Free Sand Castles by Antoinette Stockenberg

out and try some other way to get at Jimmy.
    "Pete, my man," came the shout from the ground. "It's lookin' good, real good."
    Zack, a box of nails on his shoulder, had been coming up the ladder on the north side of the house when he heard the yell from ground-level on the south side of the house. North, south, east, west, it made no difference to him. He'd know the voice if it came from the opposite end of a stadium during halftime at a Super Bowl.
    Careful to keep himself under control, Zack crossed the plywood floor and dropped the box of nails with a thud at Pete's feet. With both hands on the roughed-out sill, he peered at the sidewalk below. He didn't say hi, didn't say boo. He just looked down, as if he were curious about the shouting, and then he straightened up and went back to work.
    But not before letting his brother-in-law have a good, long view of the man who was going to be within spitting distance of his wife and son all day.
    Jimmy recognized him; there was no mistaking the stunned look on his face. His brow lifted and his mouth actually went a little slack. He was the kind of opportunist who was always scanning the company around him anyway, on the hunt for someone it might be useful to know. And Jimmy never forgot a face—unlike Zack, who only remembered the ones of those he loved and those he hated.
    Zack allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction. He would remember that face, that look, for the rest of his life.
    They were ready to raise the east-wall framework. It was heavy work, but Billy was built like a linebacker and Pete had strength out of proportion to his compact size. Compared to them, Zack was out of shape: carving wood was a lot less rugged work than building a house from it. Huffing from the effort, he supported his end of the wall while Pete braced it.
    "No point in starting the next one this late; we'll knock off for the day," Pete announced after the wall was secure. Zack remembered how his own men used to love to hear those words when he had been the boss. Now that he was the help, he felt—irony of ironies—bitterly disappointed. All it had taken was that one exchange of stares. It had convinced Zack to stick with the job, stick with the plan.
    Pete took off to check progress at the other site, leaving Billy and Zack to clean up for the day. The younger man swept while Zack coiled the air hose and the electric cords. They covered the table saw, then climbed down the ladder to store the portable gear in the basement. Pete had a thing about keeping a site clean, Billy explained, which earned him a nod of approval from Zack. It was demoralizing to work in chaos, whether the help understood that or not.
    Laden with coils of air hose and cords, Billy led Zack across the torn-up yard, through a small mud shed, and into the basement, with Zack carrying the compressor behind him.
    The new part of the basement had been commandeered as a storage area for the construction crew. New windows, still in their crates, were stacked against the wall six deep. The lady really liked windows, though Zack couldn't understand why: all the views were of neighbors' houses. She must have been after the sunshine.
    Why not in the country? he wondered. Or on the shore?
    He was struck all over agai n by the strangeness of the Ho denes' decision to add on when they could so easily buy bigger. It was a puzzle that Zack considered important to solve.
    "Hey. Later," said Billy when they were done. He was ready to fly.
    Zack wasn't. Zack wanted to bump into the owner. Zack wanted to see phase two of the look of shock on the owner's face.
    He tried to stall by saying pleasantly, "So how long you been workin' for Pete?"
    "Coupla years," Billy said. He looked unhappy that Zack was detaining him by even so much as two words.
    "What's he like?"
    "Good," he said, glancing at the mudshed door. "Good guy."
    "Overcommitted?"
    Billy shrugged. "He can't seem to say no. Well—gotta go."
    "Sure."
    He bolted, and a few seconds