The Woodworker

by Westlake, Samantha

But instead, another dozen feet down the trail, his face split into a smile. “The Woodworker. Just like that,” he repeated. “You know what? I kind of like it. It’s simple, says what I am, no need for added frills.”

  “Really?” I smiled back at him, warmed by his acceptance of the suggestion. “Should I make that the name, then?”

  “Yes.” He turned towards me, and for a second, I thought that he might be about to sweep me up in a hug. He took a half-step towards me, but paused, perhaps sensing that it wasn’t the right time. Still, his face clearly told me how he felt, and I could almost imagine his arms around me.

  After another minute, we resumed walking, turning to head back towards the house. I felt the silence stretching between us, a delicate skein. With someone else, I mused, this silence would be awkward, a void calling out to be filled.

  But not so with Rick. I didn’t mind being quiet around him, him also holding his tongue. Both of us just existing beside the other.

  He was a friend, I thought to myself. Aside from Lisa, who I barely got to see these days because she was so busy with her life and motherhood, I didn’t really have any other friends.

  I liked having a friend. Rick might drive me crazy at times, but other times, like now, made it all worth it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eileen

  * * *

  “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

  I looked up as Rick stepped into the room, frowning. “Is this some sort of dirty joke? Because if you want me to close my eyes and open my mouth, I’m going to start biting.”

  “No! Ergh, and don’t talk about biking like that. Makes me shrivel up.”

  “Good,” I snapped, but took a deep breath and smoothed down my ruffled feathers. “Now, what do you have?”

  “No erection any longer, that’s for sure,” he grumbled. He’d come back in from his workshop, but both hands hung empty at his sides.

  “You’re gross,” I sighed, rising up to my feet and putting aside the latest batch of overdue notices whose owners I’d been hunting down. “Look, I’ve got work to do if you just want to talk about your shriveled little dick.”

  “You brought it up, not me.” Rick gestured for me to follow him. “But what I want to show you is upstairs.”

  I followed him upstairs, past his bedroom and down the hallway to mine. “Really doubting this,” I muttered as he pushed open the door to my bedroom. “Have you been sneaking around in my wardrobe?”

  “Why? Anything fun to find in there?” he riposted immediately. He looked back over his shoulder, waggled his eyebrows at me. “Maybe a pair of crotchless panties? A fun little toy or two that you use because you can’t find a real man who can satisfy you?”

  “I’m sure you’d make that list,” I told him. “And no. Don’t go digging through my stuff.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, even though it’s all in my house, in the room you’re renting from me,” he said. “Here, just come in and look, would you?”

  A little tentatively, I entered the room. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I figured it would be some sort of dirty joke, something that Rick found hilarious. Instead, however, I found him sitting on the bed and gesturing towards something on top of my dresser.

  “A carving?” I asked, stepping closer. “One of yours?”

  “Yeah,” he said as I picked it up carefully, tracing the fine lines with my fingers. “Finally finished it, and couldn’t bring myself to sell it. Worked too long and hard on it, so I figured I’d keep it as decoration. Thought you might like something to go in the room.”

  “It’s… gorgeous,” I admitted.

  Rick had carved a male deer – a stag, I remembered – poised in the act of having just been disturbed, head up, one leg lifted as if poised to flee. The statue stood about a foot and a half tall, and it looked amazingly lifelike. Every line of the stag’s body looked perfect, sanded and smoothed to a silky softness beneath my fingertips. He’d stained the wood, darkening it slightly on the stag’s head and back, using even the stain itself to add additional details and contrast to the carved body. I hesitated before touching the antlers – they looked so delicate that I feared they’d snap from the pressure of my finger.

  “Thanks.” To my surprise, Rick sounded a little self-conscious, instead of gloatingly accepting the compliment like he did about other aspects of his life. “I’m really proud of that one.”

  I carefully set the stag back down on my dresser, making sure it was well away from the edge so it wouldn’t topple off and break. “Scoot over,” I told Rick, sitting down next to him on the bed.

