Page 156 of Rhodes

She gives me a look over the rim of her cup. “You spent most of college acting like employment was a rumor.”

“Fair.”

“It suits you.”

She doesn't ask why Nero and not Stone Intermodal, and I don't offer. There isn't much left to explain anyway.

I resigned in June. In August, a woman from the environmental district office called me at seven in the morning and asked me to walk her through how I came to send that email. I did it standing outside a warehouse in Metairie. She asked twice whether anyone at Stone Intermodal had directed me. I told her no twice. The review closed two weeks later with only a fine that Ridge paid before I could get to it.

Oak Moss is protected now, and I ended up somewhere I actually like working.

“Thanks.”

For a minute, we let the silence sit. She swirls the cup and watches the brown liquid form a tiny funnel.

I click the brown sleeve wrapped around the paper cup with my thumb. “You’ve done a hell of a lot with Oak Moss.”

Her eyes come back to mine.

“It’s been a lot of work, but it turned out the way it should have.”

That could go somewhere neither of us needs it to go today, so I keep it where it belongs. “I’m glad I could help with this one the right way.”

She nods. “Me too.”

I leave it there. She has already heard every apology I know how to give. We finish the coffee and walk outside together.

“I’ll call you when everything is locked,” I tell her.

“Okay.”

She adjusts the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks, Rhodes.”

“I’m glad I could help. Thank you for calling me.”

She heads toward her car. I stand there long enough to watch her reach it, then turn the other direction.

THIRTY-FOUR

Rhodes

The Owner's Decision: A contractor lays out the options, the costs, and what each one will mean five years on. What the building becomes is decided by the person whose name is on the deed, and the good ones say so out loud before anybody picks up a tool.

It's been two weeks since I put this in motion. Tallulah and I have spoken a few times, but Dale has mostly been my contact to make sure things are in order for the delivery.

I turn off Maybank Highway and follow the long drive into Oak Moss with mud already drying along the sides of my truck. The shell shipment clears the yard in Mobile today, but the trucks aren't due here until Monday. The carrier wants the staging area confirmed before the weekend.

Tallulah flew in Thursday night and heads back Sunday.

I could have done my part from the road. I'm rarely on the ground for the shipments. But when she told me she would be here working, I wanted to make sure everything goes smoothly.

The house appears through the trees first, then the marsh beyond it, winter-brown and silver under a pale sky. I haven't been here in over two years, since the whole family came out for the Fourth, before Lizzy got sick.

That thought hits harder than I realized it would.

I park beside Dale's truck and find Tallulah near the bagging shed in chest waders. Her hair is twisted up beneath a baseball cap, and she is holding a bundle of pink flags against one hip while she argues with Dale over something on a clipboard.

She looks up when she hears my door shut.