I stood in the kitchen doorway with my water bottle in one hand and three days of accumulated heat still radiating off me, and understood all at once that the story about not being able to afford the labor had been performance from the beginning. They had never been choosing between a new roof and a European vacation. They had been choosing to have both, using me as the mechanism that made both possible, and the planning had been underway the whole time I had been measuring slopes and pricing underlayment and calling my old contractor friend to make sure they were not being overcharged.
My free labor was not a sacrifice they were ashamed to ask for. It was a line item in the budget.
Dad looked up and caught me looking at the printouts.
He did not try to redirect my attention or explain. “Your mother found a great rate out of JFK,” he said. “If you know where to look, you can still travel in style.”
