Eric, Jody Kaye [well read books TXT] 📗

Ginny’s starting back at work part time until we can get into the swing of things. We need the money, but the cost of Corey’s babysitter annihilates her pay. It already had us on edge. Gin spent last week getting Corey on a new schedule and switching him to a morning bottle. Then Corey woke up sick. Ginny couldn’t blow off her shift. And no matter what the circumstances, we still owe the sitter who has held Corey’s spot and is expecting him today.

“What about my momma?” I suggest.

“She’s going to Houston with Miss Lily Anne. It’s all she’s talked about for weeks. I can’t ask her to cancel.” Ginny pats the baby on the back. He’s moaning, half-crying because of a stuffy nose, and his cough sounds like a bark. 

“You have to go soon,” I remind her.

Leaving the baby at daycare was hard enough for Gin. She’s overthought everything from missing Corey’s smile to the way he reaches for her after a nap.

“I can’t just take off on him, Eric. What are you going to do, bring Corey to work?” The vein in her neck quickens. 

“There’s too much to do on a Monday. Plus, I can’t bring a baby to a construction site. Things are behind from the heavy rain. What about Cris?”

“We can’t ask him. He had a full plate between getting Mateo to school and taking care of the animals before your daddy put him in charge of the deliveries.” Ginny holds her head. The situation is giving her a headache.

We may pat ourselves on the back when we don’t screw up too badly, however, we’re thinking the same thing we do whenever parenting goes wrong: This is why teenagers shouldn’t have babies. We’ve been muddling through since the night Cris and my mother bailed us out.

My siblings are back at their respective universities. The anxiety over the bomb Colton dropped has only been lessened by his frequent emails. Ginny’s been trying to keep as much as she can tension-free. Something that’s not exactly doable with an infant in the house.

Her cell rings, vibrating on the table. We’re both ready to pitch it across the room to combat the stress level. If only that put us out of our misery.

She answers, putting the phone on speaker. “Hi, Momma.”

“I wanted to wish you luck on your first day back. I know, it’s corny. But it reminded me of your first day of school. Are you on your way now or already there?”

“I haven’t even left yet.”

“The first time is always the hardest. Every mother goes through it. He’ll be fine. In a few hours, you’ll be holding him again.”

“Corey’s sick,” Gin squeaks. “The sitter won’t take him. I can’t stay unless I want to lose my job and Eric needs to leave.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Diana and Ginny are working on rebuilding their relationship. Yet, things are still unreliable given her stepfather’s presence lurking in the background.

“Can I come over to help you out?” Her mother is timid with the inquiry.

“You’d do that?”

“Corey is my grandson. Let me watch him for the morning.”

Ginny stares disbelieving at me. “She wants to come over.” Ginny mouths.

I sigh, acknowledging it’s the best plan we’ve got. I worry about her stepdad, but it’s not like Diana is taking Corey to their house and Mr. Adair isn’t welcome at Kingsbrier. 

I’m the one who waits for Diana and am late pulling into the parking lot at Cavanaugh Construction. 

Entering the building through the warehouse, beady eyes shift over to me. The other employees’ disdain isn’t unusual. I’m used to it. Before graduation, I hauled building materials at worksites and pounded nails. Since the fall, though, Daddy’s had me learning the family business in and out of the office. I oversee schedules for employees and completion dates on homes, fill out material requisitions, and order and work with the reps from large equipment manufacturers. Last week, he brought me to a sales meeting with the real estate team that sells the lots. There isn’t a facet of the business Ross doesn’t want me knee-deep in, with a complete understanding of the company from start to finish.

The grown men I worked with during high school—who wrote me off as the owner’s son—are now expected to take directions from a kid. I’ve tried to accept how hard it must be to go from joking around with a know-nothing to asking my permission. It bothers me too since it’s hard not to defer to the experience of guys who have been on Dad’s crew for longer than I’ve been alive. I do listen to them and bring suggestions to my father. Yet, I understand I can’t let them push me around or afford to be overridden when the order comes from the top. What am I supposed to say? “Gee, Dad, the guys had a better idea.”

In the corporate offices, Dad’s secretary turns to greet me. A foreman’s bugging Sally to see Ross. He’s been with the company give or take five years. A know-it-all, who cut corners and has had one too many accidents on his sites for the human resource department’s liking.

“This is what nepotism gets you,” he mumbles. “When’s Ross in?”

“He’s visiting a site on his way in, but I expect him anytime,” Sally says cheerily.

“Well, it’s important. This requisition doesn’t add up. I’ve got double the materials for the Johnson barn. The supplier won’t let us return the overage without a hauling fee, which eats up the discount, making the portion I do need cost more. All this crap is stuck at the site and my guys hardly have space to work in.” His calloused hands grip the edges of the dog-eared pink form.

“Can I see what you’ve got?” If the stapled paperwork is what I think, the answer is simple.

The foreman withholds what he has. “Your dad needs to look in on this one. It’s a big mistake for a kid to make.”

“If my name is on it, maybe—” I use a level tone.

“Morning, all.” Dad breezes in. “Sally, I’m expecting a call from Fred. I just left him at Davy’s Crossing, without a truck. So, Eric, I’ll need you to drive back out there with me later on this afternoon. What a swamp! We need the area to dry out. I give it three days and we’ll be moving earth again.” Ross gives his attention to the foreman. “Can you spare a tractor before you break ground at the Johnsons’?”

“We need to talk about the Johnsons.” He hands the requisition to Ross like it’s my death sentence.

Dad flips through the pages, grinning slyly. “Everything looks in order.”

“I’ve got double the materials than we need at the Johnson site.”

“When did it show? Who took delivery? I don’t see the supplier sign-off in any of these papers.”

“I did