Good Wood (Carved Hearts)

by L. G. Pace III

  As I chatted with her, Mac came over and harassed Joe. They both poured another beer and he herded Joe over to the patio to greet my mother and grandmother. I felt a pang of pity for him, but it was impossible not to smile at the way my mother lit up when she saw him. He gave her a huge bear hug and made himself right at home at the table beside them. I retied my niece’s bandana so I could show the girls the proper Rock-a-billy technique and put a little blush on both of them. They ran off to show their friends and I saw Robin struggling at the door with more trays of food. I ran up to help her and got roped in to mixing a couple of cocktails for Mason and Charlie, the plumber. Thirty minutes later when Robin’s paramedic friends arrived, Joe was still kicked back on the patio having a laugh at something my evil Granny whispered in his ear.

  “This is Molly, my very single sister-in-law.” Robin presented me to her three male coworkers like she was a bikini model on The Price Is Right showing off a new car. One of them seemed much more interested in his hamburger, but the other two puffed up like they were about to arm wrestle over me. All the joy was instantly sucked out of my day, and I immediately plotted an exit strategy that involved using “the slut sisters” as human shields.

  I felt a hand grip my shoulder and turned to see Joe. I could tell by his purposeful eye contact that he was there to save me. “Hey! I was going to show you that thing on the truck…”

  “Right!” I gave an Academy Award-worthy apology and promised to return shortly.

  “Grab your swim suit on your way back. It’s hot tub time.” Robin called after me. I gave her a ‘thumbs up’, though I hadn’t brought a suit along. As we made for the house, Joe handed me a topped off beer.

  “Thanks.” I whispered. He turned the knob on the back door and shrugged as he held it open for me.

  “Those two drunk chicks were headed my way. I thought I’d even the odds a little. Sometimes people just don’t take the hint. You ready for something to eat?” I nodded and we hurried into the kitchen. I pointed to the island.

  “You get the burgers, I’ll get the cake.”

  We hurriedly snagged plates of food and Joe put a half a bottle of ketchup on his burger. I giggled and shook my head when he held it up to me, silently asking if I wanted some on mine.

  “I think you have enough for both of us.” I cut two large pieces of champagne cake and pilfered an entire bag of Doritos. Mason was coming in the front door as we were going out. He looked from me to Joe and his expression soured. Right then, he looked so much like our Dad it was scary.

  “Don’t let Robin see you out front with that beer. She’ll never let me get kegs again.” He called after me as I passed through the threshold.

  “You got it, man.” Joe assured him and nudged the door shut in his face. We stood on the stoop giving each other a conspiratorial look of congratulations on our successful escape.

  “Where’s your truck?” I turned and started down the stairs.

  “Huh?” I could hear his footsteps coming down the stairs after me.

  “I need to see your truck so I have a decent alibi.”

  “Right this way, Ma’am.” The delivery of the term was even more delicious this time around. He led me several cars down and popped open the tailgate of a partially restored old school Ford.

  “This is yours?” I’m sure my eyes were as big as platters. He nodded and I laughed uproariously.

  “What’s so funny?” He lifted a disapproving brow.

  “You drive a ‘little old man truck”.

  “Hey now, watch it little girl. It’s a classic.” He sat his plate and cup down in the bed and turned to me. He grabbed me by the hips and boosted me into the bed.

  “Well…ok, then.” With a quick sip of my drink, I attempted to cool the fever his touch caused me. When he lay back in the bed propped up on one elbow, I tried not to think impure thoughts. He bit into the burger in a ferocious masculine display. I understood then that everything Joe did was going to be sexy, so it was best to just acknowledge that reality and move on.

  “So,” he said wiping his mouth. My eyes lingered on the curve of his bottom lip just a second too long. “I hear Mac is having a good time with his ex. I told him before they got married that he was making a mistake.” There was sadness in his voice even as he tried to hide it behind a smirk.

