Ryan's Renovation

Anna handed him a key and pointed to locker 23. “Joe Smith is next to you in 24. He’s been with Parnell Brothers for three years. Until you, he was our newest employee.”

Wondering if he could make her frown, Ryan scowled. Nope.

“Don’t worry, Joe’s a nice guy. You’ll get along fine with him.”

Huh? He’d better control his facial muscles, or he’d end up unintentionally offending everyone in the company.

“His father suffered a stroke not long ago, and Joe had to move back in with the family.” She sighed, the rush of air from her mouth feathering across his forearm. “His younger brother got mixed up with a gang. Joe’s been nagging Willie to get out. We’re all worried about the teen.”

Hoping to end Anna’s commentary on Joe’s family, Ryan remained silent. He had no intention of becoming buddy-buddy with any of his coworkers. The less familiar he was with the men, the easier to keep his distance. The trauma of 9/11 had wreaked havoc on his emotions. When the dust of destruction had cleared, a solid, frozen mass of emptiness had remained in his chest. He had nothing left to give to anyone.

“Eryk Gorski is in locker 18. He turned forty last week.” Anna winked. “Whenever anyone has a birthday, I bake a cake and we celebrate.”

Ryan’s birthday was next week. Yee-ha.

“Next is Leon Bauer. He’s forty-five and has been with Parnell Brothers the longest. Twenty years.”

A twenty-year career in garbage? Ryan had to admire the man for sticking with the job that long.

“Leon hasn’t missed more than a day or two of work in all those years.” She leaned forward and whispered, “He can’t stand staying at home. It’s not his wife, Helga, but the other relatives who drive him crazy. Last time I asked, Leon confessed to thirteen people living in the three-bedroom home.”

Her clean feminine scent messed with Ryan’s concentration. In self-defense, he retreated a step, hoping the added space would clear his senses. “When do the other guys arrive?”

“Soon. Next to Leon is Patrick Felch,” Anna said, continuing with the Parnell Brothers’ family tree. “Ask Patrick to sing for you sometime.”

Was she nuts?

“Patrick has a beautiful voice,” Anna droned. “He’s a member of St. Mary’s choir. What church do you belong to, Ryan?”

He’d gone to Sunday services once after his post–9/11 release from the hospital. Mostly to rage at God for what had happened to him. He hadn’t returned since. “Ah…”

Her face softened with understanding. “I say a prayer for all the men. I’ll add you to my list.”

Well, that was a first—a woman praying for him.

“He’s miffed at Father Baynard because Father refused to forgive him at confession.”

Who was miffed? And who was Father Baynard? Ryan was having a hell of a time following the conversation.

The throaty sound of her giggle squeezed his chest. “Patrick shouldn’t have confessed that he’d had sex with a girl on their first date. The girl turned out to be Father Baynard’s niece.”

Ryan decided he’d better watch what he confessed around Miss Happy Chatty or the information was bound to leak out. By the end of his tour of duty at Parnell Brothers, the more than two million residents of Queens would learn everything about him, including the color of his BVDs.

“And finally, on the other side of Patrick is Antonio Moretti. He has two cute little boys. You should see him with his sons. He’s such a good father.”

An unexpected pain jolted Ryan. Would a time ever come that he’d hear the word father and not react?

“You should have plenty of room in the locker for an extra pair of clothes and shaving supplies. Depending on the job, the men sometimes shower before going home. If you run out of anything, I stock a few items in the storage closet.” She opened a door across the room.

Travel-size bottles of shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream and soap were arranged in neat rows. Pink bath towels occupied the top shelf.

“First aid kit.” She motioned to a red-and-white box. Then her finger moved to the bottom shelf. “If the bathroom needs more…it’s right…” She slammed the door shut.

For the first time that morning Ryan wanted to grin. What an intriguing woman. Anna didn’t mind repeating gossip about sex but discussing toilet paper turned her face Stop-sign red.

“The break room is through this door or the one in the hallway we passed earlier.”

Secondhand furniture filled the lounge: a gray Formica table, eight mismatched chairs, a television set, a plaid-print couch that sagged in the middle, an olive-green refrigerator, a countertop microwave and an automatic coffeemaker.

“The guys usually brown-bag it for lunch.” She opened the cupboard above the sink. “Cream, sugar, salt and pepper packets.” Next cupboard. “Paper plates, napkins, plastic spoons and forks.” Refrigerator. “Condiments and help yourself to the jug of iced tea.”

He nodded his thanks.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Her smile didn’t quite camouflage the note of disappointment in her voice.

If he’d quit caring what people thought of him years ago, why did her observation twist his gut into a knot? He shrugged.

She crossed the room to the chart on the wall.

“I post the next week’s schedule by noon on Friday.” She tapped a long pink fingernail against his name. “I marked you for a cleanout this week.”

“Cleanout?”

“Compare it to spring-cleaning.”

Spring-cleaning sounded like a woman’s job.

His face must have shown his confusion because she smiled at him as if he were a dense child. “The home is off Fish Pond Road and we’ve been asked to gut it. The owner died and his children live in Florida.”

“The family isn’t handling the estate?”

“Mr. Kline was estranged from his family. His children want us to haul everything to the dump. I’ve already sorted through his belongings and donated what was useful to local charities.”

“What’s left to get rid of?”

“Several pieces of furniture. Then the carpet, the cupboards, the light fixtures, toilets, sinks, tub, linoleum flooring, and in this case, the front porch has to be torn off the house and hauled away.”

Spring-cleaning my… More of a demolition project. “So the house is going to be demolished?”

“Oh, no. A couple made an offer under the condition the place is ready for remodeling at closing.” As if she’d finally run out of oxygen from talking nonstop for the past twenty-five minutes, Anna sucked in a noisy breath of air. “I believe I’ve covered everything.”

And then some.

“Any questions, Ryan?”

“Who’s the other Parnell brother?”

“Harold. He died of colon cancer two years ago.”