Instead, I said, “How much?”
That was how the trouble started.
We bought three forty-foot containers from a salvage yard outside Louisville. Faded red, dull blue, and one white container stained with rust streaks like old tears. None of them matched. All of them were ugly. Together, according to Wyatt, they were “the bones of something nobody around here had seen before.”
A tower home.
Three containers stacked vertical on a reinforced concrete pad cut into the slope. Bottom floor for kitchen and living room. Middle floor for bedrooms and bath. Top floor—Addie’s favorite from the first sketch—for a glassed-in lookout room with windows facing the valley.
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