  “It’s getting ugly. She talks a good game about being mother of the year but she isn’t fooling any of us. It’s about money. If the court agrees with what she is asking for in alimony and child support Mac is going to end up back in the old apartment you guys shared…with two new roommates.” Joe gave a humorless laugh.

  “Yeah, the whole thing sucks. It just goes to show you that you never really know a person, no matter how much you convince yourself that you do.” He looked away as he downed the last of his burger.

  “Well, he isn’t the only one guilty of that... Hell, today would have been my third wedding anniversary.” Joe’s head shot back to me and he gave me an odd look.

  “Was it hard getting down the aisle in your cradle?” His grin was infectious and I found a smile breaking across my face. Punching him lightly in the arm I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Nice try, Jensen. I was of age when I got married.”

  “Barely. Jailbait.” The one time I’d actually had the balls to flirt with Joe, he’d called me jailbait. It’d been a devastating moment compounded by the fact that I’d been out with a fake id and was truly drunk for the first time. Looking back, I’d been insane to think that a guy like Joe would be tempted by the fifteen year old version of me. I blushed at the embarrassing memory. Bouncing my shoulder off his, I rolled my eyes. The smile I got from him seemed a lot like the old Joe I used to know.

  “What was Granny whispering in your ear?” We’d abandoned our plates and polished off our beers. We were both lying flat on our backs in the wooden truck-bed admiring the afternoon sky. Wispy streamers of cottony clouds broke up the pale blue expanse and it was just hot enough out to be relaxing.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” I grinned as he mocked a fearful expression and shook his head. “That woman has a filthy mouth. She must have been something else back in the day.”

  “No doubt. Apparently she used to look just like me. Without the whorish tats, of course.”

  “Ouch.

  “Yeah. You gotta love old people.” I hoisted myself up on one elbow. Just as I turned sideways he shifted to face me, and we practically smacked into each other face first. The expression on his face was anything but platonic, and my inner teenager swooned as dormant butterflies sprung to life. We were only separated by about three inches. His glassy eyes dilated as they dropped to my lips again, and it lit a carnal bonfire in me. In the small truck bed, I had no graceful escape. I noticed he had ketchup on the side of his mouth. I reached out and cupped his stubble covered cheek, brushing it away with my thumb.

  “Molly…” His husky voice was practically a whisper.

  “Yeah?” My reply sounded breathy to my own ears.

  “I’m having a hard time coming up with a reason not to kiss you right now.” He locked eyes with me. He had those long lashes that are so often wasted on men. I felt as if someone had taken a blowtorch to my cheeks. I’d fantasized about kissing Joe so often that the moment seemed surreal. “Help me out here.”

  “Ummmm…” I looked at the sky, desperate to disrupt the intensity of the moment. “Because kissing leads to much dirtier things.”

  He looked off to the left as if considering this. “I fail to see a problem with that. Try again.”

  “My brothers would kick your ass.” I smiled broadly.

  “I could take ‘em.” He murmured, brushing my bangs out of my eyes.

  “Not at the same time you couldn’t.” My chest felt heavy and I was having a hard time concentrating.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. What else have you got?” His lips twitched with a smile. I wanted so badly to taste them....to taste him.

  “Your breath smells l
ike Shiner and ketchup.” I wrinkled my nose playfully.

  “So?” He didn’t miss a beat, but I’d coaxed a full out smile from him with that one. “Yours smells like Cool Ranch.”

  I bit my lip but was unable to suppress a smile. “Yeah, but Cool Ranch is sexy.”

  “You’re supposed to be talking me out of this.” He murmured, his face nearing mine. The moment I’d dreamed of was about to happen. Though I was completely and irrationally terrified, I felt frozen in place. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact of him. I could feel the heat of his breath on my lips when someone blared on a car horn, startling us both. My heart hammered loudly in my ears, and I sat straight up, grabbing my chest. My eyes shot around wildly and I spotted Graham and his wife. They stood beside the car parked right behind Joe’s truck. They both wore what my father always called “shit eating grins” and Graham’s wife giggled.

