The Carpenter

This story snuck up on me in the middle of another writing project. It kept insisting I write it, wouldn't let me go. Who am I to resist? Those of you who have read my other stories know that I don't do short. This one is also a slow burn with a long build-up, but I'm sure you'll find it worth your while. You don't need to have read my other work first, but you may see a familiar face if you have! You may also find this one a little different, but I'll let you be the judge. As always, I'd love to hear from you. Let me know what you think by commenting or dropping me a message. Happy reading!

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Max stopped her truck in front of the tall wooden gate and peered at the brick wall surrounding it. Here was someone who liked their privacy. She wondered for a moment what over the top real estate lay beyond these walls, before pressing the buzzer that was hidden - almost too well - in the ornate pillar. Almost instantaneously, a female voice came loud and clear over the little speaker, asking her who was there.

"Nailed it Carpenters, ma'am. You called us about the deck?" Max replied, leaning out of her truck to talk into the intercom.

Without any further acknowledgement, the gate buzzed and started swinging open. And good morning to you too. As Max drove in, she saw that 'over the top real estate' had been a fair assumption. After a short, straight lane with trees on either side, the driveway split to curve on either side around a large fountain. An impressive mansion sat directly behind it. It looked big enough to host four families of prolific breeders.

Max hesitated at the fork in the driveway. Left or right? Did it matter? Was it a one-way system or something? Grumbling to herself about the nonsense of it all, she picked left, deciding it was probably purely decorative.

As her rusty truck crept around the fountain, she felt watched. Everything about her presence here felt out of place. Despite the fact that her truck had been repainted and embellished with the company branding, it still looked like a hunk of junk compared to the grandeur of this place. But a job was a job.

Max parked up in front of the house. There were no other cars or parking bays so she assumed anywhere was fine. She heaved her toolbox out of the back of the truck and climbed the steps to the double front doors.

Before she rang the bell, the door swung open. She really had been watched then. A woman in her fifties towered over Max and looked her up and down critically. Max quickly stepped up the top step, but it didn't help much with the height difference. The woman was tall and was wearing heels too.

From the look on her face, she clearly hadn't expected a 5'3 girl who looked like a twelve year old boy. Max's baby face was a constant source of frustration in her life. She was still ID'ed when buying booze, even though she'd been of legal drinking age for almost ten years. And then there was the fact that she was often mistaken for a twink in the gay bars. Perhaps this lady didn't even realise she was a girl either. Max's clothes or body certainly didn't give that away easily.

"Good morning. Mrs Hanson?" Max said, amping herself up.

The woman gave a barely visible nod, still studying her. She was the embodiment of why Max usually let her brother Tyler take on the jobs in this area. Spoiled, rich ladies were more his thing.

Max couldn't deny this particular lady had a presence though. She was wearing an expensive looking grey pant suit and a black blouse, combined with a silk scarf. How she wasn't dying of heat stroke was a complete mystery. Her long black hair was tied loosely at the back, with some strands falling around her slim face. Her eyes were a pale blue, a stark contrast with her dark expression. The overall effect was striking. Max may be a little biased - she had a thing for older women - but this was an impressive woman and she knew it. Confidence radiated from her as she looked down on Max - in the literal and figurative sense.

Max wasn't an insecure person but compared to Mrs Hanson, she felt underwhelming and underdressed in her ripped jeans, steel cap boots and black muscle tank top. The signature grey baseball cap with the Nailed It logo didn't help her mature, professional appearance.

The logo depicted a nail giving a thumbs-up. It was painfully reminiscent of the little animated paper clip that used to provide help information in the ancient versions of Microsoft Office. Max hated the logo and had always wanted to change it. However, it was designed by one of her brother's friends so there had been some reluctance. By the time she'd convinced her brother, the company had already built up some name and brand recognition so it would have been risky to change it. The cheerful nail had stayed, and so had the baseball caps, which, to be fair, were quite welcome when working outside in the Californian sun.

"I'm here from Nailed It Carpenters. My name is Max. I believe you wanted us to have a look at your sundeck?" Max pressed on, suppressing the urge to walk away and make Tyler deal with the snobbish woman.

