by Melinda Minx
“See those two big logs?” I say, pointing down into the arena.
“They gotta race to chop them down?” Jane asks.
“No,” I say. “There’s no time limit on this. Whoever can cut through the log in the fewest swings wins.” I look at Noah. “They have to hit the log as hard as they can, the harder they swing, the fewer swings they need to cut it.”
“What if they tie?” Jane asks.
“Then whoever was fastest wins.”
“You said it wasn’t a race,” Jane says. “You said time didn’t--”
“Okay,” I throw my hands up in the air. “Time matters if there is a tie, then.”
“You could have just said that when I first asked,” Jane says.
I grind my teeth together. She’s annoyed at me for not telling her about Jack. She’s asked me dozens--hundreds--of times over the last few years, but I’ve never told her. I’ve been too damn ashamed of what I did to him to tell her.
I also didn’t want her to know that Aldus is Jack’s half-uncle. I never even wanted to mention that name to Jane again, but now it seems I’ll have to. I’m going to have to tell both Jack and Jane what I did. Maybe they can both forgive me--but even if they can’t--at this point, I’ll just be happy to have it all off my chest.
The announcer starts shouting into the microphone, announcing that Jack the Lumberjack and Guy Livingstone will be competing for the grand prize: $100,000. Second place will get only $25,000.
That’s a big difference, I realize. Twenty-five thousand dollars is nothing to scoff at, but $100,000 would be enough that Jack could afford to stay comfortably in Anchorage for a good amount of time.
I suddenly feel extremely invested in the final event. I want Jack to win, for Noah. For me.
“You think he can win?” Jane asks. “That Guy guy--” she snickers. “Guy looks jacked.”
“You don’t think Jack looks jacked?” I ask, scoffing.
“I mean,” Jane says, “Jack looks very athletic, like an all-around athlete and stuff, but Guy’s arms are huge.”
I look at Guy. He’s got a big gut compared to Jack’s cut six-pack, but his arms are huge. He looks like one of those “strongmen” who tows a semi-truck hooked up to a rope. So strong that they almost look fat. A guy that big going up against Jack on the hard hitting event. Shit.
“How did that fat-ass, big-arm freak get through log rolling and speed climbing?” I ask, feeling pissed off.
“I guess his arms were big enough to compensate for his gut,” Jane says.
“It was a rhetorical question,” I snap back.
Jack and Guy square off. They stare each other down, and finally they shake hands. Jack is taller than Guy by a few inches, and even though Guy’s arms are freakishly large, Jack by no means looks small standing across from him.
“As the reigning champion,” the announcer says, “Guy Livingstone will take the first swing.”
He grabs his axe and hefts it up above his head, everyone around us cheers and claps, but the three of us stay quiet.
Guy saunters up to the log, holds his axe out to choose his mark, and then his big arms cock it back. There’s a pause, and the crowd goes silent. Guy swings the heavy axe as if it was light as a plastic baseball bat. It slams deep into the wood, and splinters of wood go flying high up into the air.
The announcer goes crazy, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, quiet enough that Noah can’t hear me.
“Is my dad gonna win?” Noah asks after the noise dies down.
I had to tell Noah that Jack was his Dad after they met. He’s never had a Dad, so the concept is new to him. He was already intrigued by Jack, but now he’s captivated.
“He hasn’t swung yet,” I say. “But yeah, maybe he’s going to win.”
“Jack the Lumberjack will now take his first swing!” the announcer says, still out of breath from shouting so much. “It will be hard to do better than Guy’s enormous swing.”
Jack holds his axe up, and then he faces me and Noah. He points toward us and nods, grinning.
“He’s pointing at you,” I say, tapping Noah’s arm.
Noah laughs, and Jack walks up to his log. Both logs are carefully selected to be the same weight, size, and thickness. Jack will need to make every single swing count, because if each of Guy’s swings will be as big as his first, then Jack can’t risk falling behind even by an inch.
