The House that Love Built

Fourteen




Hunter handed his grandma half of what he’d made this week so she could get her medicines and some food. She’d been up and about more the past couple of days, and she seemed to not be coughing so much.

“Why’s your boss man taking you to a baseball game? Them tickets cost an arm an’ a leg. Ain’t like you been working for him very long.” Grandma groaned as she got off the couch and started toward the kitchen. Hunter followed.

“I dunno. He asked me if I’d ever been to a game in Houston, and I told him no. Then he asked me if I wanted to go.” Hunter glanced down at his green T-shirt, blue jeans with a hole in the knee, and tennis shoes and hoped Owen wouldn’t be embarrassed. Getting some new clothes was first on his list this weekend. He was hoping Jenny could drive to Smithville tomorrow night like they’d talked about. But so far, any plans they’d tried to make hadn’t worked out. Jenny’s car was on the blink a lot, and her parents didn’t want her going by herself to meet a guy she’d only talked to on the Internet.

“Well, I reckon he’s done you right so far, giving you a job and all for fair wages.” Grandma pulled a soda from the refrigerator, and Hunter swallowed hard. He’d only told her that he was making seven dollars an hour. Three empty vodka bottles on the counter was one of the reasons.

“I’m going now. I told him I’d walk over there.” Hunter waited for her to take a swig of Coke and wondered what it would be like if she hugged him good-bye. His family didn’t do that, but sometimes he thought it would be nice.

“You embarrassed about our home?” Grandma leaned against the counter in her robe and crossed her ankles.

“No.” It was another lie. No way he wanted Owen Saunders to see this place. “I gotta go.”

“Be quiet when you come in this evening,” she yelled from the kitchen as Hunter made his way through the living room, sidestepping a stack of dirty towels on the floor and several pairs of his grandma’s shoes.

By the time he got to Owen’s house, he was dripping in sweat. He was sure there wasn’t a place in the world as hot as Texas. He ran his short sleeve against his face, then pushed his hair back. Now that he had some money, he was planning to get a haircut too.

“You should have let me pick you up.” Owen met him at the car. It was a black BMW with 552 horsepower, super-high performance. I bet this baby flies. He’d never been in anything like it.

“It’s no big deal.” Owen opened the passenger door, and it was as nice inside as it was outside. Black leather, digital dashboard, and it didn’t smell anything like the old Chevy his grandma used to drive before she got sick and sold it. He was buckling his seat belt when Owen turned the key. Nothing but a clicking noise. He tried to start the car about six more times before he slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

“I just had this car fixed!” He leaned his head back against the headrest, and Hunter waited for him to start cursing or something, but he just took a deep breath and got out of the car. “I’m going to assume there aren’t any taxi services near Smithville.”

Hunter had never been in a cab, but he doubted it. “Aren’t you gonna look under the hood? Maybe it’s something we can fix real easy.”

Owen made this weird sound. Not really like a laugh, more of a snort. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about cars.” He paused, shook his head. “Actually, I don’t know anything about cars.”

Hunter had been tinkering and fixing things for as long as he could remember. They never had money to take things to repair shops. He was doing brakes on his grandma’s car by the time he was eleven, and he’d overhauled the motor a couple of years ago.

“I can look if you want. Might just be a loose battery cable or something like that.” Hunter walked to the front of the car and started looking for a hood release.

“Hood release is in the car.” Owen opened the door and reached in, and the hood popped up. Hunter couldn’t believe how cool this engine was. He hoped he could find everything.

It took him a minute to figure out that the battery was actually in the trunk. That freaked him out at first—when he didn’t see it under the hood. Then he remembered he’d seen something on TV about that. He had Owen pop the trunk and even checked the little diagrams in the manual. After that it was pretty easy to locate the battery cables and the generator belt. Sweat was running down his face, but he sure did want to go to that baseball game. He smiled when he saw the cable to the back of the generator hanging loose. He knew then that the generator wasn’t charging the battery. He snapped it into place.

“Go give it a try now,” he said to Owen, his head still under the hood. Owen got in the car, but the motor wouldn’t turn over, just kept clicking. “We need jumper cables to help boost the battery.”

Owen climbed out of the car and slammed the door. “I’ve got jumper cables, but who is going to jump—” He stopped and pointed a few houses down. “Do you know that man in the front yard?”

Hunter squinted to see. “Yeah. That’s Bart Murphy.”

“I’ll go see if he’ll give us a jump.” Owen took off jogging in that direction and returned a couple of minutes later riding alongside Mr. Murphy in his Ford Explorer.

Once Hunter had the cables connected, Owen hurried into the driver’s seat, and the car started on the first crank. Hunter avoided Mr. Murphy’s stare as he handed the jumper cables back to him. Hunter was sure Mr. Murphy was wondering what Owen was doing with someone like Hunter. He slammed the hood and got in on the passenger side. Owen thanked Mr. Murphy, got in the car, then turned to Hunter and smiled as they both buckled up.

