Free The Ninth Step by Barbara Taylor Sissel

good helper and I’m a pretty fair carpenter, but what she wants is kind of complicated, a lot of girl stuff, you know.”
    “Dad. . . .” Nikki protested again, while Cotton thought, no, he didn’t know.
    He didn’t figure Wes knew either. Mothers knew about girls. He said, “It looks like you’ve got some dry rot going on over here. You’re ripping this out, I guess.”
    Wes said, “The other guy tore that up. He was Mexican and I had a hell of a time understanding--”
    “Did you see this?”
    Wes joined Cotton, looking where he pointed. “This whole corner could collapse you don’t get something up under the roof there.” He walked over to a nearby stack of new lumber, lifted a longish two-by-four off the top and wedged it beneath the eave.
    “Patsy, my secretary, said you really knew your stuff. I’ve seen her sunroom. You did some nice work there. I told her I’d give you a try so long as you spoke English.”  
    Cotton gave the two by four a last shake and said, “That ought to hold it.”
    “So, what do you say? Are you interested?”
    Before Cotton could answer, a phone rang inside the Latimer’s house and Nikki took off across the lawn shouting she’d get it as if there were some competition for the honor. Humphrey scooted along behind her, wriggling through the back screen door before it closed.
    “She’s turning thirteen in a few weeks,” Wes said raising his eyes, skyward--for help, ostensibly, but there was amused affection in his plea-- “which is part of the reason why I wanted to get with a pro on this. Nikki wants to have her birthday party out here, in her new studio, in July, but there’s no way I can get it finished by then. I’m jammed up at work for one thing. My company landed a major new account last week and you know how that goes.”
    Wes put his hands on his hips, shot Cotton a look. “I could use your help.”
    Cotton looked toward the house, in the direction Nikki had disappeared. Sometimes confession isn’t good for the soul. Cotton remembered Billy W. saying that at a meeting back in Seattle. Sometimes all the truth is good for is tearing the shit out of people’s lives. Sometimes , Billy W. had said, it’s best to leave folks alone. What if this was one of those times? What if Cotton did this job and at the end just walked away? He wouldn’t take the money. Wes would keep his cash, Nikki’d have her studio and Cotton would have his freedom.
    He could do this, or he could confess, reopen the wound, and go to jail. And the Latimers would get what from that?
    Nothing.
    Nada.
    The screen door snapped shut and Nikki rejoined them, Humphrey on her heels. She’d changed clothes and wore clamdiggers and a fresh shirt. “So, when’s he going to start?”
    “We haven’t worked it out yet,” Wes told her. “Before you take off, let me remind you that just because it’s summer doesn’t mean no curfew. Doesn’t mean you can run wild. There are still ground rules.”
    “Here we go. She crossed her arms. Humphrey wandered over and pushed his nose under her elbow, working it around.
    Wes glanced at Cotton. “She thinks she’s too old for adult supervision.”
    Nikki thrust out her chin. “Our housekeeper had to quit last week ‘cause her husband’s got cancer and Dad thinks he needs to hire a new one.”
    “Until we do, we have Linda to keep an eye on things around here. She’s a neighbor,” Wes explained to Cotton. “I don’t know what we’d do without her. Right, kiddo?” He pulled Nikki against him, planted a kiss on the top of her head.
    Cotton looked at them, the father hugging his daughter, the dog with his prying worried nose, and he felt something hot stick in his throat, something like hatred mixed with despair, a cooling clot of futility. The sight of them trying to be a family . . . the motherless girl, the single dad, their fucking bravery in the face of loss and adversity . . . it was like looking at a smile with missing teeth.
    What was he