The woman's eyes roamed over Max's bare arms. Max's right bicep was starting to burn from holding up her heavy metal toolbox.

"Hello... Max," she replied, now with an amused smile. Max had no idea what was so amusing to her. "Yes, that's correct." She had a British accent. Of course she did. It added to her overall 'holier than thou' demeanour. Max surprised a sigh. Why was it always the arrogant people that had the sexiest accents?

"You guys came highly recommended," she added, again looking Max up and down as if wondering why.

Max suppressed a scoff. She could believe that. If Mrs Hanson had heard about Nailed It from her friends or neighbours, it would have been Tyler that had done the job. He wasn't a better builder than Max, but he was handsome and had no problem working with his shirt off to give bored, rich housewives something to look at. This usually earned him big tips and glowing recommendations, which he both invested back into the business.

"Come on in," Mrs Hanson said at last. She'd clearly decided her sun deck was worth letting this lowly being into her home.

Max followed her through a reception area and into a massive kitchen, complete with island and eight-pit cooker. Max couldn't imagine her ever using that fancy cooker. Somehow she didn't seem like the cooking kind.

The garden was reached through the double sliding doors in the kitchen. They came out straight onto a wooden deck, which Max assumed was the reason why she was here. Beyond it, there was a rolling lawn with a tiled path, that lead to a terraced pool area with several beach chairs and a standing umbrella. The pool itself was large enough to do lanes and had a rock feature with a waterfall at its far end. Max whistled between her teeth.

"Nice garden," she couldn't help but say. She didn't really want to indulge the lady, but it slipped out before she could stop herself. Mrs Hanson smiled. She knew it was nice.

"If it weren't for this... thing," she said, indicating the sun deck they were standing on. "What do you think?" She smiled at Max now, clearly warming up to her a little.

Max saw immediately that the Douglas fir deck had seen better days. A combination of mediocre craftsmanship and poor maintenance, she suspected. The side edges were gone, if they had ever been there to begin with. She propped the toe of her boot under a floor plank, lifting it up easily.

The decorative railings on the sides moved precariously when Max touched them. They had a fundamental design flaw and would never have maintained stability over a long time. Whoever had made this clearly had a lot to learn. Max took a screwdriver out of her toolbox and prodded the wood in a few different places.

"So... Max..." Max looked up to see Mrs Hanson watching her intently.

"Is that your real name?"

"Yes, ma'am. Well, officially it's Maxine, but I have gone by Max for as long as I can remember."

"It's cute," Mrs Hanson said, surprising Max. Was she serious? She didn't seem like the type that would find anything cute, let alone a young woman who went by a boy's name and looked like a boy to boot.

"Max effort, max results," Max muttered, still unsure if the lady was making fun of her.

Now she laughed, which was such a contrast to her earlier sternness, it was slightly unsettling. "Really?" She chuckled.

Max couldn't help but smile. "I know it needs some work as a tag line. My brother thinks I should use it. It's him and me in the business together."

"Well, I hope you won't max out my credit card too, Max."

Max tried not to look around her pointedly, as she replied with a chuckle: "I doubt that, ma'am." This lady's credit card limit was probably higher than the entire value of the tiny flat Max shared with her brother.

"Good. Otherwise I'd have to find another way to pay you." Mrs Hanson winked at her. She actually winked. Where did that come from? Max felt her cheeks heat up and looked away quickly.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary." She prodded the wood some more with her screwdriver, even though she'd already completed her diagnosis.

"So, what's the verdict, Max?" There was something about the way she said Max's name - so deliberately, so repeatedly, so amusedly - that made Max struggle to keep her cool.

"It's rotten, I'm afraid," she said quickly. "When was the last time the wood was treated?"

Mrs Hanson threw up her hands as if to say she didn't know and didn't care. "My husband is supposed to arrange these things. Clearly, he hasn't. Can you fix it?"

Max shook her head. "With the state it's in, it's better to replace it completely."

"Fine, let's do that. You're the expert."

