Good Wood (Carved Hearts)

by L. G. Pace III

  The first time she’d showed up at our place wearing makeup, Mac told her she looked like she should be trolling the parking lot at a truck stop. She threw an entire Slurpee in his face. I’ll admit, I laughed my ass off. Though Molly had always been sweet as a peach to me, she’d didn’t take shit from Mason or Mac. And the older she got the more rebellious she became.

  The Hildebrandts were like my surrogate family. Mac and Mason’s parents had taken me under their wing right from the very first Thanksgiving we lived together. Betty-their mother-heard that I planned to eat Burger King alone in our shitty apartment and threw a complete conniption fit. She insisted I join them for their family dinner. I politely declined, but she refused to take no for an answer. The Hildebrandts owned a popular barbeque restaurant in Austin, and though Chet Hildebrandt was the pit master, Miss Betty was head cook at home and wasn’t about to let my pathetic ass starve. Her mission to feed me hadn’t waned over the years, though we’d grown kind of distant since I got engaged to Jess and started to integrate into her family. To this day, Betty sent several casseroles a month over with one of the twins. Even now, I had a couple of her dishes in my freezer at home. Her cooking was still as comforting as an electric blanket, and I inhale it on the rare nights I decide to stay in.

  Betty once mentioned that her daughter was an ‘oops’ pregnancy, and the Hildebrandts were a bit old to be having kids when she came along. Mr. Hildebrandt spent most nights at the restaurant, so corralling Molly fell to Betty. In high school, Molly regularly gave her mom fits. On several occasions, she’d snuck out her second story window, and I’d had to drive her half-drunk brothers around town searching for her.

  One time, I forcibly removed a baseball bat from Mason’s grip when we found her carousing on 6th Street with some shady characters that were considerably older than her. Once we got her in the car, the boys proceeded to ream her a new one and the fight got so bad that I had to drop the twins off and drive her home myself. Molly tried to flirt with me and make light of her little pub crawl, and she just about jumped from the moving car when I called her ‘jailbait. That’s about the time she stopped coming around.

  A couple years later, I heard she bloodied Mac’s nose for calling her prom date ‘a punk’. Little Molly might have once resembled a future librarian, but she’d always had twice as much attitude as both of her brothers combined.

  That same attitude radiated off of her in the shade of her food truck. I had to admit that the smells emanating from the truck made my mouth water, but so did Molly Hildebrandt. The way her dark hair contrasted her fair skin reminded me of Snow White. Those curves of hers were downright dangerous, and the body art and her sultry eyes were far from Disney Princess material. She bit my head off for criticizing her mobile restaurant and loving that fire in those eyes of hers, I couldn’t stop myself from razzing her about the silver hoop in her nose. When she shot back that “other piercings hurt worse”, my eyes roamed her tiny white t-shirt for the tell-tale bulge of nipple rings. Distracted by her creamy cleavage, I mumbled something lecherous just before Mason appeared to save me from breaking the “Bro Code”.

  I was turning back to work when she cracked up at Francis’s reaction to her offer of a free lunch. Her laugh washed over me leaving a strange twinge in my chest. For the rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes of hers and hit my thumb with a hammer for the first time in years. Twice.

  Between my night with Miss Six, running into Little Molly and my zombie-like reflection, I had decided it was time for a change. So for the next three weeks, I kept my distance from the local bars. What little judgment I had left was faltering, and I placed myself on house arrest. I watched a little TV, lifted weights, and tried to read. Tamryn called me twice to invite me out to the ranch for Sunday Brunch, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. Sometimes being in all that wide open space with her kids was therapeutic. More often, it was like salt water in an angry wound.

  Each day I went to the jobsite early. Work had always given me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, whether that bed was mine or somebody else’s. Every single day, that red Wrapgasmic truck stood between me and the tasks that needed to be done. Each time I passed by, the stacked blonde ringmaster at the window would call out to me. “Hey, Joe! Aren’t you gonna come try our flavor of the day?”

