Marlowe
The homestead neared completion faster than either King or I had anticipated once word spread of Wrench's near-loss, the whole club apparently deciding, without any formal discussion, that celebrating life felt considerably more urgent than it had before his heart attack reminded all of us how quickly things could change.
Grant showed up nearly every weekend now, steady and reliable in a way that had genuinely transformed him over these past months, and I found myself, watching him work alongside King with easy, comfortable camaraderie, hardly recognizing the resentful, cowardly cousin who'd once threatened to expose me out of wounded pride.
"You've changed," I told him one afternoon, taking a break together on the homestead's half-finished porch.
"Had good reason to." He wiped
