Across the apron, Cheryl had three sample arches leaning against the garage, tulle and wire, one string of lights half unwound.

“Pete.

The tulle’s tangled again.” She hitched her shoulder bag up her arm and raised two fingers at me without coming over.

“Thomas.

You look good.”

“Cheryl, does Ray own that lot?”

She turned back to the arch and worked a wire free with two fingers.

“The county man’s coming Wednesday to look at the footings.