Intrigued, I asked, “Where?”
Considering Savannah’s group had started their work only yesterday, the house was surprisingly far along. Most of the framing was already finished, and the roof had been raised as well. Savannah stared out the window of the car before turning to me.
“Would you like to walk around? See what we’re doing?”
“I’d love to,” I said.
I followed her out of the car, noting the play of moonlight on her features. As I stepped onto the dirt of the work site, I realized I could hear songs from a radio emanating from one of the kitchen windows of the neighbors. A few steps from the entrance, Savannah motioned around the structure with obvious pride. I moved close enough to slip my arm around her, and she tilted her head against my shoulder as she relaxed into me.
“This is where I’ve spent the last couple of days,” she almost whispered in the nighttime quiet. “What do you think?”
“It’s great,” I said. “I’ll bet the family is thrilled.”
“They are. And they’re such a great family. They really deserve this place since it’s been such a struggle for them. Hurricane Fran destroyed their home, but like so many others, they didn’t have flood insurance. It’s a single mom with three kids—her husband ran out on her years ago—and if you met the family, you’d love them. The kids all get good grades and sing in the youth choir at church. And they’re just so polite and gracious . . . you can tell their mom has worked hard to make sure they turn out right, you know?”
“You’ve met them, I take it?”
She nodded toward the house. “They’ve been here the last couple of days.” She straightened. “Would you like to look around inside?”
Reluctantly, I let her go. “Lead the way.”
It wasn’t a large place—about the same size as my dad’s—but the floor plan was more open, which made it seem larger. Savannah took me by the hand and walked me through each room, pointing out features, her imagination filling in the detail. She mused about the ideal wallpaper for the kitchen and the color of tile in the entryway, the fabric of the curtains in the living room, and how to decorate the mantel over the fireplace. Her voice conveyed the same wonder and joy she’d expressed when seeing the porpoises. For an instant, I had a vision of what she must have been like as a child.
She led me back to the front door. In the distance, the first rumblings of thunder could be heard. As we stood in the doorway, I drew her near.
“There’s going to be a porch, too,” she said, “with enough room for a couple of rocking chairs, or even a swing. They’ll be able to sit out here on summer nights, and congregate here after church.” She pointed. “That’s their church right over there. That’s why this location is so perfect for them.”
“You sound like you really got to know them.”
“No, not really,” she said. “I talked to them a little bit, but I’m just guessing about all this. I’ve done that with every house I’ve helped to build—I walk through and try to imagine what the owners’ lives will be like. It makes working on the house a lot more fun.”
The moon was now hidden by clouds, darkening the sky. On the horizon, lightning flashed, and a moment later a soft rain began to fall, pattering against the roof. The oak trees lining the street, heavy with leaves, rustled in the breeze as thunder echoed through the house.
“If you want to go, we should probably leave before the storm hits.”
“We don’t have anywhere to go, remember? Besides, I’ve always loved thunderstorms.”
I pulled her closer, breathing in her scent. Her hair smelled sweet, like ripe strawberries.
As we watched, the rain intensified into a steady downpour, falling diagonally from the sky. Streetlamps provided the only light, casting half of Savannah’s face in shadow.
Thunder exploded overhead, and the rain began coming down in sheets. I could see the rain blowing onto the sawdust-covered floor, forming wide puddles in the dirt, and I was thankful that despite the rain, the temperature was warm. Off to the side, I spotted some empty crates. I left her side to collect them, then began to stack them into a makeshift seat. It wouldn’t be all that comfortable, but it would be better than standing.
As Savannah took a seat next to me, I suddenly knew that coming here had been the right thing to do. It was the first time we’d really been alone, but as we sat side by side, it felt as though we’d been together forever.
Eight
The crates, hard and unforgiving, made me question my wisdom, but Savannah didn’t seem to mind. Or pretended not to. She leaned back, felt the edge of the rear crate press into her skin, then sat up again.