by Olivia Dade
If he left, they both wanted to make the rupture easier. Less sudden. Although he suspected they might only be dragging out the agony instead.
Sam looked thoughtful. “What would you even do if you stayed here? Do you have enough money to live on?”
“It’s not a lot, but I have some savings. I earn money from reruns. And I started writing a book about my travels.” His shoulders shifted in discomfort at the admission. “If the writing didn’t pan out, I could see about becoming a contractor. I also wondered whether I should get a functional prosthetic, one that would give me more options for carpentry work.”
“Would you enjoy that?”
Miles shrugged. “Maybe. Probably?”
“What about your show? Is that something you’d like to do again?”
Jesus, he didn’t have a good answer for any of these questions. “I used to love it. And if the network is telling me the truth, they aren’t going to hide my injury, but they’re not going to exploit it either. They’re going to help me do as much as I can on the show by modifying my tools and giving me an assistant.”
Sam’s brown gaze turned shrewd. “That all sounds good. So what’s the catch?”
“I’ve always had a good relationship with the people in charge, but ratings are king. Appeasing curiosity-seekers and flogging my disability for the sake of so-called inspiration would probably bring in more viewers. Which means HATV will most likely try it at some point.” He clenched and relaxed his hand in his glove, watching the motion instead of the man beside him. “And I’m afraid to find out for sure what I can and can’t do anymore.”
“Understandably.” Sam didn’t sound either judgmental or surprised.
“But it’s the thought of leaving Mary behind that really kills me. What do I do?”
At this point, Miles would take direction from anyone. Follow any sign indicating the right path. Consult a Ouija board or Magic 8 Ball, as necessary.
“No idea. I’m sorry, dude.” Sam gave him a consoling thump on the back. “Maybe this is one of those times when there isn’t a right or wrong answer. Just different, equally good options.”
Not to be self-pitying, but…“Or equally terrible.”
“Fair enough.”
Miles waited, hoping Sam might offer other words of wisdom, but his teammate remained silent.
“Thanks for listening,” Miles finally said. “I guess we should get going. They’ve been waiting on us for a while.”
“No problem.” Sam stood. “If you need to talk, just give me a call. How soon do you have to make a decision?”
This time, Miles rose too. “Soon. Too soon.”
“Want to grab dinner with us tonight?”
“Why not?”
After all, it wasn’t as if he and Mary had better plans. Just a long evening ahead of them, full of grief, worry, and love. Love that might not be enough to save their future together.
* * *
When Miles and Mary got home late that night, neither one of them seemed to know what to say. Desperate to fill the silence, he reached for the TV remote. Mary didn’t protest.
They both settled on the loveseat, close to each other but not touching. And while flipping through the channels, he noticed that HATV was running another marathon of The Naked Carpenter. God help him.
Unlike all the other times he’d seen the show on his channel guide, he didn’t keep flipping. Instead, he selected the program and allowed it to fill his screen. After all, if he couldn’t stand to be reminded of the way it—and he—used to be, how could he consider going back?
Beside him on the couch, Mary turned tense. “Are you okay with this, sweetie?”
“Yeah.” There was no point in avoidance. Not now.
And then, as soon as the commercial ended, there he was. There it was. His arm. Real. Tangible. Made of flesh and blood, not simply memory and stymied nerve endings.
Before the accident, he’d considered watching his own program to be the height of narcissism. So he hadn’t done it, not unless someone else insisted. But now it was like watching a documentary, historical footage from a time long past. Evidence of a previous, more innocent civilization.
Christ, that guy on the screen looked happy.
Pre-Accident Miles swung around the job site like a damn monkey, every gesture easy and assured as he sweated in the heat of a Virginia summer. His arms moved in tandem, working together to hammer nails, saw boards, and climb the building-in-progress. His legs provided power and stability. And his abs…damn. Post-Accident Miles—AKA Post-Pizza Miles—envied that washboard stomach.
The man on TV did everything with gusto, not a trace of fear on his features. And he seemed to love chatting with everyone on set, even dragging some of his crew into the shot on occasion.
No, he hadn’t just seemed to love it. He had loved it. Full stop.
The memories came flooding back, as clear as day. He’d helped in the reconstruction of a colonial coffeehouse that episode, and he’d pranced around the set wearing breeches almost the entire week. Partly because he’d lost a bet with the sound guy, and partly because he’d thought it would be funny. And it was. Especially when the costumed locals had informed him he needed to go commando for complete historical accuracy, since the long tails of a shirt served as eighteenth-century male underwear.
The faux colonists had tittered amongst themselves, certain they’d embarrassed him. But he’d merely raised an eyebrow and said, “I’m the Naked Carpenter, ladies and gentlemen. Your wish is my command.” And then, when he’d begun unbuttoning his breeches, they’d turned red and run off.
His camerawoman had laughed so hard, the shot wasn’t steady. But they’d kept the scene, convinced that viewers would respond to it. And they had. Oh, they had. He couldn’t even count the number of memes people had created of him shirtless and unbuttoning his breeches. His favorite, posted by the historic site’s Twitter account: “I don’t always wear breeches. But when I do, my hammer goes full colonial.”