Jack cocks his axe back and swings. It bites deeply into the wood, but not quite as deep as Guy’s. There’s polite cheering and applause.
I stand up and shout, clapping as loud as I can. Jane follows behind me, and I help Noah up, who does his best to make some noise.
“We gotta keep supporting him,” I say. “If he knows we’re behind him, he can take Guy down.”
“Ouch,” the announcer says. “A very good swing, all things considered, but Jack’s going to have to do better than that if he wants to take this log down in fewer swings than Guy. Let’s see what Guy’s got lined up for his next swing. Remember that even though it’s called ‘Hard Hitting,’ that it’s as much about accuracy as it is about strength. The strongest swing in the world won’t do you any good if you miss.”
Guy takes another massive swing. More wood splinters explode into the air, and his axe sticks deep into the log. From how far away I am, I can’t quite tell, but it looks like he’s maybe a quarter of the way into the log already.
Jack’s next swing is explosive. It blows splinters everywhere, and it cuts even deeper than Guy’s second swing, but it’s not quite enough for him to catch up, as his first swing was that much further behind Guy’s.
“Interesting,” the commentator says. “Jack’s swing was just that much more accurate than Guy’s. He hit into the weakest part of the wood, right where the blade cut in on the first swing. He didn’t swing any harder, just smarter, and that translates into a deeper cut.”
“Maybe he can actually win,” Jane whispers to me.
“Of course he can win!” I snap. “I never doubted it.”
Guy’s next swing hits true. It slices almost halfway into the log.
“Perfect swing,” the announcer says. “He’ll be starting on the other side for his next swing, working into the other side--it gives a lot more leeway with how accurate you have to swing. All he has to do is meet up toward the middle from the other side, and the log will tumble into two pieces.”
Jack swings again, and he hits with such force and accuracy that his axe cuts more than halfway in.
I cheer and shout, expecting the commentator to sing his praises, but instead he says that Jack “overshot,” that he’s made it harder when he switches over to the other side.
Guy stares the log down for a long time, running at least two minutes off the timer as he sizes up the log, inspecting the outer wood. After long deliberation, he finally takes his first massive swing onto the fresh side of his log, and just like his very first swing, the cold metal seems as if it’s melting through the thick wood.
“I hate to call it before it’s over,” the commentator says, “but it looks like Guy has this. Jack’s main advantage is his accuracy, but taking his first swing on the opposite side of the log, the accuracy isn’t so important. He’s simply not going to cut as deep as Guy, and he’ll struggle to keep pace with him from there. Guy could have this log in half in just two more swings.”
Jack approaches the log, and he takes aim--not on the fresh unchopped side, but deep into his existing cut.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, right?” Jane asks.
I shrug. I’m not exactly a lumberjacking expert, but I never saw anyone else cutting straight through like this.
“Unbelievable!” the commentator shouts. “He’s going to cut straight through! Look at that cut, it tapers in like a ‘V,’ there’s zero margin of error here! If he’s even a few inches off, his axe is going to miss the deep point of the ‘V’-shape, and he’ll have basically waste
d an entire swing! But if he hits accurately...ah! This is unbelievable!”
11
Jack
This is all in. Each swing is going to get harder from here. The cut will get deeper and narrower with each swing, and if I miss by even half an inch, it’s over. But I can’t play this one standard. If I switch sides like Guy did, I’ll never catch up to him. This is the only way I can really win. I can’t count on Guy making a mistake, this is the highest level of lumberjacking: you assume your opponent will not mess up, and you do everything in your power to maximize your efficiency.
Guy scoffs at me. He does expect me to mess up. He thinks I’ll miss on this swing, and from there his victory is all but guaranteed.
Fuck that. I’m here to win.
I look up at my son. At Elisabeth. I have to hit true.
I line up my axe, pull it back, and I let over 10 years of lumberjacking instinct guide me. The axe swings into the narrow slit, and it slams into the existing cut with full power. I feel the metal cut many inches, deep through into the log.
