Respect. It had only taken twenty-five years, but he’d finally earned a portion of the precious commodity he’d been starving for his entire life. All because he had a talent for staying alive.
Every time he finished a successful detonation, the men he worked with slapped him on the back and commended his bravery. He soaked up every ounce of their acceptance, like parched earth absorbing a gentle rain. Yet he hid the truth from them, knowing deep down that it wasn’t bravery that allowed him to stay calm under pressure. It was a lack of caring. One didn’t fear death if one had nothing to live for. Not that he wished for his own end. He’d been staving off that old devil too long to succumb without a fight. But sometimes he couldn’t help wishing he had more than a company paycheck waiting for him at the end of each job. Something to give his life meaning. Purpose.
’Course, if he had that, he’d lose his edge in the demolition business. Be thankful for what you got, Shaw, and quit your whinin’.
He turned his attention back to Zach and thumped the kid on the back. “Watch where you step as you clear the area. Those rocks will be unstable.”
Zach rolled his eyes. “Quit actin’ like I never done this before, Mal. I know what I’m doin’.” He pulled away and started trudging up the incline to the blast site.
Mal strode after him. “Hold up, Zach.”
The kid turned, his face petulant. “What?”
Mal halted one step below him on the slope, making their heads equal in height. He lifted a hand, gripped the young man’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “You got a real knack for this business, Zach, but you’re in a hurry, and that scares me. Demolition requires patience. Caution. Vigilance. When you hurry, you lose those things. I tell you to be careful because I want you to remember the importance of going slow, of double-and triple-checking the details. Not because I don’t think you’re capable, but because I want you to become a master at what you do.”
Zach’s jaw dropped, hanging so loose Mal could probably set it to swinging with a tap of his thumb. But then the kid straightened his posture, squared his shoulders, and tightened his unhinged jawbone.
“Does that mean you’ll let me run my own demolition next time we get an assignment?”
Mal stared at the boy. Hard. “You’ve got the training. The skills. If you can show me you’ve got the patience, then, yes, you can run the next demolition.”
Zach let out a whoop loud enough to rival a dynamite blast, and for a moment, Mal thought the kid might try to hug him. Thankfully, Zach gathered his wits in time. Mal didn’t do hugs. A slap on the back was affection enough between comrades. Anything more might make the kid think they were friends. Mal didn’t do friendship, either. Friendship meant caring. It meant letting someone see beneath the surface. He’d only ever let one person see beneath his surface, and it had nearly torn his heart from his chest when he’d been forced to leave. Mal was no genius, but he was smart enough to learn from that mistake.
He liked Zach. But the boy was a colleague. Not a friend. Not a kid brother Mal needed to feel responsible for. Just a trainee.
So why did his chest thrum with satisfaction when the boy vowed to make him proud before setting off at a controlled pace toward the blast zone?
It didn’t mean he cared. He was just glad the hardheaded kid was taking his advice for once. That was all.
Trusting Zach to do the job he’d trained him for, Mal trudged back toward the railroad camp, more than ready to clean off the dust and grime. The aunts would be glad to know at least one of their lessons had stuck.
On that first night in their home, when they’d forced him into a tub of steaming water and refused to let him out until he scrubbed every last crevice, he’d seriously considered making a run for the door. But then the warmth of the water penetrated his half-frozen skin. It relaxed his muscles. Made him feel safe and peaceful. In the end, he’d nearly fallen asleep in that tub.
That night he’d vowed never to be dirty again. Dirty defined his old life. Dirty, unwanted, afraid. Thanks to his angel, he’d escaped his past and been given a chance to plot a new course for his future. And the one he’d plotted included a copper tub large enough to accommodate a full-grown man. Even the camp laundress didn’t have a tub so large. It would take a good thirty minutes to heat enough water to fill it up, but the soak would be worth it. Malachi could practically feel the gentle slosh of the water now. About as close to heaven as a man like him was bound to get.