He snickered at the memory. And then paused the program, stunned by his reaction.
It wasn’t painful.
Watching his show didn’t hurt him. It inspired him.
Mary laid a hand on his arm. “Miles?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking.”
Worry creasing her forehead, she kept her hand in place. He welcomed the warm weight, but for once, her touch didn’t derail his thoughts. Instead, he kept considering what he’d seen moments ago.
His ease of movement and facility with tools had constituted an important part of the show. After all, the network had put the word “carpenter” in the title for a reason. But his ability to use a hammer or a lathe…that wasn’t the true appeal of The Naked Carpenter. Not at all.
At its heart, the show was really about his interaction with locals, his exploration of the regions he visited, his relationship with his crew, and his ability to explain building techniques and architectural choices. His humor. His enthusiasm. His love for his job.
The show was about him. Not just his arm. Him.
So whatever he could still accomplish with his remaining arm would be enough. And he certainly planned to get a prosthesis to help him maximize his capabilities, as well as a series of appointments with a good occupational therapist.
Who knew what he could do if he actually tried?
When had he become the sort of man who shied away from a challenge?
“Excuse me for a minute.” He kissed Mary’s cheek and rose from the couch.
She looked up at him, her face drawn in concern.
Within a half dozen strides, he arrived at the hall closet. He opened the door, bent down, and dragged a familiar box out of its dusty hiding place. And then, for the first time in months, he voluntarily opened that box and picked up one of his tools. His favorite hammer, the one that swung light and true and nestled perfectly in his grip.
It still did. It hadn’t changed.
&nb
sp; Neither had he. Not where it counted. He simply hadn’t been able to see that truth through all of his anger and grief. And yes, he’d need a body-powered prosthesis to grip a nail. Or he’d need to invest in a magnetic hammer.
But he wasn’t losing his kingdom for want of a nail. No fucking way.
He’d destroyed his arm, not himself. And it was time to stop hiding and reclaim the man who’d charged through life with optimism and self-confidence. Sure, that man could use a heftier dose of common sense, but Miles figured he had a pretty obvious reminder of the consequences of foolish decisions close at hand.
He snorted. One hand. Literally.
God, he missed making his crew groan with his stupid puns. And now he had a whole new arena of them to explore, which was very handy. Ha ha.
He needed to go back to work. As soon as possible.
Still, he hesitated before reaching for his cell phone and calling Teddy. Leaving for California would mean leaving Mary behind. And he wanted her by his side so, so badly. Wanted her gentle warmth and sweet smile, her soft skin and electric response to his touch. Wanted her love. Lord above, he wanted her love. Even the minor estrangement between them the last two days had left him empty and exhausted, lonely in a way he hadn’t experienced for months.
How would it feel if he moved across the country? Could he even survive it?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But if he remained in Nice County, he’d only be offering her part of a man. The scared part, the part that didn’t take chances or have faith in himself and the world.
She deserved better. He deserved better.
When he glanced back into the living room, Mary was still sitting there. Still watching him. But her face had changed. She didn’t appear worried anymore.
Maybe her eyes were wet, but she was trying to smile. And she looked…proud. Of him?
“Go on.” Her voice was choked. “Go on, make the call. It’s okay.”
She knew he was leaving. Soon.
“I love you. More than you know.” What else could he say?
She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “I love you too, Miles.”
He could only hope she changed her mind before he got on a plane. Because after months of hiding, he was going to bask in the sunshine again. He was going home. And he wanted to do it with Mary by his side.
“Take your time,” she whispered. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
She walked to the kitchen, her shoulders stiff. And he ached to go after her, ached to hold her and tease her until she smiled again. But with his decision, he’d effectively ended their relationship. Unless she reconsidered a move to California, they were over.
She wouldn’t welcome his comfort. Not anymore.
A few taps of his shaking finger, and Teddy was on the other end of the line.
“Hey, man.” Miles stared at the kitchen doorway, where Mary had disappeared moments ago. Desperate for the sight of her, even though he hadn’t even left yet. “You can tell HATV to count me in. I’ll be there by their deadline. But I have a few demands of my own.”
22
According to an airline app that tracked flights, Miles was halfway across the country by now, his plane no doubt at cruising altitude as he winged toward LA.
It was for the best. She’d known it already, but seeing his expression as he watched his show—seeing the optimism, the self-confidence, the fight almost visibly pour back into him—had made his only possible choice abundantly clear. When he’d hefted that hammer and swung it through the air, it had become part of his arm. A natural extension of his power and skill and energy.
He’d looked complete and content. At peace, for the first time since she’d met him.
Despite her dislike of confrontation, she’d have battled to keep him by her side. Argued and yelled and maybe even played dirty—if she’d thought his best chances of happiness rested with her. That a life with her would allow him to shine his brightest.
But they didn’t. It wouldn’t. So she hadn’t fought for him to stay. She’d let him go.
