Good Wood (Carved Hearts)

by L. G. Pace III

  “Dude! Sister.” My brother, Mason barked at Joe as his hand came down on his shoulder. “Do not make me go get my nail gun.” Joe chuckled and took a step back, his hands in the air as a sign of surrender. I exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

  “You tell ‘em, Mason.” Some old homeless guy called from his place on the curb. “Kick his smart ass.”

  “Francis, you backstabber! Who’s buying you lunch today?” Joe called light-heartedly to the waifish man.

  “Not you, I guess. You just called it ‘overpriced’. My money’s on her brother.” Francis responded, not missing a beat. I felt a wry smile twist on my lips.

  “Francis, today’s wrap is on the house.” I called over to the ancient vagrant.

  “Well that’s just Wrapgasmic!” Francis responded, theatrically waving his arm in the air. I cackled uproariously.

  Joe turned slowly and watched me as I tried to contain my laughter. The expression he wore was a bit odd, and something about it made me bite back further giggles. He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I wouldn’t do that, little girl. He’s been squatting in the courtyard of this place since before we started the project. He’s like a stray cat. Feed him once and he’s yours.” I opened my mouth to tell him not to call me little girl, but was interrupted when my employee bellowed out the truck window.

  “Molly!” Stacy fixed me with a “get back to work” glare. With a lingering glance at Joe, I climbed back on the truck. As I made my retreat, I heard Mason snap at him.

  “My baby sister... Really, Dude?” Joe chuckled.

  “Mason, chill. You know me better than that: I’m just here for the blonde.”

  MY BRAIN HAD been smashed like an overripe melon. At least, that’s what it felt like. I’d spent another productive evening on dirty 6th, drinking and cruising for tourist tail. Most of the night was a blur, but I could recall some enjoyable moments after we went back to her hotel room.

  Shit. What the hell was her name? Britney? Sheila? Oh, who fucking cares?

  The sunlight shining through the window onto my face was just another fuck you from the universe at large. It turned the pulses of pain in my head from irritating to downright excruciating. Flipping the covers back, I rose and slipped into the bathroom. A quick lather and rinse and I was ready to go. Creeping back into the bedroom, I threw on last night’s clothes. A sexy bare ass peeked at me from under the covers beckoning me like a siren to slip back in for another go-round.

  A year or so back, I might have done just that. But I had learned a few valuable lessons from some of the psycho chicks I have had to deal with. The morning after, you get up, get dressed and get the hell out. Otherwise, they form attachments and start feeling like they have some sort of hold on you. Even with those ground rules some still tried to dig their claws in. Like wanting to go to my place or putting their number in my phone. Like I said…psychos. If I wanted your number, I’d have asked for it. If you’re lucky, I’ll remember your name while we’re screwing. No promises.

  As I pulled my shirt over my head, the toned figure beneath the covers stirred. Shit, so much for making a clean get away. Bloodshot eyes peered at me from beneath a rat’s nest of hair for a moment before recognition dawned.

  “Come back to bed, Joe.” The sultry delivery of her invitation probably served her well most of the time. It just irritated me. Presumptuous much? Some of us have to get to fucking work. Damn tourists.

  “No can do. I gotta go.” I scanned around for my cell phone and found it lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. A quick inventory followed. Better to pause and make sure you have all your gear, Bucko. Women read all sorts of shit into something as simple as coming back for keys. Like you really want to stay so subconsciously you left something behind. Umm...no, I’m just hung over. Thanks.

  She twisted under the blanket giving me what I could only assume was her best seductive look. God damn. How drunk was I last night? Since when did I start sleeping with sixes? Damn beer goggles! My mental inventory done, I rounded the bed and strode for the door giving her a wave as I went, “Nice to meet you, Janice.”

  She froze and then glared at me, “My name is Marcy.”

  I shrugged at her as I opened the door. “Does it matter?”

  Before she could reply, I slipped out and let the door close behind me. I opted to take the stairs despite my pounding head. More than one skanky gremlin had cornered me at an elevator. Besides I was going down, not up.

