Good Wood (Carved Hearts)

by L. G. Pace III

  I’ll admit this newlywed bliss wasn’t my first sign that our marriage was a bad idea, but it was one of the shiniest. Draven had such a dynamic presence that he’d blazed into my life like a comet and swept me off my feet along with him.

  I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, hoping the bad taste of Draven would vanish down the drain along with it.

  I bought into all of his bullshit, but in my defense, Drae is a conman of epic proportions. His apologies were so arduous that at first it seemed unthinkable that they weren’t heartfelt. He was a constant contradiction. He loved to throw his money around, but was remarkably cheap about the oddest things. He’d been a master manipulator, and his presence in my life made my family situation worse than ever. Though they’d only met him once, the twins both despised him. The feeling was mutual. When things got bad between us, Draven referred to them as backwater hicks. I slapped him across the face for that one. He responded by smashing our bedroom mirror and leaving home for three days.

  The past aside, I couldn’t blame Draven for my current state of affairs. Like a pathetic doormat, I’d willingly surrendered every bit of myself to make a bad situation work. When things failed anyway, I’d found the good sense to amputate him from my life like a gangrenous limb. The personal cost had set me all the way back to square one, but it seemed like a fitting penance for rushing into my marriage and ignoring my instincts.

  Noting the dark circles under my eyes, I tossed on my robe and padded into the kitchen. We’d made so much money at the hotel jobsite, that I’d hired a second part-time crew to help me on weekends down on Sixth Street. I knew I couldn’t keep the pace up forever, but I was close to saving enough profits for a down payment on a second truck and then I wouldn’t have to.

  While my Keurig brewed me my first cup of family-tolerater, I whipped up the batter for my signature pink champagne cake. It was Mom’s favorite flavor and some major ass kissing was in order. I owed her big-time. Not only for having been an all-around shitty daughter, but more recently for allowing me to crash in her guest room until I could find an apartment.

  For a family that got together regularly, being the kid that came back once in a blue moon made you stand out as the pariah. But with school, working, and my fledgling marriage, I had trouble slowing down long enough to visit. I’d come back once with Draven. I wanted my husband to meet my family. That had been an awkward disaster.

  The other times I’d come alone. Dad had picked up the tab for me to attend Le Cordon Bleu, and to thank him I graciously returned for his funeral. I was pretty sure my family would hold a grudge forever about me not spending enough time with Dad before he died. But I know that Dad would have understood. The two things he and I had most in common were a passion for cooking and naked ambition.

  When Mason called to tell me that Dad had had a massive stroke, I hopped on the first available flight back to Texas. The entire way home, I worried that I wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time to tell him I loved him. As it turns out, I was right.

  The scene at the hospital had been an ugly one. Mac and I said some pretty shitty things to each another. Mason usually kept the peace, but he and dad had been very tight and he was too distraught to step in. The fact that Draven had been ‘too booked with meetings’ to come along added napalm to the fire.

  “What’re you doing here?” Mac lashed out the moment he saw me, practically shoving me out of Dad’s room. Mom cried out in alarm and Mason didn’t even look up from his spot in the corner.

  “Fuck you, Mac!” I choked out past a sob. “He was my dad, too.”

  “Oh now he’s your dad. Well, he’s already dead and there’s no secret inheritance, kid. Run along home to your pretty boy husband and leave us hicks alone.”

  “Mac!” Mason’s wife, Robin gasped her eyes wide with shock.

  “You’re an asshole.” I glared at him, my face scalding with shame. My year old marriage was already rocky, and considering how infrequently I’d made it home since leaving for college, I couldn’t muster up much righteous indignation.

  “And you don’t belong here. This time is for family.”

  “You need to stop, Mac. Now.” Robin left her husband’s side to come over to Mac, placing a hand on his shoulder. It seemed Mason had fallen mute, and I have never forgotten how Robin stepped in to defend me. “Let’s go have a cigarette.”

  “He kept asking for you and asking for you. Why’d you even bother, Molly?” His voice cracked on his parting shot, and he seemed to have lost most of his venom, Mason’s wife finally dragged Mac out of the room and I got to have my breakdown over Daddy’s deathbed. Seeing the shriveled husk of my once tough-as-nails father made it impossible to breathe.

