Page 289 of What We Brave
He grins at me over the rim. I take a sip of mine and get back to the header.
By noon the sun is brutal. I've got my shirt off and I'm still sweating through everything. My shoulders ache in that deep, good way that means I've been useful. Reid abandoned his shirt two hours ago. He's going to burn. He always burns.
"Put your shirt back on."
"No."
"You're going to look like a lobster by three."
"I'm building abase tan, Blake."
"You don't build a base tan. You go from white to emergency room. Put your shirt on."
He ignores me. Of course he does.
I finish the header and move inside the addition where there's shade. The framing's coming together. David's been out here every morning before we arrive and stays after we leave. Doesn't say much. Works steady. Checks my cuts sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking.
I don't mind. I'd check too.
Reid wanders in with two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. Hands me one without asking. I didn't realize I was hungry until I smell it.
"Mary?" I ask.
"Love and mayonnaise, baby."
The fact that she's not letting us starve has to mean something, right? She could have poisoned the fucking sandwiches and been done with us days ago.
We eat standing up, leaning against opposite studs. The shade feels like mercy. Quiet for a minute — just chewing and sweat cooling on my skin and the muffled sound of kids outside. Reid's got sawdust in his hair. I don't tell him.
"Sofia asked if we're coming back tomorrow," he says.
"What'd you tell her?"
"Told her I'd be here but you'd probably be too busy being grumpy."
I take another bite. Chew. The sandwich is stupid good.
"I'll be here."
Outside, someone kicks the soccer ball against the building. The rhythm of it —thud, thud, thud— steady against the new framing.
"Come on." Reid balls up the wax paper. "I owe Sofia a rematch."
"I'm not playing soccer."
"You're playing soccer."
"Reid."
"Blake."
Twenty minutes later I'm standing in a dirt field with my boots on, shirt still off, and a kid hanging off each arm while Reid narrates like a sports announcer.
"And Moore makes his move — he's got two defenders, both under four feet tall — the crowd goes wild —"
Sofia steals the ball from between my feet so clean I don't even feel it happen. She scores on a goal made from two plastic chairs and screams like she's won the World Cup.
Reid loses his mind. Picks her up, spins her around. The other kids pile in.
