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James
James Under the shadow of the roofless wheelhouse that will one day be Ryan and Kirstie’s home, we examine plans, my plans, rolled out atop a pallet, a brick pinning each corner. I outline the area of interest with a forefinger. “Since you don’t have the time constraints now, Ryan. I had a couple of ideas about that roof area. It wouldn’t take much to add flooring and windows up there. There’s already the headroom.” Despite the mud and the cold, there’s a smile back in Kirstie’s voice. “You mean, we could have a bedroom right at the top? With the views right over the river and the woods?” “That’s right. And given the state of the works right now, it would cost almost nothing on top of…” From beyond the fence, something hoots. Then again: a car horn. Or something bigger. Ryan frowns.
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