Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
“Three months now,” she says, holding her left hand out to me.
“Congratulations. That’s a very nice ring,” I tell her, and she smiles. She’s probably my age, maybe just a little older.
Nope, I’m not jealous at all.
Chapter Three
Kent
Looking down at the text message I just received, I know that it didn’t come from Dana. Dana is my boss’s girl, and she can be a bit abrupt. Downright bitchy even. I know she’s pregnant, and they must have finally got someone else in the office. I still haven’t been in the office in a while, but I’ve got to make the time. Marla’s insurance depends on it.
Unknown: Hi Kent! We have been contracted to upkeep some underwater joints of the causeway. I’ve been told you are the go-to guy for underwater welding. The fifth leg from the Metairie side is what needs to be assessed. I have arranged for Nick to meet you with a boat at the water’s edge at 10 this morning. Is this doable, or should I reschedule?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Belle Fisher from Barry Brother’s Construction.
Me: The new receptionist?
Belle: Kinda. Is 10 am okay?
Me: I’ll be there
Belle: It’s good to textually meet you. Be safe out there today.
Me: It was nice to text you too. I’ll be safe, Au revoir, ma chère
Belle: Flirting with me won’t be necessary, Monsieur Beaufoy.
Me: Since when is flirting not necessary?
She doesn’t answer me, and I couldn’t help checking my damn phone for the rest of the day. When have I ever done that? I don’t know the woman. She could be ninety for all I know, but something tells me she’s not.
At ten o’clock, I pull into the parking lot for the beach access to the lake. I see Nick backing the boat down the ramp. I grab my gear and walk over to him.
“You’re late,” he says with his standard unlit cigar in his mouth. He quit smoking ten years ago but couldn’t give up the smell. I don’t understand it myself, having smoked one hit from a joint in high school. I choked on the smoke and never looked back.
“I’m exactly on time, asshole,” I say, just to fuck with the old man. He’s Jonathan and Paul’s father. He helps out whenever a boat is needed, so he and I work together frequently. I have a lot of safety equipment when I’m doing an underwater job. The risk of getting electrocuted is high as hell, not to mention the risk of underwater explosions. Gas pockets create a volatile work environment. There is no room for second-guessing or being afraid of the job. If you can weld underwater, you can do anything, at least in my opinion. I reach in, set my equipment into the boat, and climb into it before Nick drops the trailer. He quickly parks his truck, gets in the boat, and we’re off.
We pull up to the fifth trestle, and I gear up. I pull on my helmet and oxygen tank before going down to access the situation. Two joints need to be replaced immediately, but the bridge will have to be closed for that to happen. We’ll have to coordinate with the parish to get it set up. It will have to be done at night since that is the main way into New Orleans. I snap some photos with the camera built into my helmet.
There’s nothing I can safely do now, so I resurface, and we get out of there. On the boat ride back to the beach, I make all of the necessary arrangements to get the road closed and a crew out there. It’s a much larger job than I can handle, but it needs to be done as soon as possible. Tonight, before the joints give way and disaster strikes. The very last thing New Orleans needs is another disaster. The Causeway is the longest bridge in the US and the largest continuous bridge over water in the world. Forty thousand cars a day travel over it.
“Want to grab some lunch?” Nick asks after we get the boat hooked back to his trailer.
“Sure,” I tell him, and we agree to meet at Petey’s Po Boy and go from there.
Later that night, I am watching SportsTalk, a daily recap show of what’s happening in the world of sports, when my phone goes off. I look at the clock; it’s eleven-thirty. Weird dad mode kicks in since all the girls are out. Marla’s curfew on the weekends is midnight, and the others obviously don’t have one, but I’m here if they need me. I pick up my phone, dreading who it might be, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it’s a text from Belle, the woman from work earlier today.
Belle: How did it go out there? Did you make it safely?