A lifetime ago, contracting kept a roof over his head. At first it had been little jobs, installing new doors and putting up shelving, hired by some lady up the street with some klutz of a husband, cash under the table. Then it had been been bigger projects, replacing toilets and running plumbing in new laundry rooms, the sort of thing that made home owners squeamish about fucking up. Still, cash under the table. The hours were flexible, and that was best of all, easy to fit in around a toddler. The babysitter took a big cut, but four or five jobs a week, that could pay the bills. When his daughter was older, he could spend weekends tearing out bathrooms for pricier hands to come in and redo, stick away money for a down payment and maybe a little vacation once a year. All of it added up to a home.

Joel does not like to think about those things, but they stick at the back of his mind just the same. He focuses on other things, the bare studs of the shed, and what it will take to insulate them so the place is warm in the cold Jackson winters and dry when it storms. It could be a weekend job, but there is no drive to Breed & Co. It will take months, if not years, to find drywall in worthwhile condition, let alone hauling it in.

He is building a home for a different girl, this time, he doesn't want to give it to her.

He stands in the doorway of that shed with folded arms, staring into the empty space.

"Ellie, you sure you wanna live out here?"