It’s almost through.
“The timer has started!” the commentator shouts. “They’re both two swings away now! Jack has done the impossible and caught up to Guy Livingstone without even switching sides! Unbelievable! This might be decided by the timer! Guy is twenty seconds behind Jack, he’ll have to go--”
Guy swings.
His accuracy--again--is off, but his strength makes up for it. He cuts deep in, and just like the commentator said, I can see he’s one swing away. I have to keep my time advantage.
I rush toward the log. Switching to the outside now is worth considering, but it’s a risk. If I work from the outside at this point, I might be able to fell the log in two swings. If instead I get one more good swing from the inside, it’s all but guaranteed.
“Jack has just a 10 second advantage,” the commentator says, “He needs to--”
I swing.
My axe hits true, and I bite deep into it, almost to the outer bark. There’s just enough left to hold the log from breaking in half. I pull my axe out, which flips the timer back to Guy.
Guy’s axe is already in motion, as my edge over him is now a mere five seconds. His axe slams into the wood, and the whole top snaps off and slams into the packed dirt ground below.
“The log is felled!” the commentator shouts. “Jack only has five seconds to--”
I’m already positioned. I’m switched to the outside now. There’s no reason to risk a miss on the inside. All I have to do is hit the outer bark with a good swing.
I take aim, and my muscles go to work. The axe slams into the bark, and the top half topples down.
I look up. The timer reads 1.23 seconds. I won by barely one second.
I won.
I drop my axe, and I look over to Noah and Elisabeth. I fucking won! One hundred thousand dollars!
I didn’t even give myself the luxury of imagining what I’d do with the money if I won. Watching my son clapping for me makes me sure of what I should do. I need to stay here. Elisabeth is shouting and clapping. She lifts Noah up so he can see better. Hell if I know what this woman is to me, but I want to at least give her another chance. I definitely want to spend another night or two with her, even if that’s a terrible idea. Whatever she is to me, whatever I want to do with her, she is the mother of my child.
“Did you have fun?” I ask Noah.
He’s still a bit shy, hiding behind Elisabeth’s leg.
“You want to touch my axe?” I ask, holding it out.
Elisabeth and Jane both look at me like I’m crazy.
I whisper to them, “I’m not going to let him hold it…”
I squat down and grip the wooden handle near the metal, then extend the handle out toward Noah. My hand is between where he’ll touch and the sharp blade. There’s no risk he’ll get hurt.
He peeks out from Elisabeth’s leg, then takes a step closer. He reaches out and touches the handle.
“It’s too heavy for you to hold it,” I say. “But when you get older, I can show you how to use it.”
“On my birthday?” he asks.
“Maybe in 10 birthdays,” Elisabeth says.
“So,” I say, standing up, “I just won more money than I’ve ever had at once. Maybe I can stay here for a while.”
Elisabeth smiles, and I smile back.
Then Jane’s eyes bulge, and she points at me. “You look like Aldus! Not just like Noah...like Aldus!”
My jaw drops open, and I look at Elisabeth, hoping she’ll look just as confused as me. Instead, I see her face turn white, covered in shame.
The ring. She stole that fucking ring. The one thing Aldus never managed to take from me. The one thing he never ripped away from me.
“Aldus sent you,” I say, my voice cold. I don’t want to explode with anger in front of my son.
Jane’s face is red, and tears are streaming down her face. “How could you not tell me?” She asks, staring daggers at Elisabeth.
“Jack,” Elisabeth says, her lower lip quivering. “Jane...I...let me tell you what happened, I was about to--”
I heft up my axe. “I can’t do this now. You owe me an explanation, but I can’t even look at you.”
I turn my back to her. I hear Jane shout, “You had three years. You were never going to tell me, were you?”
I walk away. Noah is going to be confused, but if I stay a moment longer, I risk him seeing me blow up on his mom. I’d never so much as touch her, but it would take a miracle for me to keep my voice down.