  By the time we had to pick out a casket, Mac and I were talking again, which was a good thing because Mom and Mason weren’t functioning. We might be the two family hotheads, but we rally well. He and I had to make all the decisions with the funeral director.

  In the two years since Dad’s death, Mom forged on with the enthusiasm of a Spartan. She sold the restaurant for a healthy profit and threw herself into the grandkids. Mason and Robin’s three youngsters kept her running from soccer tournaments to dance recital. Mason’s busy children made up for the fact that Mac only saw his son every other weekend and that I had no kids at all.

  Thinking about all of that made me feel like crap. I decided to do something to cheer myself up. Always one to multitask, I painted my nails a pretty coral color while the cake cooled. I had no one to impress anymore, but sometimes a little color just makes a girl feel like a lady. I wasn’t ready to date or anything, but I was ready to dote on myself again. Promising myself a professional mani/pedi on my next day off, I texted Stacy telling her that we needed a girl’s day out. All work and no play made me kind of a cranky boss.

  I did a little laundry and finally heard the timer ding. As I dolloped on a thick layer of pink frosting, I glanced at the clock and gasped. I needed to move my ass or I’d be late. Mason’s oldest daughter was turning seven and the whole family was gathering at his place in ‘the burbs’ for a party. I threw on a pale pink shirt, some capris and flip flops. Sick of the bandana look, I tossed my hair in a low swept ponytail and headed out.

  When I pulled up, it was obvious by the number of cars clogging the street that most of the free-loading redneck cousins had shown up. Mac played catch with his son while Mason flipped burgers on the oversized grill near the house. I called to Mac to come help me with the cake so that I could carry my gift. He made a big show of nearly dropping it and I about had a heart attack. Both Mac and his son laughed at me, of course. As we neared the house Mason hung up his cell phone with a surprised expression.

  “You’ll never believe this.” Mason called to Mac. “Joe just called. He’s stopping by later.” Mac blinked in shock.

  “No way!” Mac belted.

  “Seriously. He just called to ask what to bring’ the birthday girl’.” Mason replied with a broad smile. Mac grinned fiendishly and he turned to me taking the stairs backwards. Though I wanted to vomit as I watched him, he effortlessly balanced the cake on one hand.

  “Molly’s true love. Try to be nice, short shit.”

  “I’m always nice to everybody but you.” I shot back, pissed that my cheeks caught fire at the mere mention of Joe’s name.

  “Oooo…burn, Dad.” Mac’s mini-clone laughed. Mac picked a cherry off of my cake and flung it at his son.

  “Don’t be too nice, Molly! That boy has been around.” Mason called after us and I let the slamming of the front door reply for me.

  Not many people were inside since the main attractions-the heated in-ground pool, the hot tub, and the bouncy house-were all in the back yard. Two of my slutty cousins and Mason’s wife, Robin, gathered at the kitchen island. The sluts were topping off their cocktails while Robin busied herself with hostess duties.

  “You brought a champagne cake!” Robin looked up from cutting celery I knew no one would eat. “Yum!”

&nbs
p; “Yay! Molly brought the grown up’s cake!” Slut #1 slurred, clapping her hands together in a ridiculous display.

  “You’re sure looking pretty today. How’s it going?” Robin gave me a quick side hug. Though she was an ultra-traditional southern belle, Robin was my only female relative who didn’t make me cringe. She and Mason met when one of his dumbass stunts ended in a trip to the nearest Emergency Room. Robin was his nurse and after she’d had to stab him with several needles, he’d come away with her phone number. Robin apparently found risk-taking idiots charming.

  “Good. Making lots of money thanks to your hubs and his paint job.” I replied, plucking the grape Mad Dog 20/20 from my cousin’s grip before she could empty the bottle into her glass.

  “Hey!” Slut #2 snapped, and I dodged a spill as she sloshed her ice around in her glass.

  “It’s not even four o’ clock yet. Eat something.” I shot back, shooing them out of the kitchen. I turned back to Robin, who rolled her eyes. I grabbed a sponge and mopped up the booze spill.