  He did so, and I dropped down, making sure to leave a bit of space between us. I had a question on my mind, but I needed a moment to figure out how to frame it.

  “It really is gorgeous,” I repeated. “That’s the level of art that could win competitions, that could really attract a lot of people to your business, make them want to own your artwork.”

  He didn’t say anything, but I felt him stiffen slightly on the bed.

  “You know, I could handle entering it for you, all the paperwork,” I went on.

  This time, he cut in before I could finish. “No,” he said.

  “Why not?” I turned, lifting myself up on one elbow to look at him. “You said you didn’t like competitions before, but you didn’t explain why. And it could really help you!”

  “I said no!” Rick repeated, more harshly. He must have seen my eyes widen, because he sighed and turned his gaze away. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “Look, I’ve pretty much grown used to how Life treats me. I get along fine, as long as I don’t rock the boat. And things are good for me right now. I’ve got a house, a passion that earns me enough to get by.”

  “Barely,” I couldn’t resist throwing in.

  He glared at me. “And when I rock the boat, it makes problems,” he continued. “Like when I speak up at a fair, I end up with a really annoying female roommate.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “But competitions are also just…” he gestured, searching for the right word. “I hate the judging aspect of it. I hate the idea that my art, which I do because it’s what I like and what I feel is right, gets judged by someone else. I can point out flaws in a project, but how can someone else be an impartial judge of something that is, by its very nature, open to interpretation? How can anyone be a truly neutral judge of art, and why should I submit my work to an attempt to measure up to someone else’s preferences?”

  I had to sit there for a minute and let this all sink in. “That’s some speech,” I confessed.

  He shrugged, still looking uncomfortable. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Niall wants me to enter competitions, too, but I turn him down. Just forget about it, okay? It’s not on the table.”

  I spared one last look at the stag. “That’s too bad, it really could help you a whole bunch.”

  He sighed, but didn’t say anything else. For a few minutes, we just lay on the bed, side by side although not touching. I felt like I should say something else, but I also didn’t mind the silence.

  Strange, that. Normally, I hated any extended silence with other people. It was wasted space, wasted time that could be devoted to some more profitable and productive pursuit. Aside from using silence as a negotiating tool in meetings, I tried to avoid it whenever possible.

  But with Rick, it wasn’t so bad. Just laying here on the bed beside him, hearing the soft sound of his breathing at the edge of my hearing… it lulled me into a comfortable daze, like closing my eyes in a comfortable armchair in a beam of the afternoon sun.

  “You’re thinking,” Rick murmured.

  I turned my head to look at him. He appeared all but unconscious, head tilted back on the bedspread, eyes closed, fingers intertwined across his stomach. If he hadn’t spoken, I would have assumed he was asleep.

  “What?”

  “I can hear it,” he said, still not even cracking his eyelids. “There’s a m
illion thoughts buzzing around in that brain of yours.”

  “As opposed to your empty head?” I retorted, but the insult slid off him without leaving any trace of its impact.

  “Is this how you always are? Just wound up, constantly on?”

  We hadn’t talked much – or at all, really – about my past life. I hated thinking of it that way, but I hadn’t been employed, not by a true company, in more than a month. Already, I felt the gap widening between my corporate life and my current life, stretching towards a full chasm.

  “In the corporate world, you need to be constantly on,” I said, letting my head sag back into the covers. I tried closing my eyes, copying Rick, but I couldn’t keep them shut for more than a few seconds before they popped back open. “You’re always searching for new avenues of success or watching for possible weaknesses and flaws.”

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “It’s a rush, when you’re successful.”

  “That doesn’t mean that it’s not exhausting.”

  I stuck my tongue out, knowing he couldn’t see it with his eyes shut. He did have a point, however, and it grew truer the longer I reflected on it. Back when I was still a happily employed worker at Integrated Technologies, I’d taken pride in the exhaustion. I told myself that it was proof that I worked hard, that I put all my effort and energy into my work. It showed my spirit, my determination. I looked at others, who relaxed and didn’t commit every ounce of energy to their work, as lazy.