Fucking Aldus. I grip the handle of the axe so tight that my knuckles turn white. He’s taken everything from me, and now he has to ruin this, too?
I decide to avoid Elisabeth until I’ve cooled off. She was going to tell me herself, probably soon after Jane blurted it out. I had promised myself I’d do everything I could to forgive her, but I never expected to hear my half-brother’s name come out of her mouth. Even if she had told me first, I doubt I could have handled it too well.
It’s been a week since she dropped that bomb on me, and I got a job out in the woods by a lumber mill. I don’t need the money, but I need to keep my hands busy and my body strong.
I swing my axe into a tree, pretending it’s Aldus.
I could have killed him. I had the chance once. I should have killed him.
And then, while I was fighting for my country in Iraq, Aldus killed our dad.
“I should have fucking killed him,” I whisper.
And what now? Did Elisabeth already tell Aldus that Noah is mine? No, she must not have. That must be why she’s in Alaska in the first place. She’s hiding from him. If she’s hiding from him, she can’t be all bad, can she? I’ve given her the benefit of the doubt twice now, and it’s bitten me on the ass each time.
I hear a twig break, and I turn around to see a woman in a beanie, her hands stuffed into her pockets, approaching me.
I think it might be Elisabeth, but then I realize it’s Jane.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling my axe out of the tree. “You can’t face her either?”
“I did face her,” Jane says. “And I forgive her.”
“You don’t know Aldus like I do, he--”
Jane kicks me in the shin. “Don’t fucking tell me I don’t know him.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Did he...did he hurt Elisabeth?”
“He hurt me,” Jane says, tears streaming down her face. “Elisabeth...she did what she did, she did it to protect me.”
“You didn’t even know?” I ask.
“She never told me,” Jane says, looking down at her feet. “I was naive enough to think that Aldus really just let me go, and that when she said we had to move to Alaska...that she just wanted to get away from everything.”
“You didn’t even know about me?” I ask.
“Aldus never mentioned you,” she says. “He didn’t exactly have family pictures around the house.”
No. He wouldn’t. Not after
destroying his family.
“Why didn’t she tell me about Noah?” I ask, clutching the handle of my axe. “I had a right to know.”
“She was afraid. She’s still afraid. And I am now, too. What if he finds out about Noah?”
“I’ll never let him find out,” I say. “I’ll disappear here, too. After I fucking kill him.”
Jane grabs my arm. “You can’t.”
“I can,” I say. “I should have already, this just confirms it.”
“This is why Elisabeth didn’t tell you,” she says, glaring at me. “Don’t be an idiot. Aldus has a full security team. I don’t care if you are ex-military, you won’t even get near him. Do you want to risk your son’s life over some ego trip?”
“It’s not about my ego,” I say, balling up my fists. “How can I go on knowing that my son isn’t safe? If I kill Aldus, I’ll--”
“You’ll go to jail,” Jane says, “and then Noah won’t have a father again, and he’ll truly have no one to protect him. Elisabeth and I will do what we can, but if you die and tip off Aldus, we’re on our own against him.”
“I need to go see Elisabeth,” I say. “I need to let her know I forgive her.”
“If you’re really thinking about going after Aldus,” Jane says, “then she should be the one considering forgiving you! She had to decide on her own if it was safe to tell you, and from the way you’re talking, I think she was right all along not to tell you.”
I clench my jaw, glaring at Jane. “I can handle him. I have to handle him. It’s my responsibility.”
She scoffs, shakes her head, and turns her back to me. Without turning back around, she shouts, “Don’t go see Elisabeth unless you decide to not be a fucking idiot.”
I slam my axe into the tree, harder than Guy Livingstone. Chunks of wood cut into the cold air as the axe sinks deep into the wood. I clutch the handle of my axe until my veins bulge out of my forearms, and I throw the axe down into the snow.