With the dogs and his iPod for company, he set to work building the wood frame that would cap in the stone arch leading from The Lobby to the entrance hallway. He didn’t do as much fine carpentry or cabinetmaking as his brothers, but enjoyed it when he did. And for the moment, he liked having the shop to himself. He remembered his father teaching him how to use the saws, the lathe, the planer. Thomas Montgomery had been patient, but expected precision. No point in doing something if you’re going to do it half-assed. A motto to live by, Beckett thought now. God, his dad would’ve loved this project. Everything about it would have appealed to him, challenged him. He’d loved the town, the old buildings, its rhythm, its colors and tones. Its politics. He could sit at the counter at Crawford’s over bacon, eggs, and hash browns and bullshit with the best of them.
