Chapter 4 - WHY I TOOK THE BLUE TARP
I returned to the roof because my tools were still there and because anger is a poor substitute for a safe shutdown.
I installed synthetic underlayment over the section I had personally opened. I secured the loose shingles that could become airborne. Then I photographed every area with timestamps and wide views showing the condition of the decking.
The section Dad had stripped was larger and more exposed.
Covering it safely required the commercial storm tarp, anchor boards and at least two people. Dad refused to climb the ladder, and I would not ask Mom to assist.
I called Miguel.
He said his emergency crew could arrive before dark for a temporary dry-in, but the service would cost eight hundred dollars.
Dad heard the amount.
“Absolutely not.”
“There’s a severe storm line forecast in three days.”
“You have a tarp.”
“The tarp belongs to my company.”
“Then leave it.”
“I can install it if you sign a work authorization acknowledging the roof condition and responsibility for the additional section you opened.”
Dad laughed.
“I’m not signing anything for my own daughter.”
That answer settled it.
Without written authorization, leaving company equipment installed on a roof I had been prevented from completing could make me appear responsible for the entire project. My insurance agent had warned me about informal family work more than once.
I removed my tool belt, coiled the air hose and packed the nail gun.
Mom followed me onto the porch.
“You’re really going to leave your elderly parents without a roof because your feelings got hurt?”
“You have thirty-one thousand dollars from the insurance company.”
“That is travel money now.”
“No. You decided it was travel money.”
Dad raised his phone again.
“Try not to leave us with a cliffhanger.”
I took down the folded blue tarp and placed it beneath my arm.
His smile vanished.
“Where are you going with that?”
“It belongs to my company.”
“You can’t leave the roof exposed.”
“I gave you Miguel’s number. His crew can dry it in today.”
“We’re not paying him.”
“Then cancel Europe.”
Mom snatched one of the itinerary pages away from the wind.
“You’re being vindictive.”
“No. I’m refusing to become the unpaid contractor whose license makes your insurance story believable.”
Dark clouds were already forming beyond the neighboring houses.
The first heavy raindrop struck Dad’s phone as I loaded my tools.
He shouted after me.
“Audrey, why are you taking the storm tarp?”
May you like
I did not turn around.
Because they were not entitled to my equipment any more than they were entitled to my body.
