16
Hammer Time
Hattie stood in front of the downstairs bathroom wall, a sledgehammer resting on her shoulder, waiting for direction from Mo.
“Okay, now look at Trae, offer him the sledgehammer, then take a step back.”
“Hold on,” Trae protested. The cameraman glanced over at Mo, who motioned for him to stop filming.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Trae said. “I’m a designer, not a construction worker. Nobody’s going to believe I’d ever actually wield a sledgehammer.”
“Then make a joke about that,” Mo said sharply. “It’s called banter, for God’s sake. Deliver the line, hit the wall, and let’s move on.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve only got another hour of daylight, and I need that wall down so Hattie’s people can get started with the insulation and wallboard.”
“The point is, me pretending to use a sledgehammer makes me look ludicrous,” Trae said. “And I’m tired of being the punch line to your lame jokes.” He yanked off the Kavanaugh & Son hardhat he’d been wearing and threw it aside, nearly hitting the gaffer with it. “Screw it. I’m done for today.” He stalked out of the kitchen, scattering the small knot of crew members who’d been standing around, waiting for the actual action to begin.
Hattie rolled her eyes. “Hey, Mo? This sledgehammer ain’t getting any lighter here.”
Mo turned back to her. “Go ahead and give it a whack. Pretend it’s Trae’s skull.” He pointed at the cameraman. “Okay, let’s roll.”
Hattie swung the sledgehammer, slamming it into the wall with all the pent-up frustration of a day spent sitting around waiting for something to happen, sending plaster and lathe flying.
She glanced at Mo, who silently signaled her to repeat. She did, relishing the sound of splintering wood.
When she finally lowered the sledgehammer, she’d managed to take out a roughly four-foot-square patch of wall. With her gloved hands, she pried away more of the lathe.
“Oh crap,” she muttered, poking a finger in one of the exposed wall studs. The wood crumbled into dust, like stale cake. “This isn’t good.” She pulled away more of the plaster and lathe and pointed. “Termites.”
Mo motioned for the cameraman to zoom in for a closer shot.
“Now explain why this is such bad news,” he told Hattie.
She pulled a screwdriver from her toolbelt and stuck it into the damaged stud. “This two-by-four is like Swiss cheese. There’s a high probability that the rest of the studs are in the same condition.” She pointed toward the point where the wall met the ceiling line. “See how it sags like that? I was hoping maybe this was just a matter of an old house settling, but that was me being optimistic. We’ll have to reframe this whole exterior wall. And because it’s termite damage, we’ll have to tear up at least part of the floor here, because it could mean that we have foundation issues, too.”
She glanced over at Mo, who was signaling for her to finish her explanation.
Hattie’s shoulders sagged as she looked directly into the camera.
“We run into these kinds of problems all the time on the coast here in Georgia. Heat and humidity are like a playground for termites. In an old house like this one, that hasn’t been lived in or maintained in years, once your structural integrity has been compromised, you’re screwed.” She made a sweeping gesture at the wall behind her. “Let’s just hope the ceiling joists are still intact. Because if not…” Her voice trailed off.
Mo signaled for her to continue.
“We didn’t have the luxury of inspecting this old house before we bought it. The place had been condemned. So we’re kind of flying blind here. We might have foundation issues. We might have a problem with the ceiling beams. Our budget for the project, all in, is $150,000, but if we have to pour a new foundation and reframe this whole back wall, as well as the ceiling, that could put us tens of thousands of dollars in the hole. And we won’t really know the extent of any of that until we tear down these walls and get a peek at what’s behind them.”
She picked up the sledgehammer and slammed it into the wall again. “Hammer time.”
* * *
“Hey, Hattie, take a look at this.” Cass held out a small blue billfold. The leather was faded and stiffened with age.
Hattie was sitting on the back porch, sipping from a bottle of cold water, while the camera crew was repositioning to shoot the next sequence. Mo sat nearby, reading his email.