  “They heard some single men would be here. They ‘gotta get their drink on’ in preparation for the hunt-bless their hearts.” Robin murmured, and I couldn’t suppress a snarky grin. Southern ladies could say some truly cold-hearted shit, but as long as they tagged the catch phrase “bless her heart” on the end, no one could accuse them of any ill will. “What about you, Molly-girl. Are you seeing anybody? Some of my co-workers are stopping by. Paramedics. Built like a brick shit-house…mmm mmm.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “I’ve only been divorced for a couple of months, Robin.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “But how long have you been separated. Scratch that: How long has it been since you had sex?”

  I chuckled and glanced around to be sure we were alone. “I don’t know. Six or seven months?”

  “You’ve gotta be horny.” Her well groomed eyebrows rose in alarm and I couldn’t stifle a surprised laugh. “Live while you’re young.”

  “I’m good. Really.” I shook my head as I snagged some cheese squares from the tray she was holding.

  “Suit yourself. But if you want beer you’d better get outside and get some before the cousins drink it all.” Robin sighed, and I opened the door for her so she could carry her trays out to her guests. Mason’s back yard looked like a page out of some home improvement magazine. His large fenced corner lot was landscaped perfection. Several adults and older kids played volleyball in the in-ground swimming pool. “The slut sisters” joined a couple of guys I recognized from the worksite in the hot tub, and my nieces and nephews seemed to be having a cage match with their friends in the bouncy house. Like all Hildebrandt gatherings, two kegs of beer were the focal point. I saw my mother seated at the far end of a table. My grandmother sat beside her at the head of the table in the shade.

  “Molly. Come on over here, child.” Mom ordered, as she pushed a chair out for me with her foot. She rapped the empty seat with the end of her cane and I complied.

  “I made you a cake.” I said as she pecked me on the cheek. I crossed to greet my Granny Hildebrandt in the same fashion. Granny was 90 years old and had long since joined the “I-no-longer-give-a-shit-so-I’ll-say-what-I-want” brigade.

  “It’s not her birthday. She should have made the little one a cake. What the hell did you make her a cake for?” Granny scoffed. I opened my mouth to reply and had nothing polite to say, so I closed it again.

  “Now, Mama.” Mom patted Granny on the hand, “Molly’s a chef, remember?”

  Granny H. squinted at me as if trying to remember who I was. “You look just like me when I was your age; except, I didn’t defile my body like that.”

  How did you defile your body then? I opened my mouth to say something when Mom interrupted.

  “Mama Hildebrandt!” My mother piped up in a half-assed attempt to defend me. “What would Jesus do?”

  “Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t ink up his skin like The Whore of Babylon.” Granny muttered, and I rose to my feet before my mouth got me in trouble. I looked over toward the keg and saw Graham, the foreman from the jobsite, pouring a glass.

  “Excuse me.” I managed, as I tore off in his direction. He glanced up and graced me with a charming grin.

  “Well, hello!” He held out the beer he’d just poured. Though I’d judged my cousins just minutes before for boozing it up, I took a nice long gulp. “Yep. You looked like you needed that.”

  “Thanks, Graham. Good to see you. Did you bring the wife? I’m dying to meet her!” He gave me a knowing look.

  “I want you to meet her, too.” He started to pour himself a red Solo cupful to replace the one he’d given me. “Maybe she’ll learn something about kitchens through osmosis.”

  “You’re horrible.” I rocked my shoulder into his elbow. He smirked and nodded at a lovely, svelte blonde who seemed to be a good ten years younger than him. She was in the pool, serving the volleyball.

  “That’s ‘The Misses’.” His tone was low and conspiratorial.

  “Well, well. I guess she doesn’t have to know how to cook when she looks like that.” I cocked an eyebrow at him and he chuckled. His gaze shifted over my shoulder and his expression morphed into one of complete astonishment. I glanced behind me and saw Joe standing at the top of the stairs on the deck, surveying the partygoers. I felt like I was in one of those old movies where the music swells and everything moves in slow motion. He was dressed in a white collared shirt that contrasted fantastically with his tanned skin and dark indigo jeans. I had no doubt that this was as dressed up as Joe ever got. In my opinion, he wouldn’t have looked better in black tie.