  Humiliated, I turned to retrieve our discarded plates and cups. Joe chuckled and applauded Graham, but his cheeks were as beet red as mine felt. Awareness spilled back into my lust-addled brain. I was a little more vulnerable today than usual in light of it being my ex-anniversary. Had I not just told my matchmaking sister-in-law that I was fine on my own? Even if I had been ready for something, it wouldn’t have been with Joe. If I’d learned anything from history, it was not to set myself up for failure.

  For whatever reason, he was clearly a hot mess. Between his hardened exterior and the comments that he ‘got around’ Joe may as well have had the tattoo of the biohazard symbol on his forehead. Besides, I’d also learned long ago that some fantasies are just better left alone. I rushed into the house to throw away our trash. When I came back out, Joe was still standing next to his truck talking to Graham. I decided to beat a hasty retreat and put some literal distance between me and my girlhood wet dream before something bad went down.

  “Hey…” Joe caught up with me at my car, but I’d already climbed into the driver’s seat. “Are we cool?” I couldn’t contain my semi-hysterical laughter. Poor Joe looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh along with me or call the authorities.

  “Joe. We’re a lot of things, but cool isn’t one of them.” I started the car and waved him away. He gave me a perplexed look then moved aside to let me pull out into traffic.

  MY APARTMENT IS one of two on the second floor of the building I bought to be my workshop. It was unfinished, but I’d managed to put most of the drywall up to make the place livable and finished the bathroom. The other apartment was still bare studs, wiring and plumbing. The up- and-coming neighborhood the building was in had gotten a lot better since I bought it. My place was starting to look like an eyesore. Heavy brown paper was taped over the windows and door blocking visibility from the street. A heavy metal roller gate was padlocked shut in front, preventing anyone from even knocking on the door. Not that they would have any reason to knock.

  I had been here ever since the accident. After that night, I couldn’t bring myself to be in that house. Everywhere I looked reminded me of Jess…or of Jack. Why shouldn’t it? I’d built the place for them. Without them it was like a mausoleum, haunted and taunting me with every brush stroke, and every carved inch of wood. After the funeral, I grabbed everything I could haul in my truck and came to the apartment. At first, I assured Tam it was only temporary, but I think we both knew the truth. The house had only been ours for a short time, but it held far too many painful memories now. It took me six trips to clear out everything of mine. It took another few weeks for Tamz to get me to discuss it.

  “Look, Joe, I know this sucks. But we have to talk about this shit. You can’t just check out on me here.”

  “I don’t give a shit about any of it Tamryn.”

  “I realize that. Unfortunately you’re going to have to snap the fuck out of it and make some decisions. I’ve had a few friends helping me out and we have sorted out most of what happened. I had to call in a forensic accountant but I think we have the broad strokes.”

  “Fuck the broad strokes.” She yanked the bottle of Jack Daniels out of my hand and slapped me across the face. We stared at each other for a moment and she struggled not to cry.

  “I’m sorry, Jo-Jo. If you want me to take care of everything, I can have you sign over power of attorney. But if that’s the case, I need to have you making an informed decision. So will you please just listen?” I nodded. I felt hollow…numb to the core.

  “Okay. Jessica apparently had quite a gambling problem. She borrowed money against her credit cards. Then there is what she took from her clients and your business. The way she was moving the debts around was nothing short of magic. My people tell me she might have been able to keep it going for years. But in her absence the whole thing spun out.”

  “So what do you need me to understand?” I tried to keep the irritation and anger out of my voice and failed. She recoiled like I slapped her. “I’m trying here, sis. I’m sorry. Go on.” She took a deep breath and continued.

  “You’re beyond broke. A hold has been put on her life insurance and retirement to try and recover what they are calling “embezzled funds”. Your business is so far in the red it’ll take you a year at least, doing your carvings, to get back into the black. And there are the damages and fines you have outstanding with the city.”