  “Sometimes it was nice,” I said, still trying to defend myself. “It made me feel like I had a sense of purpose. It’s tougher, being here on my own. I don’t have to answer to a boss, but I need to answer to myself.”

  “That’s deep,” Rick said, deadpan. I laughed and rolled towards him, slugging him in the arm. “Ow. I’m just pointing out the truth, here. You think you would have kept going forever? No breakdown?”

  I opened my mouth, shaping my lips around the word yes, but paused. “Maybe,” I said after a reflective minute. “Or maybe not. I guess I’ll never know, now.”

  “Well, just warn me if you feel things coming apart,” Rick said.

  I looked over at him. “You know, you better be careful. That almost sounded like something nice.”

  “Nope. Just want to be ready for any sort of breakdown craziness. Gotta hide all the breakable wine glasses and such.”

  I tried to punch him in the arm again, but he saw it coming and caught my fist. He squeezed my hand, trapped inside his big fingers, and then released me as he sat up. I almost missed him letting go, almost wished he’d stuck around a little longer, maybe kept his hand on mine.

  “Enjoy the stag,” he said, gesturing to where it still stood proudly on the shelf. “Maybe it’ll help you not go crazy. Look at it as an example of what you can create when you stop being wound crazy tight and just relax.”

  “Rick,” I called after him when he was almost out the door.

  He turned, looked back at me, didn’t say anything.

  “Thank you.” For once, I wasn’t saying it because the little voice inside my head insisted that it was proper. “I really mean it. It’s very nice of you.”

  He didn’t respond for a moment, just stood there. Finally, he gave his head a slight shake, as if he just couldn’t figure me out and wanted to put the whole thing out of his head. “Dinner in a half hour,” he said, leaving the room.

  But before he turned the corner to head down the hall and back downstairs, I saw a small, private little smile on his lips.

  I looked back at the deer, turning over the conversation with Rick in my head. I still wasn’t sure I really understood his reluctance to enter his work in a competition. What if someone else entered for him? Was it the knowledge that others were viewing his work? Or was it something deeper?

  In any case, I still had a lot of work to do, getting his finances in order. If I kept working on him as my project, I had plenty more tasks to cross off. I could practically hear the paperwork calling to me from downstairs, whispering that it wasn’t finished yet, that I’d lose my place if I gave up now.

  But this time, I ignored its siren call. I laid on top of my bed, gazing at the elegant carving through half-closed eyes. This, I realized suddenly, was very nice. Just laying here, looking sleepily at a gift a handsome man had given me, and knowing that he was downstairs, cooking dinner.

  In this moment, I wasn’t alone. I didn’t feel that same loneliness I’d felt ever since my house burned down, ever since I lost my job. I had my friendship with Lisa, I had contacts in my phone – but I also had Rick, a strong and supportive presence. He didn’t need to say anything, but I would bet that, if I vanished from his life, he’d miss me.

  I’d miss him too.

  With that, I let my eyes droop all the way shut. A little nap before dinner wouldn’t hurt. Not at all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rick

  * * *

  I brushed the sawdust off my hands as I stepped out of my workshop, into the kitchen. I’d started a new piece this morning, and although I’d begun without much of an image in mind, I could already feel the wood starting to take shape beneath my hands. I could sense the sculpture that would emerge, waiting impatiently for me to bring it to life.

  Dimly, I heard the sound of the front doorbell ring through the house, but I was distracted by the banana I’d picked up from the counter. Eileen was working in the living room, right near the front door, I thought to myself as I snapped off the top of the peel. She could answer the door. As far as she knew, I was still in the garage, hadn’t even heard the bell.

  I took a bite of banana, pleased with my logic – until I heard a voice that made every muscle stiffen, a chill shooting down my back.

  “Coo-ee! Hello there, love? And who are you?”

