"Because that's not how I'd want to be treated," he said. She looked at him for a moment that lasted slightly longer than a business moment should.
She said, I was planning to. Something crossed her face.
Not quite a smile, the shape of one. Do you need anything from the house?
Spigot access. That's enough.
Southside, she said, and went back inside. He was setting the first new footing at 11:40 when the girl appeared.
She came around the corner of the house with the particular energy of someone who had been watching for a while and finally decided to stop pretending otherwise. 11, maybe 12.
Dark eyes, her mother's precision, but with the edges still soft, still unguarded. You pulled out all three posts, she said.
The third one looked okay from the outside, Daniel said. It wasn't.
"How could you tell?"
"Put your hand on the wood at the base."
If it gives even a little, the rot is already inside. He paused.
You want to try it on that one? He pointed to a removed post lying on the ground.
She walked over and pressed her palm against it. The wood gave under her hand.
"Oh," she said quietly.
"Things that look solid aren't always solid," he said.
And things that look broken aren't always as broken as they seem, she looked at him. He hadn't meant it as anything more than a comment about fences, but she heard something else in it.
He could see her hear it. I'm Lily, she said.
Daniel, do you want a sandwich? I made three.
There are only two of us for lunch and mom doesn't eat enough when she's on calls. He had a lunch in the truck.
He'd packed one because he always packed one because you did not put yourself in the position of needing something from someone you were working for. It was a rule he'd made and kept.
Sure, he said. She came back with a turkey sandwich on a plate with a real napkin under it folded in half and a glass of water with ice.
She handed him both like it was completely natural, like she'd been feeding people who were working in her yard her whole life. He ate standing up.
She watched him. You have a kid?
She said, "What makes you say that?" She pointed at his thermos.
The Minecraft sticker. Noah had pressed it on three months ago, tongue between his teeth, concentrating.
Daniel had never taken it off. A son, he said.
He's nine. Where is he?
Oh, school. Does he come with you sometimes?
On shorter jobs after school. She nodded slowly.
Mom used to bring me with her, she said. To the office when dad first left and she didn't want to leave me with a sitter.