  I walked the few blocks over to where I had left my truck. Unlocking the dry box in the bed, I pulled a clean shirt, underwear, socks and pants out and lay them on the driver’s seat. Using the open door as cover I quickly changed throwing the dirty clothes in a garbage bag. I tossed the bag into the dry box and locked it before sliding behind the wheel. As I pulled out, some old woman drinking a mimosa on her porch swing lifted her drink in salute and gave me a lewd wink. Or maybe it was a drag queen. It is so hard to tell anymore in Austin. Guess the truck gave me less cover than I thought. I winked back and waved.

  I hit a drive-thru for some strong black coffee and protein. I set the sack on the seat and concentrated on my driving. It was only ten minutes to the job site and only when I had put the truck in park did I feel it was safe to start eating. Just the thought of being in an accident made me almost physically ill these days. The old Joe would have never thought twice about it. The lucky prick.

  It was still early-people were just starting to roll in, so I decided to sit in the truck while I forced down the rest of the second rate coffee. I caught my reflection in the mirror and almost choked on my sandwich. God damn, I look like shit. While I wasn’t paying attention, I turned into the guy I used to make fun of when I was younger. Bouncing from bed to bed, fucking everything with nice tits, and single-handedly keeping the condom companies in business. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent a quiet evening at home, or the last time I felt good-about anything. Well, at least not since the night my world ended.

  Just thinking about it pulled me back in time like a black fucking whirlpool opened up beneath my feet: the crushing weight of the cops holding me down, disinfectant, bright, sterile hospital lights, Tamryn in full lawyer mode berating the officers like she was going to tear them apart with her bare hands, Jessica lying on a gurney, the blood, pain ripping through my chest like glass shattering inside of me. I don’t know who it was that said that time heals all wounds, but they were full of shit. Time dulls your memory. But the pain increases with the guilt of forgetting details that were once so precious to you.

  I’d had total disregard for anyone around me on the way to the hospital that night. It was late. There was no one out on the roads. I looked both ways, but blew through red light after red light. Turning the corner on one street, the ass-end of my truck swung up on the curb demolishing a newspaper machine. By that time, the motorcycle cop was already on my tail. At my hearing later, they showed the dash cam footage from the second cop to join the pursuit. I looked like a madman. Maybe I was. Nothing mattered at that moment except getting to Jessica. No laws. No speed limits. No authority. Having this behavior displayed before me was especially awful, since I was choking on the reality that Jess had wrapped her car around a tree that same night.

  Tamryn is the only reason I’m not sitting in a hole somewhere. She called in favor after favor. She used every trick in the book to get me a suspended sentence and probation. I got a slap on the wrist-driving school. It was the second time she stepped in to save her little brother. The first was that night in the hospital. Those guys were ready to haul me away after they beat the crap out of me. When she was done with them, they impounded my truck and wrote me about twenty tickets. I should be grateful-it could have been a whole lot worse.

  The big cop rang my bell pretty well when he bounced my head off the concrete. Tamryn insisted on having someone look at me in the ER. I only cared about finding out what was happening to Jessica. They took her through these security doors and no amount of pleading, begging, or s
creaming could get me through them. After the scene I made on the roof, the desk nurses were taking no chances with me. Twenty minutes of arguing later, Jessica’s doctor came out to talk to me.

  “Mr. Jensen? I’m Dr. Gonzales.”

  “Please. Call me Joe. How is she, doc?” My hands were shaking and my mouth had gone dry.

  “She’s stable right now but there are...complications. Your wife suffered severe head trauma in the accident. Her brain is swelling and we had to relieve the pressure by drilling a hole in her skull.” I stared at him in shock.

  “In her skull...” The words tasted metallic as I stammered them and Tamryn gripped my arm. Just having her there gave me the strength I needed to ask the next questions. “Is she going to be okay? Is the baby going to be okay?” The look the doctor gave me made my heart drop.

  “It’s touch and go right now, Joe. As I said, your wife is stable but the next twenty four hours will be critical. The baby’s vitals are strong. There is no indication that the baby suffered any trauma during the crash; however, we have to be cautious. Issues can arise hours or even days after an accident. We are monitoring both of them closely.”

