The unexpected information pricked her conscience—for some reason, Robin had assumed Jake was streetwise but without a college education. That snap assumption on her part, however vague, struck her as unfair . . . and maybe even a little arrogant. “So how is it this Cole is going to mess it up?” she pressed further, her curiosity running rampant now.
“Well, see, Cole, he’s Ross’s kid. But Ross died in a car wreck. Cole was just a punk kid then, still is if you ask me, but Ross’s old lady, she wasn’t really planning on raising the kid, so she took off, and Cole’s been living with his grandma ever since, but now he’s a little older, and he keeps getting hisself into trouble. So Jakie, he says he’s gonna teach him how to be a man.” Zaney paused, adjusted the tool belt around his slim hips with his good hand, then struggled to withdraw a measuring tape. “‘Bout how big is this room?”
“How old is Cole?”
“Fourteen. See, my idea is we start upstairs and gut those rooms first.”
“Does anyone else live there? I mean with Cole?”
“His grandma’s all. Jake’s dad ran off a long time ago. Then Ross died, and Todd the Toad—that’s what we used to call him, the little fart—oops, beg your pardon,” Zaney said, his face turning crimson. “Well anyway, Todd, he’s gone for a while, so no, there ain’t no one there but Cole and his grandma.” He looked down at his measuring tape. “Okay, I’m gonna go upstairs and check it out,” Zaney said.
“Sure,” Robin muttered. Zaney clumped up the stairs as she headed for the shower.
She mulled over the information Zaney had so happily given up. It fascinated her that the three Manning sons had turned out so differently. Jake must have faced a lot of adversity. But . . . wow. What fragments she knew about Jake’s life were a little on the mind-boggling side. It was hard to understand how he could be so . . . so sane. Yet he had somehow managed to overcome it, was building a solid clientele among Houston’s elite families, and while he was doing that, he was attending school.
Pretty damn remarkable. And highly admirable. She had really underestimated him.
Robin finished dressing, donning gray slacks, white shirt, and black sandals. As she came out of her bedroom, she heard a familiar voice, and groaned softly to herself at the sight of Grandpa in the entry. He was wearing his coveralls. And he was with Jake.
“Hey, El, you want to hand me that crowbar?”
El? El?
Grandpa shuffled over to the toolbox, found a crowbar, and handed it to Jake. Then he stood there, hands on knees, watching closely as Jake pulled the baseboard from the wall.
“Grandpa, what are you doing?” Robin demanded as she came into the dining room.
“Hey, Robbie-girl.”
“He’s assisting me,” Jake said, giving her the once-over with a lopsided smile. “Me and El, we’re a team.”
That was all the world needed. Robin was about to protest, but the phone started ringing, and when she went to answer it, she couldn’t find the damn thing. On the fourth ring, she found it, said breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Ms. Lear?”
Instantly, she knew the gravelly voice on the other end belonged to none other than Eldagirt Wirt. “Yes! Robin Lear, here!” she said excitedly.
“Eldagirt Wirt. I hear you been trying to get hold of me.” She sounded like she had smoked a pack of cigarettes just moments ago.
“Thank you for calling!” Robin said, and almost added something entirely too smart, like this year, but then remembered: flies with honey. “I know you are very busy. Ah . . . Carol, ah, she’s been a great help,” she said, surprising herself. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time, but I’m with LTI in Houston, and we’ve been looking at different packing supply companies, hoping to form a partnership.”
Eldagirt responded with a phlegm-laden cough.
“Ah . . . your company has an excellent reputation—”
“The best,” Eldagirt interjected.
“Yes. Yes, that’s right, one of the best. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I thought perhaps we could explore a future collaboration between LTI and Wirt—”
“LTI . . . is that Lear Transport?”
“Yes, it is!” Robin exclaimed. “So you’ve heard of us?”
“Nah. Carol told me once, I just couldn’t remember. She says we’ve stocked you before. So, this LTI runs all classes of freight?”
“All classes. I’d love to come and talk to you about what we transport.”
Robin could hear the click of a Zippo lighter and the draw of smoke into Eldagirt’s lungs. “The thing is, Ms. Lear,” she said, exhaling, “I don’t got a lot of time. I’ve increased my accounts by about fifty percent over last year, and I’m a single mom, so I am running from one thing to another all the damn time.”
“Oh,” Robin responded, disappointed. But wait . . . this was business—surely the battle-ax had a baby-sitter or something. “Well . . . I promise not to take too much of your time,” she said uncertainly. “I’d just like the opportunity to tell you what we’ve got in mind.”
Another draw of smoke, a lazy exhale. “Tell you what. I’m not so busy on the weekend. Come up on a Saturday and we can talk a little.”