condescending drill sergeant attitude and she didn't feel comfortable asking. It's not that she didn't care, she just didn't know how to bring it up. It's not like she really knew him anyway, she thought.
Then about a year ago, he made an unexpected visit to the Mr. Z's Annual Board Meeting held in Chicago. His tan skin, toothy smile and thick hair had returned. No itching occurred. He looked well, but just like before, she didn't say anything. And neither did anyone else. The two of them had gone back and forth enough via email to know that Nate wasn't fond of idle chitchat, so she avoided him at all costs during the two-day meeting. He did the same. She also feared she would say something unprofessional or rude. She had a hard time containing her ill-feelings toward him and what he’d allowed to happen to Mr. Z's. He was greedy and misunderstood what the stores should really stand for: giving. But she knew she needed to wait out her contract. It was now expired and she would finally say her peace.
* * *
The buxom blonde behind the glass table waved her hand at Amelia.
"Mr. Rosen will see you now," she said in her Texas twang.
Amelia stood up, took a deep breath and stepped into Nate's office for the first and, she hoped, last time ever.
Nate sat at his large desk, a wall of windows behind him.
“Amelia. Have a seat,” he said. Amelia couldn’t read his expression. Was he glad to see her? That couldn’t be. And why didn’t he call her Ms. Cook as he always had? He must want to demand something else of her. Figures.
“I’ll stand,” she said. “This won’t take long.”
“I’m not sure I understand, but all right. Lady's choice."
"I quit," she said and then proceeded to give him the tongue-lashing of his lifetime. It went on for the next 20 minutes before she threw her letter of resignation at him and stormed out of the office with a victorious smile on her face.
Chapter 10
Present Day, three days after the “tire incident"
The Cabins
Nate raised his safety glasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his head and then used his tee-shirt to wipe away the sweat that was collecting on his face. The cloud of sawdust from cutting the decking boards was stuck to his skin. He could taste it in the air he breathed too. He stepped back from the temporary workbench he had set up below the big green cabin’s rotting red deck and surveyed his progress.
In the three days since the “tire incident” he had managed to remove half of the support posts from the deck and prepped the remaining sections for demolition. Nate was no carpenter. The biggest project he had built previously was a cedar fence in the backyard of his home in Texas. This was the same fence that had to be torn down and rebuilt the next year by a professional contractor after a mild wind storm took it down. Rebuilding the deck was a massive project due to its complexity, height and the mere fact that he was tackling it alone.
There were a few things he had on his side though—the first was history. The winters in North Idaho could be brutal on decks and uncovered spaces, so this wasn’t the first time this particular deck needed to be rebuilt. It was the third. Nate had been involved—as a helper—each time. His earliest experience was in high school. His grandfather and dad directed the effort, while he was a gopher fetching tools and materials. They didn't let him do much of the actual work, but he watched and learned.
Fifteen years later a massive pine tree fell on the deck, and he assisted his dad in the demolition and rebuild. The process was the same both times. The men systematically removed the decking foundations and rebuilt the structure in sections using the old structure for support and as a guide. An engineer would have laughed at the practice; but it’s what Nate knew, so that’s how he decided to do it this time too.
The second thing Nate had on his side was time. He was in no hurry at all. In
Then about a year ago, he made an unexpected visit to the Mr. Z's Annual Board Meeting held in Chicago. His tan skin, toothy smile and thick hair had returned. No itching occurred. He looked well, but just like before, she didn't say anything. And neither did anyone else. The two of them had gone back and forth enough via email to know that Nate wasn't fond of idle chitchat, so she avoided him at all costs during the two-day meeting. He did the same. She also feared she would say something unprofessional or rude. She had a hard time containing her ill-feelings toward him and what he’d allowed to happen to Mr. Z's. He was greedy and misunderstood what the stores should really stand for: giving. But she knew she needed to wait out her contract. It was now expired and she would finally say her peace.
* * *
The buxom blonde behind the glass table waved her hand at Amelia.
"Mr. Rosen will see you now," she said in her Texas twang.
Amelia stood up, took a deep breath and stepped into Nate's office for the first and, she hoped, last time ever.
Nate sat at his large desk, a wall of windows behind him.
“Amelia. Have a seat,” he said. Amelia couldn’t read his expression. Was he glad to see her? That couldn’t be. And why didn’t he call her Ms. Cook as he always had? He must want to demand something else of her. Figures.
“I’ll stand,” she said. “This won’t take long.”
“I’m not sure I understand, but all right. Lady's choice."
"I quit," she said and then proceeded to give him the tongue-lashing of his lifetime. It went on for the next 20 minutes before she threw her letter of resignation at him and stormed out of the office with a victorious smile on her face.
Chapter 10
Present Day, three days after the “tire incident"
The Cabins
Nate raised his safety glasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his head and then used his tee-shirt to wipe away the sweat that was collecting on his face. The cloud of sawdust from cutting the decking boards was stuck to his skin. He could taste it in the air he breathed too. He stepped back from the temporary workbench he had set up below the big green cabin’s rotting red deck and surveyed his progress.
In the three days since the “tire incident” he had managed to remove half of the support posts from the deck and prepped the remaining sections for demolition. Nate was no carpenter. The biggest project he had built previously was a cedar fence in the backyard of his home in Texas. This was the same fence that had to be torn down and rebuilt the next year by a professional contractor after a mild wind storm took it down. Rebuilding the deck was a massive project due to its complexity, height and the mere fact that he was tackling it alone.
There were a few things he had on his side though—the first was history. The winters in North Idaho could be brutal on decks and uncovered spaces, so this wasn’t the first time this particular deck needed to be rebuilt. It was the third. Nate had been involved—as a helper—each time. His earliest experience was in high school. His grandfather and dad directed the effort, while he was a gopher fetching tools and materials. They didn't let him do much of the actual work, but he watched and learned.
Fifteen years later a massive pine tree fell on the deck, and he assisted his dad in the demolition and rebuild. The process was the same both times. The men systematically removed the decking foundations and rebuilt the structure in sections using the old structure for support and as a guide. An engineer would have laughed at the practice; but it’s what Nate knew, so that’s how he decided to do it this time too.
The second thing Nate had on his side was time. He was in no hurry at all. In
Similar Books
