a hundred times. He hammered and drilled and swore and dropped screws in the wet sand and climbed down to find them.
He didn’t complain once.
Halfway through, a gust ripped one of the porch railings loose. The old one on the corner, by the steps, where the wood had gotten soft. It swung out and banged against the post.
“I’ll get some lumber Monday,” Cullen shouted over the wind. “I can fix that.”
“You know how?”
He looked at me through the rain, water running down his face.
“Dad
