What the Heart Knows: A Milford-Haven Novel - Book One (16 page)

Just then, the gray tabby slid through her legs, rubbing his body against her calf. She bent to pick him up, and as she held him against her chest, he squinted his eyes and began to purr.

“Well, Tab,” she whispered in the cat’s ear. “Just what am I getting myself into?”

Jack Sawyer didn’t answer Kevin’s question right away. The schedule for the new house was already rattling through his own brain.

He’d been leaning one hand heavily on his desk; now he pushed himself upright while hoisting his mug of coffee. Staring into the cup left over from morning, he saw a waxy residue had formed on its surface. With a shrug, he took a sip anyway, and a drop of cold coffee rolled down his mustache, dripping onto the change orders for the Clarke House. Swearing, Jack mopped up the spill with a crumpled paper napkin, then blotted his mustache.

“Look, Kevin, I said I want that pillar removed. That’s what the
client
wants, and that’s what I want.” He stared purposefully at Kevin, his gaze boring into the young man.

“Okay, B-boss,” Kevin stammered, “but before we’ve always followed these guidelines … you know the ones, where it says ‘the grade of steel to be used for—’”

Jack’s brittle patience snapping, he stood up so abruptly he knocked over his cup, the remaining coffee sloshing out and splattering onto the already-stained hardwood floor.

Kevin bent to pick up the cup.

“Leave that!” Jack shouted. “I don’t care what it says in some ignorant rulebook! The pillar we’re removing was never weight-bearing in any case, so its removal can’t jeopardize the structure!” Jack took a breath. “I’ve been a successful builder for thirty-two years, and I know what I’m doing.”
I’m talking fast again. And Kevin shuts down when I talk too fast
. Jack slowed his speech to a deliberate pace, as though trying to instruct a teenager. “Are you going to trust some book or are you going to do what your employer tells you to do?”

Kevin seemed to consider this during a long pause. “I guess I’ll do what you tell me to do. After all, you’re the boss and everything.”

“And everything.” Jack added emphasis, then watched Kevin’s face with interest while he apparently processed the comment.
Kevin can sometimes make complicated things simple, but he also has a maddening way of making simple things complicated…
. “What’s the date the inspector said he’d be taking another look at the property?”

Kevin rustled through the closest stack of papers and seemed elated at coming up with the right one. “Here it is … uh … the eleventh of next month.”

Jack did a quick calculation of the number of days required before the center pillar would be out.
Had to cut corners somewhere to keep to Clarke’s budget. I’ve used a lower grade of steel for years, and I know it’s good. Used it for the foundation pilings. Saw no reason not to also use it for the larger central
archway Clarke wanted. Those two pillars on either side bear the weight. The plans gave us a range of what steel to use. The inspector will see that when he comes, and he won’t even be able to cite us on any technicality
. Jack suppressed a smile.

“So, Boss, we’ll have to let the inspector review the change orders for the central archway before—”

The phone rang, interrupting Kevin—and obviating Jack’s need to make up some excuse about the inspection.

Kevin started moving toward the outer office. “I’ll get it out there, Boss,” and hurried away.

Jack shouted after him. “You get on with your work. I’ll catch the phone.” He cleared his throat, then picked up. “Sawyer Construction.”

“Mr. Sawyer? This is Russell Clarke.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Clarke.” Jack glanced at his watch.
Almost four here in California. If he’s calling from his headquarters in Philadelphia, it’s after hours. Or maybe he’s already started traveling west
. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing from you.”

We’ll meet this week … assuming we come to agreement on the change fees
. Modifications to any original home design—and the fact that they always increased the cost—were invariably the most enervating part of the construction business. But Jack knew better than to alienate an important client. He tried to sound reassuring and pleasant, a technique he’d all but lost over the years. “So, what have you decided?”

“Let me ask you this—Oh, hold on.”

There was a murmuring as Clarke covered the receiver to speak with someone else who must’ve interrupted. Jack, wrestling his growing impatience, waited until Clarke finally returned his attention to the call.

“Sawyer, do we have an agreement that you’ll complete all the changes I requested and commit to doing it for the figure you quoted me?”

“Yes,” Jack answered quickly. “I’ll stand by my revised estimate.”

“In that case,” Clarke said without hesitation, “I’ll sign the agreement when we meet.”

“Excellent. Then we’ll proceed with those changes. And I look forward to meeting with you when you come up from … Santa Barbara, did you say?”

“Yes, I’ll be there briefly on business and then will drive directly to Milford-Haven.”

“Very good. When you know what time you’ll be arriving, call me and we’ll meet at my office to sign the document. Then we can tour your house.”

“Fine.” Clarke hung up.

Jack replaced his handset, the exuberance of closing a deal beginning to surge.
Great I’ve hooked such a major client this year. Yet there’s something about Clarke—something unpredictable—that makes me uneasy
.

Kevin came back into Jack’s office. “Was that the inspector?”

“No, no, that was Clarke, and he says he wants to go ahead with the changes to his house.” Jack paused, an image of the unfinished structure flashing in his mind. “I don’t know why he calls it a house. The place is a
mansion
. And it has the price tag to go with it.”

Kevin Ransom knew Clarke’s agreeing to the new estimate should be good news. After all, such a big job had already meant improved wages, more men on the payroll, and better
cash flow for the company. But he also recalled comments his boss had made when Mr. Clarke first presented those change orders—comments that indicated such a house might need still more variances and special permissions from the Coastal Commission, the Environmental Planning Commission and from neighbors.

Jack again interrupted his train of thought, and Kevin fastened eagerly on his employer’s sudden question, relieved to get out from under Jack’s intense gaze.
He stares like that when he gets into his “I’m the boss and don’t forget it” mood
.

