The Sidewalk We Poured Twice

The phone call to the plant

I called the plant from the cab of my truck at three-thirty. Merit runs dispatch there.

She has been at that window as long as Gus has been driving, and she does not waste words on anybody.

“Three and a half yards, same mix as this morning,” I said. “Elm Street. Tomorrow.”

There was a pause. “You poured Elm Street this morning.”

“I know.”

Another pause. I could hear the radio behind her, and a loader backing up. “What time do you want it?”

“Nine-thirty,” I said. “And Merit, if Gus is on, I would like Gus.”

“Gus is on,” she said. “He came in about an hour ago and has not said ten words since. I will put him on it.”

Then she read me the price, and I gave her my card number over the phone.

It came to eight hundred forty dollars with the short load charge, because anything under five yards costs extra at our plant.

Then I called the rental store in Fergus Falls and reserved an electric breaker hammer for seven the next morning. That was another ninety-five.

Add the dump fee for the broken concrete and a new two by four to replace the cracked form, and the second pour was going to cost me a little over a thousand dollars.

I did not tell Brody the number. He did not ask. He knew.

He was quiet while we reset the stakes we could reset. Then he said, without looking up, “You’re not going to charge her.”

“No,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “I wasn’t going to let you.”