  I’d just wave and shake my head. Between the girl with hair like Jess’s and The Tattooed Blue-eyed Lady, I figured that keeping my distance was for my own good. It seemed like I was the only one not eating at the truck. Graham, my foreman, constantly raved about the food. I’d known him for years, and he’d taught me most of what I know. Graham had become like a father to me. The father I always wished I’d had, and the only person in my work life I tried to curb my attitude with. He had a strong religious streak, and I’d often had to bite my tongue when he counseled me on healing. I wasn’t ready to heal. I had no desire to heal.

  Graham’s love for Molly’s food made me smile, though. He’d often said the only thing his wife could make was reservations. Based on the success of Hildebrandt's BBQ and Betty’s home cooking, Molly’s culinary abilities weren’t much of a surprise. Even so, I steered clear of the truck. It got to be a running joke. I heard from the plumbers that Molly had named a wrap after me. “The Cranky Carpenter”, for short the crew called it “The Joe”.

  One day, I was eating my lunch outside on the lawn of the hotel. It wouldn’t be long before the rain became a daily issue and Texas’s version of winter set in. I’d wanted to soak up as many of the rays as I could to tide me through the cold months. The longer the nights got the worse my mood became. And the days were growing shorter. I could feel it in my bones like an old sports injury acting up. Our resident benchwarmer, Francis came up and plopped down beside me. He was gobbling down his daily free lunch from Wrapgasmic.

  “Are you going to be their poster-boy, Fran?” I asked.

  “Maybe.” He lifted a waifish arm and flexed it. “I should probably get to training for it.” As I bit into my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he shook his uncombed mop and frowned.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you allergic to pretty girls and good cooking?”

  I’d had no answer, so I shrugged and kept chewing my mediocre lunch. I found myself telling the story to my shrink when he asked me about work. Work was all I could usually talk about with Dr. Greene. He was my third court appointed shrink. In the first three months of my mandatory therapy, I’d had two others who both cut me loose for lack of participation. The first time I met Dr. William Greene, I knew he was different. He made a casual attempt at small talk and when I shut him down, he proceeded to balance his checkbook while I waited for my hour to be up. That was roughly a year ago, and I’d been with him ever since.

  At this particular appointment, Dr. Greene asked me why I was so hell bent against trying the food all of my coworkers were raving about. I told him I wasn’t sure and kicked my feet up on his desk. He sighed as always, and I stared at the clock until the long hand was on the hour. I’d moved beyond being bitter about our sessions to completely apathetic. He was better off thinking I was crazy like everyone else did versus having me shoot my mouth off and confirm it.

  The following morning, Graham sent me off to the foyer of the hotel for the day. My project was sanding down the banister and stairs which I’d determined were salvageable. It was a relief to be working alone. Or so I thought.

  The lack of necessary small talk left me bored and soon I was hopelessly examining Dr. Greene’s question. I knew I was guilty of avoiding certain restaurants and even certain routes in Austin because the memories of Jess and I were too pungent to face. Hell, I hadn’t been to Amy’s Ice Cream since that night and it’d been one of my favorite places to grab a cone. I avoided my parents, but we’d been doing that dance since I chose not to go to law school like an obedient son. I avoided the ranch Tamryn shared with her “urban cowboy” husband and their two little girls because when I saw their happy family I h
ated myself for my ugly thoughts. I owed Tamryn every stinkin’ thing I still had left in my life, and she deserved a far better brother than I’d been to her.

  But none of that had anything to do with the food truck. It was Molly I was avoiding. When I came to this realization, I was shocked. Until she showed up at the jobsite, I hadn’t even seen her in years. So why was I avoiding her?

  Because she reminds you of who you used to be.

  It didn’t surprise me that it was Jess’s polite voice that echoed this truth in my head. It pissed me off, but didn’t surprise me; because Jessica had always been the level one, my voice of reason. She’d always reined me in and talked me down when I was ready to throw caution to the wind. I felt my pulse climbing as the all too familiar anger built inside me.