  I might’ve watched him for hours had Graham not called out his name. “Joe! Over here!” He looked in our direction. That’s when his forest-green eyes met mine and the corner of his mouth curled in a crooked smile. Though I didn’t realize it just then, that’s when I was done for.

  He descended the stairs with an effortless swagger that called to the “bad boy addict” in me. It wasn’t the part of me that had always been crazy about Joe. His total role reversal was equal parts attractive and disturbing. Seeing him in his street clothes felt oddly intimate after weeks of checking him out in his tool belt and hard hat. I knew I was still staring but couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was just a foot from me when Graham stepped between us. I inhaled with incredible effort, as if I’d been holding my breath for days.

  “Good to see you out and about, son.” Graham’s tone was warm and I saw a genuine smile light up Joe’s face.

  “Hey, Graham.” Joe replied, his gravelly voice sending shivers down my spine. His eyes shifted to me once more. “Hey, little girl. What’s on tap?”

  “Not sure about that keg, but this tastes like Shiner Bock.” I felt my long dormant drawl resurface on the word ‘Shiner’. I took another sip and his eyes flicked from mine to my mouth and back again. The minute move was impossibly erotic, and I had to look away. I saw Graham chase after the volleyball that careened not only out of the pool but over the fence, and when I turned back, Joe was pouring himself a Shiner.

  “Sounds like you aren’t completely de-Texified, Ma’am.” He intentionally drawled Ma’am in a way that reminded me of leather chaps and tipped cowboy hats. I cracked a wry smile.

  “Yeah…I’m a little bit Yankee and a little bit ‘y’all’.” I conceded, and he smiled just enough to flash me his straight white teeth. Then the smile was gone and I had somber Joe back. He cleared his throat and took a long drink of his beer.

  “So…”He trailed off awkwardly glancing at the ground.

  “So…” I squared my shoulders and blinked at him patiently.

  “I have to admit, I really did love the food.” He met my eyes with obvious reluctance. “Your dad would be proud.”

  It was the last thing I’d expected from him, and might have been the sweetest thing anyone had said to me in years. I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “Thanks.”

  His sincere eyes scanned mine and
then narrowed. He leaned back against the fence.

  “What brings you back to Austin? I thought you were some big shot in some fancy joint on the coast.”

  “Got divorced. My ex owned the place.”

  “Awkward.” Was his only response. We both drank to that.

  “It serves me right. I only knew him for a couple of months before we got hitched.”

  “Sounds like you.”

  I laughed aloud at his bluntness and I could tell he was pleased.

  “What went wrong?” He folded his rock hard arms and I had to rip my eyes from him.

  I tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear.

  “Oh, it was wrong before it started. So my track record for being the family fuck up remains untarnished.” I sighed, with a self-depreciating grin.

  Joe scoffed. “And all this time I thought Mac had that title all sewn up.”

  “Nah. He’s tries, but he’s a hopeless amateur.” I wasn’t sure if it was the hops or his low key demeanor, but I felt myself starting to relax.

  “Well, you know I’ve always been the black sheep, so cheers!” He shrugged and we tapped Solo cups. I knew from eavesdropping on my folks that Joe’s dad was some successful attorney. He’d cut Joe off when, after graduating high school, he’d refused to follow in his footsteps. I’d always imagined him as a giant ogre of a man, finding it impossible that anyone could treat Joe so poorly.

  Just then, both of my nieces slammed into me, knocking me into him. His arm came around me to save me from falling for a second time. He never even spilled a drop of his beer. Thankfully, neither did I, but that was mostly because my cup was nearly empty already.

  “Aunt Molly! Look! I’m just like you!” The birthday girl exclaimed. She had a red bandana in her hair, lots of red lip gloss, and a left arm plastered with temporary ‘Hello Kitty’ tattoos.

  “Wow!” I gushed, trying hard to focus exclusively on her proud freckled face and not Joe’s arm which remained around my shoulder. I knelt down beside her, casually shrugging out of his grasp. “You look downright impressive! How long did it take you to get all those tattoos?”