Chapter 7: Uninsured

"Reassessment of risk," I said into the phone. "What risk?"

"Haddie, it's above my head. Underwriting made the call."

"You were in his wedding party. You gave a toast about loyalty."

He hung up.

At five o'clock I parked all six trucks in a row along the river side of the lot.

Wilma spent the evening on the phone cancelling jobs.

I sat on the loading dock and looked at six trucks I couldn't drive.

I had sold every piece of my married life to buy four of them.

At seven the next morning, I came down from the office expecting an empty lot.

My whole crew was there.

All six, in their red shirts, with coffee and gloves.

"I can't pay you to sit around," I said. "There's no work."

The oldest of them, the one who'd worked for Daddy since before I could walk, pointed his cup at the building.

"Fourth floor's got a leak by the east stairs. Bay two door sticks. Half the lights on three are out."

"I can't pay you for that either. Not this week."

"Didn't ask you to."

They went to work on the building.

Two on the roof with tar buckets. Two rewiring the third floor. Two painting the front office.

Wilma made a pot of chili in the break room big enough to drown a man.

Nobody clocked in.

I went up on the roof with a bucket and worked beside them until my shoulders burned.

The new roof was good. Kitt's roof. Paid by Kitt's checks.

By the third day, the jobs list was empty and the building had never looked better.

That afternoon Jubal's truck pulled through the gate.

He had a folder under his arm and his daughter's pink rain boots on the passenger floor.

"School pickup's at three," he said. "I've got forty minutes."

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