“Wow. You know your cars. Thank goodness you got it fixed. I just had it in the shop.”

“They just didn’t tighten a cable, that’s all. No big deal.” Hunter shrugged, glad to be on the road and away from Mr. Murphy’s peering eyes.

“It’s a big deal if you don’t know anything about cars.” Owen shifted the gears, and once they were on the freeway, he really opened it up.

“How fast does this car go?” Hunter watched Owen passing the cars around them.

“Fast enough,” Owen answered as he switched lanes. “You can drive it home if you want.”

Hunter jerked his head toward Owen and blinked a couple of times. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” He turned to face Hunter. “You do have a driver’s license, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He’d taken driver’s ed in school before he dropped out. It was the only class he’d ever really wanted to pass. But he’d only had his license a week before Grandma sold her car so she’d have money for doctors and medicines.

“You know how to drive a standard?” Owen flipped through stations on the radio.

“Yeah. My grandma’s car was a standard.”

“What does she drive?”

Hunter looked out the window. “Nothing now. She had to sell it when she got sick. We don’t have a car now.”

“So it’s just you and your grandma?” Owen whipped around another car, and Hunter wasn’t sure what he was more excited about—the baseball game or getting to drive this car back home.

“Yeah. Just the two of us.” Hunter didn’t really want to talk about his messed-up life.

“What’s wrong with your grandma?”

He shifted in his seat. He didn’t like to talk about Grandma being sick either. “She’s got some kind of cancer, some rare kind, but I can’t ever remember the name of it.” He paused as he recalled something his grandmother had said once. “She said God struck her down with the cancer because she’d lived such a bad life.”

“I don’t think that’s how God works. Lots of people who have lived very good lives get cancer.”

Hunter shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I believe in God.”



Owen came close to saying, “Neither do I,” but he knew that wasn’t true. He believed in God. He just didn’t have anything to say to Him. And he found it disturbing to hear a kid Hunter’s age say that he didn’t believe at all.

“Oh, there is a God.” Owen glanced at Hunter.

Hunter was quiet for a while before he spoke up. “You a churchgoer?”

Owen pushed the knob to turn up the air conditioner. “I used to be.”

“I ain’t never been to church.”

Owen pressed hard on the brakes as he edged too close to a car in front of him. He turned to Hunter. “Never? Really?”

Hunter shook his head. “My folks aren’t much for it.” He paused, shifting his weight beneath the seat belt. “And Grandma don’t go either.”

Owen had grown up in the church. He’d even had a pretty strong faith—until recently. But shouldn’t everyone have an opportunity to know about God before they decide whether or not to dismiss Him?

There was probably more to be said about a relationship with the Lord, but Owen wasn’t sure he was the one to say it. So he changed the subject to cars. And Hunter talked more on that subject than he had since Owen met him, rattling on about engines, horsepower, and things Owen didn’t know about, but it was nice to see the kid excited about something.

“Is that Minute Maid Park?” Hunter pointed to his left.

Owen nodded as he took the next exit and smiled at the excitement etched across Hunter’s face, as if Hunter were a young boy untarnished by life—not a teenage hoodlum with crackhead parents.



If Hunter could have handpicked a father, it would have been someone just like Owen. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would hit you or make you feel worthless. He drove a fancy car, had a big house, and must have tons of money. Owen Saunders was the luckiest man on earth, and Hunter felt lucky just knowing him—and being able to work for him. When Owen asked him if he wanted to get a bite to eat after the game, Hunter was glad the day wasn’t over yet. He wanted to tell Owen that this had been the best day of his life, but he knew that would sound real dumb, so he didn’t.

“I’m glad the Astros won,” Owen said as they got in the car. “Although I thought they were going to blow it in that last inning.”

Hunter closed the door. “Yeah, that was a great catch.” He paused, looked out the window, and could feel his face reddening. “Uh, thanks for taking me.”

“Sure. You’re welcome. Where do you want to eat?”

Hunter thought about the best meal he’d ever had. When he was thirteen, Brooke and Travis Holloway had taken him out to eat with them and their kids. They’d gone to a real fancy seafood restaurant called Pappadeaux. That was back when he was mowing yards for money, and he’d just finished mowing their yard when Mrs. Holloway came out and asked him if he wanted to go to Houston with them. He’d showered, had a great meal, and gone shopping with them. They’d bought him a shirt. Hunter cringed and tried not to think about the Holloways—and what he’d done to Mrs. Holloway a few years later. He didn’t want to ever go back to that restaurant. Or think about the Holloways. He even avoided walking by their hardware store.

“It don’t matter. Whatever you want to eat is okay with me.”

Owen pulled into a Mexican restaurant, and Hunter had the best enchiladas ever. They talked about all sorts of stuff. Owen was an only child, like Hunter, but other than that they didn’t have much in common. Owen had gone to a big fancy college, owned his own business, and already been married and divorced. He didn’t want to talk about that part too much, but Hunter figured that Owen wasn’t over it yet.

