Sensual Winds

Lucas nodded. “It does, but will it be ready in time?”

As they talked, Rog never stopped working. The Italian craftsman had been in the country for six months, working with an outfit that had suddenly gone out of business, stranding him. He’d been doing day labor when Mo had snapped him up. His work was flawless.

Lucas tipped back his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Tomorrow is the magic hour. Will this be ready?”

Mo consulted Rog. They discussed everything in Italian, one of the three languages Mo spoke. Lucas knew only about two hundred words of Spanish, so he was lost.

He looked toward heaven. He needed for everything to be perfect. His relationship with Emma had been far from it. In fact, lately they’d had no relationship at all, and he was concerned that after all this effort for her to like everything in the house, he’d be the one to call their wedding off.

Mo told him what he wanted to hear. “We’ll be ready, if I pick up his wife and two daughters from the airport.” He looked like he’d bitten into a bad apple.

Lucas extended his hand to Rog, laughing at Mo. “Excellent.”

Rog shook his hand and then kissed Lucas on both cheeks. Mo hurried down the stairs before he was the recipient of Rog’s affection.

“Ciao.” Rog rushed back to work as Lucas wiped his face off with his sleeve, Mo laughing from the sidewalk.

“He drives me crazy when he does that,” Mo told him. “I try to stay away from him. He cries a lot, too.”

“And you don’t? Every time Armella and the kids leave, you’re a waterspout.”

“Hey! Don’t say that too loud. The men won’t respect me,” Mo said, looking around to see if anyone had heard Lucas.

They checked on the progress of the workers whose job it was to clean up the property after Hurricane Ana. It had come through as a Category One a couple days ago and rumbled out to sea, but in a freak turn of events, it seemed to reverse direction and was once again taking aim on south Florida. The I-10 had been reopened this morning and traffic had resumed, but the storm would be back wreaking havoc once again in a couple days.

In fact, dark clouds already clung to the horizon.

As if he read his mind, Mo said, “This storm smells like trouble.”

“Don’t be a pessimist.” Lucas waited a few seconds. “Emma’s coming tomorrow.”

“Is that why you look like you got caught with your hand in the candy jar? The airport opened up?”

“I did something, but not that bad, and yes, the airport is open. All those people need to be recycled.” Lucas tried to laugh. He felt anxious knowing Emma was coming, yet she still hadn’t called. Doreen hadn’t called back, either. He guessed she’d given up and gone home. He would have, and let him and Emma deal with their own problems.

The workers tossed onto the ground plywood that had been used during the last storms. Much of it had disintegrated from too much water.

“Lucas, how honest can I be with you?” Mo said, his Spanish accent sounding musical. He was about to share some wisdom.

Lucas eyed his friend. “You want to get paid today?”

“Okay,” Mo said, “straight up. You haven’t seen her in a long time. Eight months. The house isn’t finished and you’re not a raving lunatic. You would think you’d want everything to be perfect. Do you care?”

Caught off guard, Lucas considered his question. “Yeah. You saw me pressing Rog.”

“Our talk was a little more extensive. I promised him a few things for the family. It’ll cost you about a hundred dollars. You have to pick them up while I run to the airport. I’ll make a list.”

Lucas snorted good-naturedly. “The bastard.”

Both men chuckled.

“All I’m saying is when you first got here from New York, I had to institute a ‘no cell phone’ rule on the job.”

Lucas smiled.

“You stepped off the roof eave backwards, fell half a story and separated your shoulder. You fell through the floor at the Wilcox mall refurbishment, requiring an ambulance and fifteen stitches. I don’t know how a nail was shot through your index finger, but that was a lot of paperwork and a hospital visit.”

“That shouldn’t count,” Lucas argued halfheartedly. “That extern from the technical school shot me from across the room.”

“But if you hadn’t been on the phone with Emma you’d have seen him playing with the nail gun. Since you and Emma have cooled it,” Mo went on, “we’ve had no accidents.”

Lucas couldn’t argue with the truth. “You’re very observant,” he finally said.

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” Mo wiped his hair back and put his cap back in place, shielding the skin around his eyes that looked like it was made from cracked glass.

They walked to the back of the property, finding nails in the grass and pitching them into buckets along the walkway.

Mo’s daughter had stepped on a nail last year on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. Since then, the men cleaned up after themselves.

Lucas and Mo leaned against the back fence, admiring the gray house with the pink accent shutters.

“I gave Emma an ultimatum: be on the plane tomorrow or it’s over.”

Mo looked as if he’d tasted something sour. “You’re not too bright today, huh?”

“First you say I don’t care, and now I’m not smart?”

They gathered up the old shutters the workers had taken down and loaded them into the back of the pickup.

“Lucas, you can’t issue an ultimatum to a woman and expect her to give you food and sex.”

“I didn’t give it to her. I told Doreen.”

“Her assistant? You just officially crossed over into wimp territory.”

“Emma hasn’t returned my calls.”

“Dude, do I have to explain what that means in women’s language?”

“No.”

Mo just shook his head as Lucas picked up the street sign he’d knocked down and dragged it inside the gate to deal with later.

Once they were done for the day, Lucas went inside and dialed Emma’s number. All he got was a message that her voice mail was full.

Everything that had and hadn’t transpired between them over the last eight months came flooding back. The promises that she’d come down to Key West, his disappointment when she hadn’t. His messages asking her to call him, her failure to phone back. The cancelled trips, Emma’s emotional distance and his nonchalance about it, their missed phone calls, their tendency to mainly communicate via voice mail.

Before he could hang up he was transferred to Doreen’s voice mail. “This is Doreen Gamble. I’m away from my desk, but if it’s important you can page me at 5546, or leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you right away.”