  After my discussion with the doctor, I sat in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity. A male nurse took me aside and got me some scrubs and a pair of sandals. People came. People went. Jess’s mom came in, and my parents finally showed up. Everyone was trying to be positive, ignoring the sympathetic looks from behind the nurse’s station. A few hours later, the doctor came back out. I could see on his face that he had bad news. My heart leapt into my throat.

  “Mr. Jensen, your wife’s condition has deteriorated. The swelling in her brain has reached the point where you have to make a decision. We need to operate. There is a good chance that if we remove the top of her skull we can allow the brain to swell and then recede on its own.”

  “Will it save her?” I asked him, putting a shaking hand to my forehead. I slammed an imaginary door on the image of them drilling into Jess. I had to think.

  “At this moment, it is our best option to save her. I do have to advise you that doing this will put the baby at risk, as surgery will put her body under additional strain.”

  “Wait, are you saying it might kill her and the baby?” Jessica’s mother, Sarah had come up while we were talking. My parents stood behind her.

  “That is one of the risks,” Dr. Gonzales stated. “If we do nothing, the swelling will become severe enough to cause permanent brain damage or even death. Alternatively, we could do an emergency C-section and deliver the baby, but that would delay the cranial surgery which is the best option for Jessica.”

  A sharp rap on the window of the truck jolted me back to the present. Blinking away the images of the past I looked up then opened the door and climbed out. Mason nervously stared at me for a moment. I couldn't blame him; calling my moods erratic was like calling Death Valley toasty.

  “Y’alright, Joe? You’ve been sittin’ in the truck for the last five minutes just holding that coffee in front of you. I thought maybe the crabs in your crotch had finally taken control of your brain.” He grinned at me from under the cowboy hat that he wore to hide his growing bald spot. Taking a swig of my now lukewarm coffee, I flipped him the bird.

  “Fuck you too, Mason.” I forcibly kept my voice light. “It was a long night. I’m a little tired.”

  “Yeah, so I heard. Little Bobby saw you leave The Rooster with some tourist who was half way in your pants. I’m telling you bud, one of these days that dick of yours is just gonna fall clean off.” He gave me a good natured slap on the arm.

  “We all have to have our vices. Not all of us are cut out to be family men like you.” Mason grimaced a bit at my reply. I acted like I didn’t notice. We started over to the job site and I saw someone had parked a roach coach nearby. Great, all we need is a mobile diarrhea factory. Laborers spending half the afternoon in porta johns is bad for business.

  When we got to the site, it was still early for the safety meeting. The rest of the guys came rolling in touting a bunch of breakfast burritos they got from the truck outside. Scratch that, the guys will be in the porta johns half the morning as well. Mac Hildebrandt, Mason’s scruffy twin, came over and handed Mason some sort of breakfast wrap. He offered me one and I waved him off. Mac, Mason, and I had been friends forever. We’d met in shop class in junior high and had come up as grunts together in the construction world.

  Apprentices work long hours, get shitty pay and have no social lives. So it was a no-brainer when they asked me if I wanted to split the rent on a crappy flophouse back in the day. We had a lot of good times together in our misspent youth. They were like the brothers I’d always wanted. They were my family when my parents decided my goals weren’t lofty enough to fit into their image.

  Our meeting was typical. We were behind in a few areas which delayed everyone else. Mac and Mason were going on and on to Graham about the food truck. I caught something about Mason doing the paint job on it, so I figured it must belong to a friend. I was way too hung over to listen, I just sipped my coffee and zoned out. The meeting ended and I tossed my now empty cup in the trash.

  The continuous hammering soon drove me to pop a couple Advil. I had to measure a door frame three times before I could start cutting. By the time lunch rolled around, it was clear I was going to need more caffeine based on the way my day was going. Maybe coffee was one thing I could get from the rolling botulism factory without getting sick. I mean, you boil coffee, right?

  “Hey there, Joe. Can you spare a buck today?” Francis was like our very own mascot. We’d been on the job for about a week and his presence had become as predictable as the sunrise.

