By morning, I had estimated purchase costs, transportation expenses, maintenance requirements, and rental revenue.
I showed the numbers to Hoy.
He read them carefully.
Then looked at me.
“You want me to borrow money for a fancy restroom?”
I smiled.
“One used trailer. Two stalls. Proper plumbing. Air-conditioning.”
He glanced toward the figures.
“Thirty-eight thousand dollars?”
I nodded.
“There’s one available near Kansas City.”
He leaned back.
For a moment, he stared at the ceiling.
Then asked.
“How many weekends would we need to book it?”
I showed him the calculation.
“Enough to cover the financing and operating costs within a reasonable period. Weddings alone could keep it busy during summer.”
He studied the notebook again.
Then smiled slightly.
“Your dad said school was always hard for you.”
I shrugged.
“Some of it was.”
Hoy tapped the figures.
“But this part isn’t.”
I smiled.
“No.”
He closed the notebook.
Then said.
“Let’s talk to the bank.”
We bought the first trailer.
Booked it for nineteen weekends during its initial season.
Weddings.
Community gatherings.
Outdoor parties.
A church homecoming.
A car show.
By the next spring, we bought a second.
Then another.
The business began changing.
We hired additional workers.
Added routes.
Improved our scheduling system.
And expanded the area we served.
Hoy trusted me with increasingly important decisions.
Marva made sure the books stayed accurate.
And I learned that growing a business didn’t mean simply saying yes to every opportunity.
It meant knowing which opportunities the company could actually fulfill.
During my second year of college, Skyler graduated from high school.
My parents hosted an enormous party.
A white tent covered the backyard.
There were catered meals, flowers, and more guests than we’d ever hosted when I lived there.
Mom rented a restroom trailer through the event company.
The event company subcontracted the work to us.
When Marva handed me the schedule, I recognized the address.
My childhood home.
For a moment, I stared.
Then Marva asked.
“Want me to send Junior?”
Junior Teague was one of our new employees.
Patient.
Careful.
Excellent at maneuvering trailers through narrow spaces.
I considered the question.
Then shook my head.
“No. I’ll take it.”
I drove the truck into my parents’ driveway early Saturday morning.
Dad came out carrying coffee.
He stopped when he saw the company name.
Then he saw me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said.
“Your mother ordered through the tent company.”
I nodded.
“That’s right.”
He looked toward the trailer.
Then asked.
“How did you get this job?”
I smiled faintly.
“The tent company calls us. We’re one of the few local providers.”
He didn’t answer.
I parked the trailer, leveled it, connected the necessary services, and checked everything carefully.
Skyler appeared on the porch wearing a sundress.
She looked surprised.
“Reed? You deliver these?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“That’s funny.”
I looked toward the trailer.
“It’s air-conditioned. The bathrooms are nicer than the ones upstairs.”
She smiled briefly.
Then glanced toward Dad.
Her smile disappeared.
Mom came outside a few minutes later.
She looked at the trailer.
Then toward the street.
“Could you move it farther back? I don’t want people seeing the company name from the road.”
For a moment, I stared.
Then answered.
“It’s positioned where the event company requested it. Moving it would interfere with the setup.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
Then went back inside.
I completed the job.
Returned the following day to collect the trailer.
And sent the invoice through the ordinary business process.
I didn’t receive an invitation to the celebration.
But the equipment worked beautifully.
More than a hundred guests used it without complaint.
That was enough for me.
The company continued growing.
Then we reached a point where we needed substantial financing.
More trailers.