang. “What?” he growled into it, not caring who was on the other end.
“You must be at old man Gardiner’s house.” Ali boomed out with a laugh.
Leaning against the side of the truck, Tomas glanced at the house to see the old guy staring at him from the open door. He waved, then twisted away to speak into the phone. “What did I do to piss you off?”
Ali laughed again, ignoring the question. “You’re gonna really impress him when you tell him you have to come back to KBS.”
“Why?” Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Tomas picked up the two banisters in a show for the old man.
“You haven’t got the right hardware. Whoever packed the truck—and I will find out and chew their ass accordingly—gave you the wrong stuff.”
“Great. The old guy barely trusts me and now is gonna think I’m incompetent.”
“Give him the phone and I’ll sweet talk him.”
“Fine.” Carrying the materials, Tomas walked back to the house. “Mr. Gardiner, I have to go back to the store. My supervisor will explain it to you. Here.” He put the phone on speaker and held it closer to where the old guy sat on his walker.
“Hello?” he yelled into it.
Tomas stood holding the phone while Ali patiently explained the mix-up, emphasizing that Tomas was not responsible, and that KBS would reduce the installation cost to compensate for the inconvenience.
When the conversation was over, Tomas tucked his phone in his back pocket. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said.
“Take your time,” the old man said. “My lunch will be delivered soon, and I don’t want you banging around while I’m eating. But I expect you back in an hour ’cause I won’t pay for overtime.”
With a tight nod and managing not to slam the front door, Tomas stalked to his truck, climbed in, and took off. Stopping for lunch himself would go a long way toward improving his own mood.
He opened the door to Hola! s melling the familiar onions, garlic, and peppers.
The restaurant was located in a small strip mall filled with Asian-owned businesses, and it was originally a Korean barbecue restaurant.
Patrons were confused at first but soon adapted to the new owners and food.
Many years later, the restaurant had expanded, taking over the shop beside it.
Now Hola! c onsisted of the original restaurant, an adjacent banquet room, and a food truck.
Tomas had been out of the house when his mother and stepfather started the business and, unlike Sylvie and Cara, spent little of his teenage years in the kitchen.
But he knew his way around it, had helped out when necessary, and admired the work ethic of Carlos and Louisa.
When he’d gotten out of prison, and before working for KBS, he’d put in a few shifts, preferring the kitchen to serving customers.
It was the pre-lunch setup, the servers and cooks bantering back and forth in the empty restaurant. Tipping his chin at the young hostess, Tomas made his way to a back booth where his mother sat wrapping cutlery, and flung himself down.
Louisa smiled up at him, not bothering to comment on the frown on her son’s face. “Hello, sweetheart, this is a nice surprise.” She angled her cheek in expectation of a kiss.
Tomas dutifully kissed her, then poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher sitting in the center of the large table. He grunted before downing the entire glass.
“Want some lunch? Stevie’s experimenting with a new soup.”
At his nod, Louisa made to get up.
Placing a staying hand on his mother’s arm, Tomas rose. His mother spent most of her day on her feet. She didn’t need to wait on him as well. “I’ll get it. Want some, too?”
Louisa nodded and settled back down.