It looked barren, stripped. Like a victim of some violent act. Pillaged. It had been raining nearly every day, and the driveway was just a rushing river of mud and gravel and debris. For two weeks he and Maury had spent every spare minute working on cleaning up the yard and making the repairs outlined in the notice from the county. Maury had called in a favor from a contractor friend and gotten an industrial-sized Dumpster for the week. It was brimming with refuse now, completely full. It sat in Pop’s desolate yard like a monster with its mouth hanging open. Beal had watched the shop for a few extra hours each day, keeping things going, happy for the additional work. He talked about wanting more hours now that the twins were here. His wife hadn’t been able to get the hang of breast-feeding, and formula was costing them a fortune. It made Kurt feel awful, because as soon as this business with Pop was taken care of, he was actually going to have to cut back Beal’s hours. Kurt was dreading that conversation, but he had no choice; taking over Beal’s hours himself could make the difference between making the new mortgage or not.