Max had expected her to protest, to insist she'd salvage what was there. But the cost of a new deck was probably peanuts to the likes of her. And then there was that smile again, when she'd said Max was the expert. It wasn't belittling - not exactly - but there was clearly something about it that amused her.

"Can you make it bigger?" Mrs Hanson then asked. "I'd like to be able fit a ten person table on it, so I can entertain my guests here."

"Sure," Max said. "We're starting over so it can be whatever you want."

This may end up being a bigger job than anticipated. Fortunately she had some room in her schedule from next week. She wasn't particularly looking forward to spending so much time here, but building a complete deck from scratch was a more exciting prospect than fixing someone else's mess.

"How about I take some measurements of the current situation and then we can have a sit down and discuss what you want?" She suggested.

"Do what you need to do," came the dismissive reply. "How do you take your coffee?"

Clearly, coffee was the only thing on offer. Didn't British people usually drink tea? Max suddenly wondered how long Mrs Hanson had been in the US. She hadn't lost her accent in the slightest, but her most of her mannerism seemed all-American. Still, Max was impressed that the woman had even remembered to offer her a drink. She seemed like the type that would have staff to do this. But Max hadn't seen anyone else in the house or the garden.

"Black, please," she said, just in time, before the woman strode back into the kitchen. Patience wasn't her strong suit either, it appeared.

Max took her measurements and formed some ideas in her head of what she could do with the deck, before stepping up to the glass doors. She knocked, even though they were open.

"Come on in," Mrs Hanson said impatiently.

Checking carefully that her boots weren't dirty, Max stepped onto the pristine white tiles and sat down at the breakfast bar, where a cup of coffee was waiting for her. Mrs Hanson sat on the stool next to her, and leaned in conspiratorially.

"So Max, what can you do for me?"

With the broad grin Mrs Hanson gave her, Max couldn't quite shake the feeling that she wasn't strictly thinking of the woodwork. It wasn't too far-fetched; Tyler had told her plenty of stories about women flirting with him on the job. Was this what Mrs Hanson was doing? If Max didn't know any better, she'd certainly say so. But it just didn't rhyme with her initial air of superiority. It was as if something had clicked into place for her and she suddenly viewed Max completely differently. Either that or she was playing some sort of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde game.

Max forced herself to focus. "Based on the amount of space you have, I'd say you can probably push it to about 10 by 15 feet, if I take up some of the grass on the sides. That should give you plenty of space for a large table and room to move around."

"I have no idea how large that is, but it sounds great. Can't have anyone falling off the edge when they've had one too many martinis, can we?" She grinned, as if this was a frequent occurrence. It probably was. "Speaking of which, can we have another railing? Something to close it off a bit?"

"Of course." Max pulled out her phone to bring up some images of work Nailed It had done before. Mrs Hanson leaned in some more to peer at her screen - bringing herself closer than strictly necessary - as Max scrolled through several of the pictures showcased on their website.

"I like that one," the woman said eventually, pointing at one of the more complicated designs. It featured fairly ornate pillars and handmade lattice fencing around almost the entire border. That would take a while. Max wondered if Mrs Hanson realised that.

"Great choice," she said. Now there's the question of which wood to use. There are a few sensible options we usually show our clients. I have some samples in my truck. I can get them so you can have a look."

"Let's walk to your truck together."

Max wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want the potentially dirty wood in her house, or if she had another reason to accompany Max to her truck, but the client was king. Or queen, in this case.

Mrs Hanson looked interestedly at the truck, as she hadn't watched it creep up her driveway earlier; as if she had a renewed interest in it.

"You like old-timers?" She asked.

Max shrugged. "More out of necessity. I like what I can afford."

Mrs Hanson laughed heartily, as if this was incredibly funny to her. It probably was, budgetary limitations being such a foreign concept to her. Maybe she even thought that Max was joking.

Max pulled out the foot-long sample pieces and laid them on the edge of the truck. "Here's your composite wood. That's pretty standard and a good economical option. It requires next to no maintenance, but it can get really hot in summer and tends to get a bit slippery when wet. You probably don't want that."

Mrs Hanson raised her eyebrows slightly and said: "Don't I?"