  My feet were moving beneath me even before my thoughts could coalesce into anything beyond generalized horror. Her! What was she doing here, just dropping by unannounced? And what sort of hell would she create now that she’d spotted a woman at my place?

  I skidded along the polished hardwood of the hallway, sliding past the living room and coming around the corner to the front door. I saw Eileen standing there, one hand holding the door open. The other woman, the one who’d called out, still stood on the doorstep.

  This could maybe still be salvaged. If I slammed the door shut, if Suzanne was on one of her ‘spirit journeys’ and had indulged in some illicit substances before coming over here…

  Eileen turned at the sound of my approach. “Rick, do you know this woman?” she asked, stepping aside to give me a better view.

  “Know me?” the woman in question giggled, smiling up at me through waves of her graying hair that half-covered her face. “Of course little Richie knows me!”

  I saw Eileen’s eyebrows climb at the nickname, but I couldn’t worry about that. If all that came out of this disaster is that she started calling me “Richie,” I’d be thrilled. “Suzanne,” I began, “what are you doing here-“

  “Oh, none of this formal name nonsense!” she trumpeted, sweeping past Eileen to throw her arms around my chest. “I know you want to look all tough and detached in front of this very nice woman, but my little boy can always call me Mommy!”

  Inside my pants, I felt myself shrivel and tighten in embarrassment. I couldn’t bear to even look up at Eileen’s face, but I still felt the brightness of her smug grin.

  “Mommy,” she repeated, and I felt her eyes move between us. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced.”

  “Of course we haven’t – you’d remember, if we had!” Suzanne let go of me, turning to instead reach out and pull Eileen into a hug in my place. “But I’m certain that we’re going to get along wonderfully, my dear!”

  Briefly, I saw a hint of consternation appear on Eileen’s face as she wavered between standing still or hugging the shorter woman back. Suzanne often had this sort of effect on strangers she met; they never knew if they should respond in kind to her
outpouring of affection. After a moment, she let her hands land on Suzanne’s narrow shoulders, patting like she was comforting a distant relation who’d just suffered a loss.

  “And you’re ‘little Richie’s’ mother?” Eileen asked.

  Suzanne released her python-like grip on my tenant, switching to instead grasp Eileen’s wrists. “That I am,” she said, looking up at Eileen’s face. “And now, my dear, who are you?”

  Eileen snuck a quick glance over at me, and I just shrugged. I hated when my mother decided to drop by my house, especially without any invitation, but I’d long ago learned that I couldn’t stop her tidal wave once it began. The only thing I could do was try to intervene and shift the brunt of her curious, probing questions in one direction or another, keep a few scant details of my life private.

  “I’m Eileen Davies,” Eileen said. I saw her right hand twitch, as if being offered out for a handshake. Suzanne’s grip on her wrists, however, kept her from making the gesture.

  “Eileen,” Suzanne repeated, drawing out the name as if tasting it. “And how do you know Richie?” She turned to look up at me. “Have you been hiding this lovely woman from your own mother?”

  I caught Eileen’s lips twitching. “There’s nothing going on between us,” she said quickly, before I could form a sentence. “I’m renting Richie’s second bedroom from him.”

  “It’s Rick,” I said, interrupting hopefully before this stupid diminutive nickname could gain any more traction. “And Eileen’s just…” I paused, searching for the right word. Friend? Acquaintance? Business partner?

  “Just staying while I get my feet under me,” Eileen finished my sentence for me. “I’ve had a spell of bad luck, and Rick was nice enough to offer me a spare bedroom for a few weeks until everything returns to normal.”

  I knew that Eileen’s words weren’t directed towards me, but a part of me wasn’t thrilled with this reminder that, at some point, she’d be leaving. Still, that could wait to be unpacked until later.

  “That sounds very nice of Richie,” Suzanne said, although her eyes, flitting between the two of us, suggested that she had a different thought that she wasn’t speaking. “And you two aren’t…”