"Well, she texted that she got up and had coffee today, so I count that as a win." I reached down to tug harder on the carpet. Did they glue it down instead of just stapling the edges?
"Mal says 'Paradise lies under the feet of your mother.'"
That made me stop. I gaped at Bo. He threw up his hands, one still holding a crowbar he was using to pull up the tacking strips, the long thin lumber pieces that held the carpet on the edges of the room.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Apparently it means if you don't make your momma happy, you ain't gonna be happy."
"If I knew what would make her happy, I'd do it," I replied.
"I suck at this comforting thing." He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. "But maybe you outta talk to someone else?"
"Like Lana?" I grunted. "No thanks. Between her and Mal, it sounds like I should be taking my mother on a date."
Lana, a friend of ours, was a psych major at Central College. She'd once said that I had an Oedipus complex but refused to elaborate. I’d looked it up the next day and learned that Oedipus had a thing for his mom that ultimately led to his demise. Thanks, Lana.
"Maybe talking to her wouldn't be such a great idea, but you should talk to someone," Bo counseled.
Ever since Bo had hooked up with AnnMarie, he enjoyed giving out advice like some on-screen dating show personality. I think I liked him better when he was screwing everything that moved and punching everything that stood still.
"I'm talking to someone," I lied. It wasn't actually a real lie. I was talking to someone. I talked to Winter, someone who knew just about as much about death, loss, and grief as anyone.
We worked in silence for a while longer when he finally said, "Sorry I ruined your morning."
"You didn't ruin anything," I said, and he didn't comment on the fact I'd stopped humming.
Henry called me a half hour later and told me to haul ass to the jobsite.
"You're in charge, Bo," I told him as I pocketed the phone. His look of terror would have been amusing if my ass weren't on the line. "Just finish up with the flooring and make sure the trim guys come in tomorrow. You'll be fine."
He had to be, because I couldn't be two places at the same time.
When I got to the jobsite downtown, Henry was pacing by the entrance.
"Is it the grading?"
"Fuck no. Grading is fine. Sewer line busted last night."
"How bad?"
"Bad." Henry looked grim.
"How many days will it take to fix it?"
"Two, at least. Grading inspector said he didn't want to come out until that was fixed."
"It's dirt. We're just moving dirt, so it's no big deal." When Henry's worry didn't ease, I rubbed my face. "What else?"
"Our concrete subcontractor never showed."
"Are they testing me? Do they want me to fail?" I dug my hands in my pockets because I was very afraid if I didn't, I was going to start picking up hammers and nail guns and going Lethal Weapon crazy. Henry wisely took a step back and to the side. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm calling the sewer sub and getting the repair done today, or we won't pay them. There's more than one concrete pourer in the city, and it's getting done today if I have to goddamn do it myself. After that, you and I are going to walk the entire property and do an inspection. Tomorrow morning we'll have a sub meeting and go from there. No delays."
Henry nodded and echoed my mantra but without any conviction. "No delays."
The call to the sewer sub was easy. The next one was much harder. I hadn't spoken with my Uncle Pat since the funeral, and even at that time, it was strained despite the fact we were burying my dad, his brother. I couldn't get past the fact he'd slept with my mom while she was still married to my dad. But I needed help, and the one man who could give it was Uncle Pat.
"O'Malley Construction, Peggy O'Malley speaking."
"Hey, Aunt Peg," I croaked. Talking with Aunt Peg was almost worse than talking to Uncle Pat, but it wasn't as if I had some control over my mother's vagina. I shuddered. A guy should never have to think of his mother's girl parts. Shit, I needed to look up that damn Oedipus wiki link again.
"Finnegan, how are you?"
It made it worse that she was always so kind. How she stayed married to Pat and still worked as his office manager was a mystery.
"Good, I'm in a bind though. I wondered if you or Uncle Pat could help me."
"Of course, I will." She sounded decisive. "What do you need? Is it the Riverside project?"
"Yup. My concrete sub never showed up today. He's probably too baked to run his mixer, but I need the footings poured today, or we can't do anything."