  Anger had become an issue in my life. My patience had worn paper thin and it had caused me nothing but problems. Bar fights had become almost cliché for me and the local PD was so tired of seeing my face that I had been in real danger of going away for a long time. Yet again, Tamz had held me back from the brink and pled for clemency. So began my weekly play date with Dr. Greene. Thinking did nothing to help my anger; so, I threw myself into my work.

  I picked up the pace, sanding more aggressively until sweat dripped off of me. I worked at that level until my cell phone alerted me that it was time for lunch. As I stopped to silence the alarm, my shoulder and back muscles cried out in joy.

  Fuck that noise. I like who I used to be. I’m trying one of those stupid wraps today. Putting my tools away, I headed out front. Francis saw me coming and set up a ruckus getting everyone’s attention.

  “I told you her food is magical! Behold! The Cranky Carpenter approaches!” This got him a few laughs from the guys standing nearby. I flipped him off and joined the line that was halfway down the block. When I finally got up to the window, the blonde gave me a devilish grin.

  “Hey there, Joe. Coffee, tea or me?” There was a derisive snort from back inside the truck. I gave her a lazy smile and motioned at the menu.

  “So what’s in my name sake wrap there, beautiful?” Her smile slipped for just a second and then she batted her eyelashes at me. Hangover free, I could now see that she looked nothing at all like Jess, and I wondered why I’d ever thought so. The only thing they seemed to have in common was the hair color.

  “It’s one of our most popular items. Corned beef, sauerkraut, spicy mustard with a pepper jack cheese sauce.” I had to admit, it sounded good.

  “Give me two of the Cranky Carpenters then. The Strappin’ Wrap size,” I slid over a twenty. “And something cold to drink, please.” The blonde’s head looked in danger of splitting in two from smiling so hard. She called back the order and I heard a guy’s voice mumble something, but there was so much noise I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  Here’s hoping I don’t get two wraps with extra spit in them. Or worse. Molly brought my wraps up to the window and the blonde stepped smoothly aside. Molly’s long hair hung in a ponytail over her shoulder and her black shirt featured a skull and crossbones pulled tight across her chest. The way it hugged her curves made me salivate more than the food she presented to me. And that’s saying something.

  “So what happened to your one man boycott of my ‘overpriced roach coach’?” She delivered the quip in a taunting way, but her eyes showed me something else. Pain? Insecurity? I realized I’d hurt her feelings and I was floored that I actually felt shitty about it. What the hell? Since when do I feel anything? I paused for a moment as I gathered myself and then shrugged.

  “Graham speaks pretty highly of your truck. I trust his good judgment.” Her eyes widened for a second before she slapped the two wraps down and whirled away. The blonde reappeared handing me my change and a bottle of water. I went over to sit with Graham who gave me a wry smile and nodded to my food.

  “One of those is enough to kill me. I hope you don’t get sick eating two.” I laughed and tore into the first wrap. The corned beef was perfect: juicy and tender with just enough heat to bring the flavors alive. The mustard was the good stuff and gave the sandwich bite while the sauerkraut was also worlds above anything I had ever had. But what tied the whole thing together was the cheese sauce. I’d underestimated Molly. It wasn’t a roach coach she was operating. It was a crack wagon. If everything she made tasted like this, the crew would soon be too fat to function.

  When I was done, I sat back and drank the bottle of water slowly. It was cold which was welcome in the heat, but I didn’t want to drink it too fast. A full stomach and an ice cold drink could spell problems. Leaning back on a pallet of tiles, I watched the line file past the window of the food truck. Occasionally, Molly would flit to the window and personally hand something out. Once in a while, one of the guys would crack a joke and I’d get to hear that laugh of hers. Like a great scotch, it’d only improved with age. I found myself sitting there longer than I ever would have before, just watching for her. Who knows how long I would have sat there if Graham hadn’t drug me back inside.

  “I can’t believe you ate two of those. Too much of a good thing can be just as bad for you as too little. Come on let’s get back to work.” I stood up and walked back toward the hotel with him. At the doorway, I looked back and Molly was at the window handing a Strappin’ Wrap to Francis. Her glance slid to me and her smile faltered.

  Those eyes.