  “How much do you need?” She rubbed her hands over her face and gave a heart wrenching sigh.

  “It’s up to you how we proceed. I can secure you private financing for the woodworking shop. That is the fastest route. It would have you solvent in six months and in the black within the year.” I shook my head.

  “I…I can’t Tam. I know it doesn’t make any sense but I can’t force carvings out and the part of me that does them…it just isn’t there. For all I know it is gone forever. What other options do we have?” The look on her face would’ve broken my heart, if it wasn’t already obliterated.

  “I.,um..” she stammered. “Well, there are a few contingencies that we drew up. Ah, here we are. You could liquidate your hard assets. The truck, the house, this shop.”

  “Do that, then.” I didn’t care. I wanted it all gone anyway. She looked at me in shock.

  “That option is just a rough outline. Let me check a few things and get back to you.” She left just ahead of a crying fit. I knew her well enough to know this beyond a doubt and wished I cared more. But I was just an empty shell. Her feelings just seemed too far away.

  A few weeks later, she came back with the plan. The building with the shop was too far in the red to be a viable option for sale. Even though the truck was a classic it was unrestored, it wasn’t worth enough to bother with and the cost of replacing it offset any profits. So that left the house. I told her to get rid of everything left inside and sell it. Within a month it was over. She sold it to some yuppie bitch that had been to the house before. At least she bled the buyers for enough money to pay off a good chunk of my bills. Between that and working my ass of for the past two years for any contractor that would have me, I’d clawed my way back into the black and the only bill I had these days was the mortgage for my building.

  Part of me was glad I got to keep the building with the shop. At the time, I was just relieved I wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of moving-or paying rent. I went back to construction, working as a framer and carpenter. I kept turning down carving jobs and eventually people took the hint. My woodworking business on the ground floor of the commercial space sat abandoned under dust clothes. Tools that I used to keep shiny and sharpened were now dull with rust. There wasn’t much left on the workbenches but scraps and broken bits of wood.

  I hadn’t been in there since before the accident. The urge to create hadn’t been on my agenda. Destroying myself one drink at a time had been my full time job. Get drunk, pick a fight, get arrested. Add to that screwing my way through the state capital and you started to get the big picture. I was a suicidal man afraid to complete the task. I couldn’t actually bring myself to do that to the people that loved me. I may be
a lot of things, but I would not be a burden. I could never let my father be right when he said that I would end up being a penniless loser surrounded by penniless losers. All this decreed from his throne, behind a carved wooden desk.

  It was just another Thursday afternoon at the jobsite, when I heard Mac talking about Molly’s upcoming birthday. After work, I found myself on a stool in my long dormant workshop, twirling a pencil back and forth between my fingers. My feet had inexplicably taken me from my normal path up the stairs to my long abandoned workbench. God, this place looks like shit. What kind of man doesn’t even take care of his tools?

  This chastisement rang in my head in Graham’s voice and it got me moving. I’d been planning on exercising anyway. What was the difference between working out and working? Not much the way I do it. Hours later, I had the workshop back in shape. Tools gleamed without a trace of rust. It was surprising how peaceful that simple act made me feel. I gathered up the remaining supplies and before I realized what I was doing, I’d started gathering scraps of wood.

  In my mind’s eye, the plan for what they would become took shape-a spice box. One built for bigger spices to be stored below with two wooden trays above to hold the smaller jars. A hollowed out block would serve as a solid one-piece lid. I had two heavy cast iron hinges left over from a salvage job that would suit it perfectly. A metal hook clasp from an old iron gate could be repurposed to keep the box shut.

  Thinking back to the brief glimpse I had of the interior of Molly’s food truck, I made my calculations for size and started building. The box was crafted from almost every type of wood imaginable. Soft wood joined with hard wood. Supple was sandwiched to brittle. The difficulty of merging them together consumed me and for a short time I was able to forget everything else. I had started out building things like that. Something quite similar had caused my shop teacher to recommend me as an apprentice to a woodworker he knew.