Jack demanded, “Where’s that standard agreement with the list of the changes Clarke wants? We’ll need him to sign it when he gets here.”

Kevin’s long fingers danced through the files on the edge of Jack’s desk until he found what he needed. “Right here. It says—”

“Oh, I
know
what it says. He wants the deck enlarged; he wants the clerestory windows—the ones I’d designed in the
first
place; and he wants the center of the house unencumbered by that damn pillar that blocked the view.
Now
we’re do the house the way it
should
be done.” Jack seemed to be looking past him, eyes fixing on some invisible spot on the opposite wall—another one of his weird habits.

“Uh, Boss, I thought you said you couldn’t build it to code with some of the changes he wanted.”

“That’s no longer a problem.”

Kevin’s instinct was to question Sawyer further—not to be argumentative, which wasn’t his nature, but from a deep desire to understand how something could be true one day, but not true the next. “It isn’t? Well, how come?”

Kevin watched Jack’s gaze swing back to him. “There’s more than one way to build a house, Kevin. The longer you work for me, the more you’ll realize that.”

Kevin retreated to the outer office, closing the door behind him. He stood for a moment, processing what his boss had said.
Jack’s always pushed back on rules when he thinks they’re stupid. But I’ve never seen him take a chance on something he thinks might be dangerous
.

Grabbing a Natural Sassafras Soda from the office fridge, Kevin plopped down in front of his desk, opened his large spiral-bound calendar and began jotting notes on the events of the day.

“CH: Installed hearthstone.”
He used initials for each job—“CH” stood for Clarke House—and tracked the dates of the major installations. Though informal, his logs had often been used to provide client reports, or even to settle the occasional arguments that came up, both within the company and with suppliers.

Glad that piece of marble’s finally in place. No more gaping hole the crew has to watch out for. And we got it done even though we were still a man short. Burt did sound tired when he called in sick again
.

What else happened today? Oh yeah, photos
. The visit from the
Milford-Haven News
photographer had been brief, which Kevin appreciated. Any visitor to a job tended to interrupt the flow of work.

What he couldn’t figure out was how come the newspaper thought people would be interested in pictures of some house that didn’t even have walls yet. Everyone was talking about this
new house, saying it would be “spectacular.”
I don’t care about that so much. I just want to make sure it’s safe and sound
.

The sky would still be bright for a while, but for Sally, the end of the workday had arrived, and she was already looking forward to a quiet evening.

Shutters and bye-bye
. Such childhood phrases surfaced unobstructed when she was tired … or when she spoke with Mama. Sally remembered every detail of life on the farm in Arkansas, and she could still see Mama closing the shutters at night. “Come on, Sally girl. Shutters and bye-bye,” Mama would say. “Time to go to sleep.”

A moment earlier, she’d checked the kitchen, where the coffee baskets were filled, all set for tomorrow morning. Sally’d already let the staff go home and knew they’d have left everything prepared for the next day. Still, she glanced back into the restaurant.
The chairs are upended on the tables, the overhead lights are out, the salts-and-peppers refilled. But I forgot to ask Miranda about paintin’ that wall. I b’lieve I’ll give her a call
.

Sally entered her office and banged the door shut. With the whole place empty, the sound wouldn’t disturb anyone else, and for her it resounded like the promise of privacy.

Before it slipped her mind, she dialed Miranda’s phone number, not surprised to hear the answering machine. “Uh, hey there, Girlfriend, this is Sally. I wanted to ask you about somethin’. I’d like to know if you could paint my wall. I mean … not just
paint
it like a house painter would do, but, you know, with a real pretty scene. In my magazines, they talk all about
that
trompy loil
. Can you do that kinda thing? Anyway, let’s talk about it when you have time. Bye bye!”

Sally set down the receiver, mentally checking that call off her to-do list.
Oo-ee! Now I can take off my shoes!
At moments like this, Sally indulged the luxury of talking to herself. “Aahh, that feels good. My poor little toes all squished up in those shoes the whole day! Brother, has it been a long one.” She didn’t know exactly who she was talking to. Nor did she admit how much loneliness she was trying to keep at bay.

She began humming again, the tuneless tune that filled the air with noise—in itself, company of a sort. She reached for her diary … another of her rituals. She had no illusions that she would do great things one day, which should therefore be recorded. She did, however, know that with no one to be her confidant, she’d either have to write things down—or bust.

For some time, Jack had been a sore point and she hadn’t known what to do about it. He ate her meals night and day. Daytime in public. Nighttime in private. That seemed exciting at first, and wise. No need to broadcast a relationship that might or might not “take.” But after three years, it had surely taken.

And yet, no one knew about them, knew they were a couple. They never went out together anymore. Two summers ago they’d laughed and flirted at the county fair. Last summer they’d gone to Morro Bay for a boat ride and a romantic dinner. She could still remember the scent of the salt spray on his skin.

She ruminated on the news of Samantha’s child … the one Jack had never known about—and still didn’t. But the more she’d thought about it, the more she realized this wasn’t
her
problem. She had her
own
issues to solve with Jack.

Sally, like Jack, loved to build. She’d built her business, her life in a new state, a new town, her relationships with customers. There was nothing she liked better, except people—good people, family, friends. So the notion of building something with Jack made her skin tingle and her insides jump around with excitement. She’d seen it in Jack the first time she’d gone to his office for professional advice: he was strong; he liked to build, and he knew how.

She’d bought the restaurant building partly on the strength of his carpentry estimate. After he’d put in the counters she needed, they’d talked about adding on a room. The Addition. He’d promised. Promised to build the Addition for her. Day after day, month after month went by, and the completed plans gathered dust.