Jack Buckley’s back was fine and that’s all he wanted to hear about it. He didn’t need any ice or lotion, and he certainly didn’t need a massage or any damn rest—even if he had been sneaking a few more painkillers than normal. A former semi-professional boxer who still went to the Golden Gloves, he was used to having cuts and bruises. These days, he remodeled people’s kitchens. He even had a go-to joke that he could make a kitchen but not a sandwich. It killed almost most of the time.
Jack Buckley Jr. had come to work with him about a month, or it could’ve been two, ago. Every time Buckley got to teach Buckley Jr. about different materials used for countertops or how to install a gas stove he would beam with pride. Not many fathers got to pass down a career to their sons anymore. Not many at all.
Besides all that, it was just good that Buckley Jr. was finally working. It had certainly taken him long enough. Then, with the twins off to college in a year or so…it would be nice if Buckley Jr. could pay his own way.
That summer had been brutal. A humid heat smothered him whenever he went outside. Working inside, or what was at least partially inside, was no relief. That’s how he’d hurt his damn back—moving a fridge into place too quickly. He’d just wanted to get home to his wife or the bar with friends—anywhere away from the heat and the humidity—and this is what he got.
Now, he was struggling to get any work done below waist height. It really was a good thing that Buckley Jr. was working with him, so he could make him do all the flooring under the guise of education. Buckley could just mutter what was right or wrong, and everything would be fine.
Still, it’s not like he was doing nothing. Project management was an important role to play. Part of project management is knowing when you need to step in and carry your own weight. That’s why, while Buckley Jr. was on the ground trying to install vinyl floors, Buckley found himself carrying granite for the countertops. It was heavier than he’d remembered it being and just the first trip had him sweating through his old Tom Petty t-shirt. Halfway through the second trip, he’d decided the only practical way to get the job done was by swearing at himself, the granite, and in general.
On the third trip, he lifted the granite wrong. Howling as he reached for his back, Buckley thought this might just be it and he couldn’t help himself. Just as Buckley Jr. got to the doorway to check on his father, Buckley broke down, crying. He might have tried to hide a few of his tears, but not all of them. Buckley Jr. hesitated before asking if his dad was alright.
“Get back in there. We better not fall behind because of you,” Buckley shouted through the tears.
Buckley Jr. didn’t say anything else and headed back for the kitchen. It probably wasn’t worth bringing up again. Meanwhile, outside, Buckley couldn’t find his painkillers.
Moonbow Magazine 