I had done the preparation properly. Two full weekends measuring and mapping before I touched a single shingle. I calculated the slope, counted how many sheets of decking I would need if I found rot beneath the surface, priced every component of the job: underlayment, nails, drip edge, flashing, ridge caps, the works. I called an old contractor I had worked with years ago just to verify current labor rates. He laughed when I told him the square footage of the house.
“Twelve thousand for labor is them getting off easy,” he said.
I remember thinking how grateful my parents would be when I told them that. How relieved and how warm.
Instead, my father whistled low and said, “Well, thank God we have a daughter who knows her way around a ladder.”
My mother clapped once, delighted in the particular way of someone who has just confirmed something they were already counting on. “This is why it pays to have smart children.”