  “Francis, you need to stop drinking Wild Turkey and eat a cheeseburger.” He looked like the only thing keeping him from blowing away in the autumn wind was his shopping cart he’d clearly ripped off from the parking lot of HEB.

  “A: Look who’s talking. B: Is that an invitation to lunch?” He cracked a crooked grin, displaying yellowing teeth. Poor sorry bastard. I waved a hand at him, beckoning him to follow me toward the obnoxious red truck on the curb.

  A hot piece of ass was working the counter and I could see why the boys were keeping the place so busy. This girl was a solid eight, and she graced me with a dirty smile. Yep. She was a looker. Not like the beer addled lapse in judgment I hooked up with the night before. She twirled her long blonde ponytail and the mannerism instantly reminded me of Jess. As if doused by cold water, I quickly averted my eyes to peruse the menu. 5.99 for the Half Wrap. 7.99 for the ‘Strappin’ Wrap. I couldn’t contain my surprise at the high prices. Someone is a little full of themselves.

  “Hey, handsome. What’re you hungry for?” the blonde purred. She oozed sex all over the counter between us.

  “Nothin’ from this overpriced roach coach.” I shot back. A loud banging resonated from inside the vehicle causing the blonde to jump and grab her sizeable chest. The truck’s door sprang open and a kaleidoscope of color came flying out of the vehicle like a whirling dervish. In my weakened mental state, it took me a second to realize the figure was an apron-clad woman. She tripped and was headed face first toward the ground. I reached out to prevent her from facial disfigurement and was rewarded with a nice handful of rack for my trouble.

  I checked her out on instinct as I placed her on her feet. She was hot, but the full sleeve of tattoos was a bit alternative for my taste. With her dark hair tied back in a red bandana, she looked like a cross between Rosie the Riveter and some pin-up girl my Grandfather might have hung in his garage. She glared up at me, and her cheeks flushed. Pink looked damn good on her, and I started to re-assess my dismissal of her as a conquest. The strangest expression clouded her face and her baby blues softened a bit. Those eyes...I could’ve sworn I’d seen them somewhere before. She wasn’t exactly the kind of girl you’d forget.

  I started to ask her if we’d slept together, and then realized there was no way. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn't
have kicked her out of bed, but it’s doubtful I would have ever approached her. I liked my girls a lot more…a lot more like Jess.

  When my thoughts turned to Jess, I had three ways of coping: drinking, working, and women. Though I knew my court-ordered shrink would disapprove, I turned on the charm full blast. Being a self-aware asshole is only half the battle, after all. Then little food truck-girl announced who she was. Molly Hildebrandt, the kid sister of my two best friends.

  Well doesn’t that just suck?

  My alcohol soaked brain recalled little Molly with perfect clarity. The first time I met her, she couldn’t have been more than fourteen. I’d tagged along to a July 4th cook-out the Hildebrandt’s were throwing at Zilker Park. Though the three of us were only eighteen at the time, Mac, Mason and I swiped some beer from the family coolers. Then we headed off with Molly tagging along to Barton Springs Pool. We had to pour the beer into sports bottles to sneak it in so it was a little flat but what did we care at that age?

  The pool itself measures about three acres in size, and is fed from underground springs with an average temperature of about 70 degrees, perfect for year-round swimming. We were having a kick ass time ogling all the bikini clad beauties laying out in the sun. I was making progress with some French exchange student when little Molly nailed me in the back with an ice cold water balloon.

  Though I knew from his cackling that Mac had put her up to it, I picked her up and tossed her fully clothed into Barton Springs Pool. I expected her to scream, or cry…but she appeared completely un-phased. She just kept giggling…a little pipsqueak, all knobby-kneed with a mouth full of metal. There was a bit of fire in her eyes as she pulled a slimy bit of algae out of here hair and tossed it at me.

  After the twins and I moved in together, Molly was always coming around. She wore thick dark framed glasses, though she constantly took them off. She had a knack for leaving them at our place, near the bar or on the coffee table. She’d had this infectious laugh; it seemed to come from somewhere deep within her like an eruption of pure joy. I used to find ways to set her off, just so I could hear that laugh. On the other side of the coin, she’d had a vicious temper.