The best part of the day for Hunter was when they left the restaurant and Owen handed him the keys. Hunter felt like an upscale type of person behind the wheel of the BMW. Owen made some phone calls and didn’t even seem worried about Hunter wrecking his car.

When they stopped to get gas, they were already in Smithville, so Hunter gave Owen the keys back. “Thanks, man. Great car.”

“You’re welcome.” Owen finished pumping the gas, then got in the driver’s seat. “Where’s your house? I’ll just drop you off.”

Crud. “Just go on to your house. I can walk from there.”

Owen frowned. “Don’t be silly. It can’t be too far from mine. Where do I turn?” He slowed down on Main Street.

“Two streets up, turn left. Then you go down for about six blocks, over the railroad tracks.”

Hunter stared out the passenger window and wondered what Owen was going to think when he pulled up to their run-down house with an old oven on the front porch, a busted rocker, and several days’ worth of piled-up black bags full of trash. The trash people had stopped coming since they hadn’t paid the bills. Then the neighbor’s dog had gotten into the bags. It was a real mess, and Hunter was going to have to clean it up. Should have cleaned it up before now.

“Hope you had a good time,” Owen said as he pulled up to Hunter’s house.

But Hunter didn’t face Owen, didn’t see his reaction to Hunter’s house or hear anything else the man said. All Hunter saw was the beat-up red Chevy pickup in the driveway. His heart sank, and he suddenly felt like he might vomit.



Hunter walked in the front door and into a cloud of smoke. It wasn’t even close to dark, but he had to blink his eyes a few times to adjust to the dim lighting and see his parents sitting there.

“Hey, Hunter. I hear you been out partying with the rich folk. Good for you.” Hunter’s mother was dressed in the last outfit he’d seen her in when they left for the rehab facility—jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of red spike heels. She’d put on some weight, though. He didn’t remember her stomach hanging over her jeans like that. Her blond hair had really dark roots for several inches down the sides of her head.

“Hey, Mom.” Is that pot I smell? He waved his hand in front of his face, then focused on his father. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, boy. Good to see you.” His father stood up and walked toward Hunter with his hand outstretched. Hunter shook his father’s hand and wondered if his parents were home for good.

Mom crossed her legs and grinned. “So, Momma tells us that you got yourself a real good job.”

Hunter nodded. Grandma was propped up on pillows on the couch, still in her pink robe. His parents were in the recliners. No other place to sit. “Yeah, painting and stuff.”

“I hope you’re taking care of things around here, like keeping the electricity on and food on the table.” Mom lit a cigarette, although Hunter was now sure that wasn’t all they’d been smoking. The sweet smell still lingered in the air. His chest tightened up, and it felt like someone had their hands around his throat.

His father chimed in, “After we leave, I don’t want to hear you ain’t been using that money to take care of your grandma.”

Music to his ears. They were leaving. When?

“We got us a weekend pass,” Mom said before chuckling. “For good behavior.”

Hunter struggled to breathe—from the smoke and what he now knew to be an anxiety attack.

“You having another one of them attacks?” Grandma edged herself up on the couch until she was almost sitting. She looked at his mother. “I told him to take some of my Xanax, but he just chooses to be miserable instead. Hope you’re not having those on the job, Hunter.”

He shook his head, which made him feel like the room was spinning.

“Good grief. What in the world do you have to feel anxious about?” His mother actually laughed, and Hunter wished she’d have this feeling—just once—to know what it feels like to think you’re going to die. Then maybe she wouldn’t be laughing.

“Go on in your room, Hunter.” Grandma walked toward him and put an arm around him, which almost made the anxiety attack worth it. “Lay down and take some deep breaths. You know it will go away.” They were almost in his room when she whispered, “Remember, you’re not going to die. Everything is all right.”

Hunter nodded, thankful for his grandmother. In spite of everything, she really did love him.

After she closed his bedroom door, he lay down on the bed and tried to think about the day. About Owen, the baseball game, the great meal. But the sound of his parents laughing in the next room was making that nearly impossible. At least he only had to make it through the weekend.

He turned his face away from the sounds in the living room but then sat up quickly, knocked himself in the forehead with his palm, and held his breath. His dresser drawer was open a little. He hurried across the small room and pulled the drawer all the way open. He reached to the back and felt around for the envelope with one hand while he clicked his lamp on with the other.

Tears built up in his eyes.

Gone. All the money he’d made this past week, less what he’d given his grandma. Twenty dollars in his pocket was all that was left.

He burst out of his bedroom door, head throbbing, heart racing, palms sweating. His father stood up before Hunter could even say anything. Dad puffed out his chest as Hunter walked toward him. “You got a problem, Hunter?”

Something about the way Dad said his name made Hunter real sure that he’d take him out back and beat the snot out of him if he accused anyone in the room of stealing his money. Grandma didn’t allow no beatings in the house, and a few times she’d even cried and begged Hunter’s father to stop hitting him.

He walked out the front door and slammed it behind him.