Chapter 6

Dan startedthe morning as he always did, surveying the site before the rest of the crew arrived. The silence was a comforting companion, the only time his thoughts were clear enough to not stumble over each other. He walked past the skeletal frames of homes-to-be, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth, the smell of wet pine in the air. With each step, he left footprints on the grounds of what would soon become someone else's dream. He understood these homes. He built them from nothing, and their potential hummed under his skin.

As the sun began to climb, so did the noise. Saws buzzed, hammers clanged, and Dan conducted this chaotic orchestra. He caught every misstep before it happened, his instructions doled out with a firmness that never needed shouting to be heard.

"Hey, watch it with those wires, kid." Dan"s voice cut through the din of construction, a steady hand guiding Jesse"s uncertain grip. "Measure twice, cut once, remember?" His gaze was patient, a mentor steadying a fledgling"s tentative steps.

The young apprentice was all thumbs, flusters, and apologies. "Slow and steady, Jess," Dan said, showing him the cut line again. "Focus here, not on the clock."

He remembered his own shaking hands and the way the tape measure seemed to have a mind of its own. But his uncle had seen something in those hands, a steadiness that came with time and patience. He'd never forgotten that debt, the belief placed in him when he couldn"t trust himself.

Midday brought the usual lunchtime camaraderie. But as his coworkers tossed a ball, Dan chose the isolation of the half-built bay window. Taking in the view of an unfinished portrait of suburban tranquility, he sat down with his lunchbox balanced on his knees. Here, he could watch without being seen, and think without needing to answer. He let his sandwich sit, his mind wandering back to last night and the woman who got under his skin more than he wanted to admit. A furrow formed between his brows as he replayed Emma"s determination in his mind.

"Damn it, I like her," he admitted to no one in particular, the words floating away with the sawdust and noise, a soft confession in the harsh world of steel and wood.

With every house that rose from the ground, Dan left pieces of himself among the beams and bricks. This was his art, his craft, taught by necessity and honed by time. He built solid foundations, not just for the houses but for his crew, teaching them to look beyond the blueprint"s lines to where life would eventually unfold.

At dusk, Dan locked up the site—the last to leave as always. He lingered at the gate, his gaze sweeping over the day's accomplishments. But his thoughts drifted past the skeletal frames of buildings to Missoula"s shimmering lights in the distance. There, worlds apart from his own were the lives he helped build homes for yet remained disconnected from. He knew the divide, felt it in the marrow of his bones—the trailer park kid in a world of mortgage meetings and homeowner associations. Dan might have left the trailer park, but he knew it hadn"t left him. Last night had proved it once again.

* * *

As Dan"s truck rolled into the gravel driveway, the adjacent junkyard snagged his attention. His gaze lingered on its towering stacks of metal and machinery, a familiar backdrop to his childhood.

Shaking off the memories, Dan stepped out, his boots crunching on the gravel. The sound of laughter and barking dogs greeted him, a stark contrast to the silent sentinels of scrap metal behind him.

His younger brother was supposed to be the smart one. However, instead of going to college and making something of himself, he'd married young and stuck around. Now, the yard was Jake"s realm, a kingdom of salvaged treasures that he navigated with the same grease-stained hands and contented grin their father had worn.

Dan approached the modest trailer, its exterior worn but welcoming. The door swung open, revealing the cozy chaos within—children"s toys scattered about, mismatched furniture hosting piles of laundry, and dogs of various sizes weaving between legs.

"Uncle Dan!" shouted Tommy, the youngest, barreling toward him with a toy truck in hand. Dan scooped him up, a smile spreading across his face as he stepped over the threshold, leaving the junkyard"s shadow behind.

In the cozy confines of Sarah and Jake"s trailer, laughter and chatter mingled with the clatter of cutlery. Sarah, ever the heart of the home, flitted around the table, her nurturing presence as warm as the gravy she poured. The mismatched chairs were filled with family—two energetic boys, their faces alight with tales of schoolyard adventures and a daughter, her eyes shining with the quiet wisdom of the oldest child.

At Jake"s crowded dining table, Dan observed the festive chaos. His sister-in-law, apron-stained and smiling, handed him a plate heaped with homemade delights. "You"re too skinny, Dan," she chided, her eyes warm with affection.

He grinned. "Thanks, Sarah. Smells amazing as always."

Around them, the room buzzed with family chatter. His niece, Lily, a budding artist, was engrossed in the coloring book he'd gifted her, her tongue poking out in concentration. "Uncle Dan, look! I"m coloring a unicorn!" she exclaimed, holding up her masterpiece.

"That"s beautiful, Lil," Dan praised, his heart swelling with pride.

His youngest nephew, Tommy, was gleefully chasing a plastic T-Rex across the floor, roaring in imitation. A skinny toy poodle with mottled fur jumped around the boy, letting out excited yips and tiny barks. "Uncle Dan, my dinosaur is gonna eat you!" Tommy declared, charging toward him.

Dan feigned terror, scooping the child up. "Oh no, save me from the scary dinosaur!" He laughed, as Tommy giggled uncontrollably in his arms.

At the other end of the table, his oldest nephew, Michael, carefully assembled the wooden model plane Dan had brought last week. "Thanks, Uncle Dan. This is cool," Michael said, his focus unwavering.

Dan watched them, listening as Jake ranted about the latest environmental regulations impacting his junkyard business.

"It"s all bureaucracy, Dan. You know how it is," Jake grumbled, shaking his head.

Dan nodded, his thoughts drifting. He understood Jake"s struggles. "Yeah, it"s the same at the construction sites," Dan agreed. "These changes in regulations slow everything down and hike up costs too. But, you know, you gotta keep things safe and green, I guess."

Jake snorted. "Safe and green doesn"t pay the bills, though." He forked another piece of turkey onto his plate, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation.

Dan nodded, his eyes drifting to the window, reflecting on the balance between progress and preservation. "It"s a tightrope walk, but someone"s gotta do it," he mused.

Letting his gaze glide over the children, he marveled at how much they"d grown. His niece sketched quietly at the corner of the table, her creativity unfazed by the adult conversation. He looked around at the familiar, yet distant setting of his childhood. The love was undeniable, but so was the gap in their aspirations.

"I"m proud of what you"re doing with the yard, Jake," Dan replied in a sincere attempt to bridge the chasm between their lived experiences.

Sarah chimed in, "And we"re proud of you, Dan. Aren"t we, kids?"

"Yep!" chorused the children.

Dan"s chest tightened with love and longing. He was part of this world, yet not entirely. He belonged here, but also somewhere else—somewhere he was still trying to find.