She smiled wickedly and Max realised she hadn't been imagining things: this lady was flirting with her, and not so subtly too. Unsure of what to say or even what to make of the realisation, she cleared her throat and pressed on to the next piece of wood.

"This is a beautiful option, although much pricier both in material and labour. This is mahogany: tropical hardwood. As the name suggests, it's really hard, so you won't have much wear and tear. This will stand for decades, but you do need to get it treated every few years and pressure-washed every year to keep it looking good."

Although Max was careful to say Mrs Hanson had to get the maintenance done, instead of suggesting she'd do it herself, she could see the woman's dislike of that requirement.

"I'm not sure I can trust my husband to be on top of that. You saw what happened with the current one. What's this one?" She stroked a long finger over the piece of redwood."

Max gave her the rundown, including the selling points that it was local, and that it had natural oils and tannins, which gave it a natural beauty and resistance to moisture. It did also need the same level of maintenance, but if cared for correctly, it would age gracefully.

"Like me." Mrs Hanson laughed. It wasn't a question; she knew she looked great. When Max didn't comment, she said: "I do like the sound and feel of the really hard one..." Another wicked grin and a suggestive stroke of the mahogany. She was laying it on thick.

"Would you come take care of it for me once a year?" Was she talking about the wood? Max wasn't entirely sure.

"That's not really part of our core business, but I can recommend a good painter who can do the staining."

Mrs Hanson looked like she was about to ask another question but she changed her mind and said: "Well, I don't like the low maintenance one. It looks cheap. It doesn't even look like real wood."

Max smiled. At least they agreed on something. Max also didn't like the look and feel of the composite material. Wood should be wood and plastic should be plastic; why mix the two?

"I'll go for the redwood. If worse comes to worst, I can have you come back every few years and rebuild the whole thing." She laughed. She probably wasn't even joking. Max tried to keep her disapproval from showing but clearly failed.

"Relax. I'll take care of it, I promise." She smiled innocently.

Max nodded and jotted down the wood choice next to her measurements. She'd have to do some calculations and source the right quantity of the material.

"How long will I have you for?" Mrs Hanson now asked. It was certainly a strange way of asking about the duration of the project.

"Along with taking down the old one - I'm assuming you'd like me to do that too - preparing the area and creating the new deck... about a week, eight days, tops."

Mrs Hanson replied that this was perfect and asked when Max could start. When Max asked her if she needed to see a quote first - after she'd done the necessary calculation around material costs - Mrs Hanson waived her off again: she was sure it would be fine.

"Alright, in that case, I'll need a few days to finish up another job and get the materials, but I can start on Monday."

"That will be a nice surprise for my husband when he comes home from his business trip." The way she said it left Max wondering if he'd really like the surprise or if she was being sarcastic.

"I assume you'll need someone to be here?" Mrs Hanson then asked.

Max shook her head. "Since it's outside, it's okay if I can just get into the garden; if you can give me access through the gates. I can imagine it will be difficult to get time off work."

She realised she had no idea what Mrs Hanson did for a living but from the way she dressed, it looked important. She certainly didn't seem to be a bored housewife.

"Ah, I can always work from home. It's one of the perks of being the boss." She winked at Max again, and was clearly trying to impress her.

Indeed, something important then. Max thought that technically she was also the boss - together with her brother - of their company. But something told her Mrs Hanson's company was probably quite a bit bigger.

Max wasn't sure if she should be happy about the fact Mrs Hanson could work from home. Usually she preferred clients to be around - to make any possible design decisions that would invariably come up while the job was underway, and also to prevent any nuisance around clients claiming she did something in their house she wasn't supposed to. The latter had fortunately never happened.

Picturing the business woman being home while she did the job inexplicably made her a bit nervous, though. This woman made her a bit nervous, full-stop. Max wasn't the nervous type, so this was more unsettling than she liked to admit.

They shook hands. Max wasn't sure if she imagined it, but it seemed like Mrs Hanson held on just a bit longer than she should. What she certainly didn't just imagine was that the woman watched her from the moment she opened the door of her truck, to the moment the tall gates shut behind her. Max sighed with relief when she was finally shielded from the scrutiny. This was going to be an interesting job.