  I really wanted to know what was going on behind that stare of hers. My heart rate increased just looking at her. Turning back to Graham, I tried to shove the weirdness out of my head and get back to work. Sometimes good hard manual labor can get you through anything.

  MY OBNOXIOUS ALARM squawked at me from my phone on the bedside table.

  “Dammit! It’s Saturday.” I groaned at my stupidity for setting it in the first place and rolled over to silence it. Seeing the date large as life on my screen, I flopped onto my back and buried my face in my pillow. It was my wedding anniversary. Or I should say it used to be.

  There was no sleeping after that rude awakening. As I trudged to the restroom to brush my teeth, I couldn’t help but reflect back on my quickie Vegas wedding. I’d barely known Draven for two months when he popped the question on a sunset cruise. We’d been nearly inseparable since the night we met. I’d been in my first job as sous chef when he slithered into the trendy night spot where I worked. He’d brought some clients in to seal a deal. Our executive chef was out sick, which left me in charge of the kitchen and I was trying out a couple of new dishes. It wasn’t the safest career move, but I thought better to ask forgiveness than beg permission. Drae loved my food and sweet talked the manager into meeting me. Sparks flew before either of us spoke a single word. We had mountains of chemistry, no doubt about it. Lust at first sight.

  It wasn’t surprising that he’d wanted to elope. His family lived on the East Coast and mine were all in Texas. So three years ago, I’d impulsively boarded a private jet and joined the mile high club. A few hours and a rented dress later and I became Mrs. Draven Cirone.

  After a few pictures with “Elvis”, we’d returned to Mandalay Bay to consummate our union. Sex was what we were always best at. A quick shower later and Draven set off for his business meeting. I was bored, so I wandered down to the casino floor and stumbled upon a tattoo shop. My wedding day seemed like an excellent excuse for my fourth tattoo. Draven always said the dolphins and the dove on my back were ‘cute’, so I found a pretty verse and had it placed on my left shoulder blade. Then I hurried back to my hotel room to change into the sexy red lingerie he’d given me as a wedding present.

  When I got back to the hotel room, he was already there waiting. I could tell he was angry before he’d uttered a word. He was smoking and pacing the room. I asked him if he’d had a rough meeting and he demanded to know where I’d been. Smiling to relieve his concerns, I showed him my oozing tattoo.

  “That’d better be Henna.” He snapped, scratching his finger across it. I screeched in surprise and pain and winced away from h
im. Flicking his cigarette across the room onto the carpet, he stormed out the door. I raced to stomp out the cigarette before it burned the place down, and then I just stood there…catching my breath and clutching at my throbbing back. Trying to decide what to do…where to go…whether to stay or figure out how to get an annulment.

  I was wide awake in bed when Draven resurfaced hours later with a dozen long stemmed red roses. I was facing the window when I felt him crawl into bed.

  “Molly. I’m so sorry, Doll.” I tensed when he gently touched my arm. He pressed himself against me, brushing my hair aside as he whispered into my ear. “I fucking hate myself for hurting you. Please forgive me. I really thought it was fake. You’re so beautiful; I don’t understand why you want to destroy your perfect skin with these things.” He gently kissed my aching shoulder very near the fresh ink. “I love you more than anything. I was just all jitters from the wedding and you know how jealous I get. When I came back and found you gone, I lost it. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

  I rolled over to face him, wincing, but desperate to see it in his eyes. I needed to witness his regret. I wanted to see that he was sorry. Desperation and remorse were blatant in his eyes.

  “I closed the deal, Molly. It’s a multi-million dollar acquisition. Let me take you to Picasso to celebrate.”

  I allowed him to take my hand and lead me to the bathroom where he took his time, cleaning and dressing my tattoo. He picked out a cocktail dress for me to wear. Thirty minutes later he was showing me off to his associates in full view of the Eiffel Tower and the fountains at Bellagio. He never stopped touching me, stroking me reassuringly, even as we ate. My glass was continuously topped off with Cabernet Sauvignon until I could no longer feel anything, let alone my healing shoulder.