She admired him for leaving despite his doubts and fears. She was proud of him for trusting his abilities. And she was a little proud of herself, too. His strength was his own, but maybe she’d helped him find it a little sooner than he would have alone.
HATV was airing another rerun marathon of The Naked Carpenter. Someone in charge obviously wanted to celebrate his return—still a secret for now—in a subtle way. She’d kept it on her TV all day, using the sight of Miles, the sound of his voice, to comfort herself, even though she also found it torturous.
In the current episode, he’d traveled to Switzerland. The Alps, to be exact. On her screen, he was walking way too close to the edge of a cliff and talking about the architecture of Swiss chalets, his arms swooping and his hands punching the air as he made various points. His face beaming. His every gesture relaying total ease.
Had she ever been like that? Had she ever tromped through her world with such confidence, heedless of any risks and convinced of her own capabilities?
On impulse, without letting herself think too hard about what she was doing, she called her mother. Who better, after all, to talk to her about the girl she’d been?
They spoke on the phone several times each day, so she didn’t bother with formulaic greetings. “Hey, Mom. Listen, I was wondering something.”
“Okay,” Tricia said, completely unfazed. “What’s up?”
“Was I…” Mary hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Was I always like this?”
Her mom sounded confused. “Like what?”
Oh, jeez. Describing her personality didn’t come easily. Usually she tried her best to think about others, rather than herself. “Quiet. Um, not so fond of taking risks.”
To her shock, her mother answered without hesitation. Almost as if she’d been waiting for that question for a long, long time.
“No.” The word was clear. Spoken with conviction. “No, baby. You weren’t.”
A twinge of defensiveness drew Mary’s brows together. “I was a shy kid. It took me days to raise my hand in class each new school year.”
“You were a little shy, yes. But you weren’t quiet. As soon as you got comfortable, you talked everyone’s ears off.” Her mom laughed. “Don’t you remember all those report cards? Your teachers kept complaining that once you started speaking in class, you wouldn’t stop.”
Oh. Oh, yeah. She’d forgotten about that.
“And you had plans. Oh, my goodness, you had such big plans. You’d read a book about the Sydney Opera House, and next thing we knew, you’d be researching a trip to Australia. Plotting out your dream itinerary and listing all the sights you wanted to see.”
The memory was coming back to her. “You always told me we’d have to save a few years for that kind of trip.”
“And you said not to worry. You’d get there yourself, when you were older.” Tricia laughed. “The next week, you’d be planning a trip to New York City, to see all your favorite Broadway shows. San Francisco, to see the Golden Gate Bridge. Or Paris, to see the Louvre.”
Deep in her heart, those places still called to her. But she’d thought she had a realistic view of her future. A quiet existence in a small town. A life spent reading and watching movies about other people’s adventures—and their inevitable, tear-soaked conclusions—rather than having her own.
Her mom’s voice turned solemn. “And nothing was going to stop you from going to LA after graduation. God help anyone who got in your way, because you were determined, girl.”
The ache in Tricia’s voice stung Mary, and she had to ask. Had to know.
“Are you…” She swallowed hard. “Are you disappointed in me, Mom?”
“Because you haven’t gone to all those places?” Her mom made a scoffing sound. “Of course not. You were a sweet, smart girl who grew up to be a warm, kind, responsible adult. You contribute to our community, just like your father
and I taught you, and you try your best to do the right thing. I’ve always been proud of you. I’ll always be proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Mary whispered, and dabbed at her eyes.
“But sometimes I wonder if you’ve hobbled yourself, baby. Clipped your feathers when you should be flying.” The love, the honesty, in her mother’s words slayed her. “I worry you might be happier somewhere else, much as I love having you here. And I pray every night that you’ll find the right path forward. Your father does too.”
Mary couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. “M-Miles left this morning. He wanted me to come with him, and I said I couldn’t.”
“He went back to LA?”
To her humiliation, a muffled sob escaped her.
Tricia shushed her. “No, baby. Please don’t cry.”
“I m-miss him so much already.” Through her tears, she let out a miserable little laugh. “And he’s only been gone six hours.”
“Oh, Mary.” Her mother sighed. “Why don’t you come over this afternoon? We’ll bake brownies, watch something really depressing, and cry together.”
“All right.” She blew her nose. “Give me an hour or so, and I’ll be there.”
“Love you, baby. Drive carefully, okay?”
“I will. Love you too.”
Mary hung up and stared at her apartment through bleary eyes. She’d need a shower before going to see her parents. Maybe a quick snack. And she should probably clean up the piles of soggy tissues that had accumulated everywhere she’d sat.
Just as she was dumping the last handful of used tissues into the trash can near her computer, she heard the ding of a new e-mail. But it wouldn’t be from Miles, so who cared?
Then she noticed the sender. Why in the world had her mother sent her a message, instead of calling or waiting to talk to her in person?
If you don’t remember how you used to be, here’s a reminder. See you soon, baby.
Love, Mommy
There was a link to the local news station’s website. She clicked on it, and the video started playing.