Good Wood (Carved Hearts)

by L. G. Pace III

  “Do you feel that your unresolved anger with Jessica is helped by this admission?” He asked it softly, but with steel in his voice I’d not heard before. It almost caused me to glance up but I caught myself and kept my eyes on the floor.

  “Maybe. Sorry doc, but can you not interrupt me? I need to get this out.”

  “Of course, Joe. Go ahead.”

  “I fucking hate her.” The words came out with more venom than I ever would have thought possible. Verbalizing this thought and hearing it ring through the room caused unwanted tears to start. “That bitch lied to my face, stole from me, and got herself and my child killed for something as stupid as money.” I walked over to the window so that I didn’t have to face him.

  “Does this hatred override the love you felt for her?” His words struck me, sending pain jangling through me like a physical blow. Wheeling, I glared at him.

  “Hell no! Don’t you get it? I fucking hate her and love her at the same time.” I was shouting now, but the rage filling me would not let me stop. “I miss her more than I ever thought possible. And I hate her more than I ever thought I could hate another human being. She destroyed my life! She took it all! For what? Betting on fucking horses?” Lashing out, I bashed my fist into the plaster wall, leaving a good size hole. Dr. Greene sat looking at me placidly, his hands folded in his lap.

  “So you punish yourself? You hurt yourself because you can’t reconcile the fact that you both love and hate the mother of your child.” The last he said so softly I almost failed to hear him. That struck me like another blow and had the desired effect. The anger flowed right out of me and I leaned hard on the sill of the window.

  “Why did she have to do it? The house, the business, everything could have burned to the ground…as long as I had her.” Dr. Greene rose, walked to the sink and wet a small towel. Crossing the room, he handed it to me.

  “Take care of that hand before you bleed all over my office.” Looking down I saw I’d split my knuckles. Wrapping the towel around it, I stared. The lump of towel around my hand resembled a wrap. A Strappin’ Wrap, to be precise.

  “Joe, it’s all right to be angry with Jessica.” His voice was warm, but firm. “It’s okay to love her-even to hate her. They are your feelings. No one, not even I, should tell you how to feel. You probably can’t control how you feel, but you can control how you choose to deal with those feelings.”

  It was such a simple statement, but the wisdom behind it floored me. For years now I’d been wallowing in my feelings; barricading myself behind repetitive work, shutting out everyone who cared about me. The wasted energy was embarrassing. I tore off the towel and wadded it up, applying pressure to my wound. Dr. Greene motioned for me to come back to my seat by his desk. Feeling like a world class jerk for damaging his office, I did as he asked. I could at least pretend to be civilized as some sign of respect.

  As he settled into the leather chair across from me, I remembered that I had something positive to share and looked up.

  “Did I tell you that I started carving again?” The way his eyebrows shot up told me that I hadn’t. “I’ve been making things for oh, I don’t know…maybe a month? A spice box…some figurines. Yesterday I made two dollhouses for my nieces for Christmas.”

  “That’s wonderful, Joe.” He’d started scribbling like mad in that little notebook of his. “How does using your craft make you feel?”

  “Peaceful. Guilty. I’ll lose myself in the work for hours…it’s relaxing, really. Later, when I’m done and think back about it…the guilt comes. I feel like I am betraying Jessica and Jack somehow. Like I shouldn’t get to have any pleasure since I let them die.” The words were out of my mouth before I had time to consider them and Dr. Greene actually set down his pen.

  “We’ve never really talked in detail about the accident. I understand if you aren’t ready, but if you are, can you tell me about it?”

  I nodded but the lump in my throat kept me from speaking immediately. I rose and grabbed another bottle of water. Suddenly I had to do something, anything with my hands. Ripping off the lid I drank half of the bottle. Taking a breath I tried to force the knots in my stomach away.

  “She went out alone after I fell asleep. Jessica was close to her due date and I’d been… hovering. I worried about her. But I also was trying to get everything done that I could. Looking back I realize how stupid that was. I should have spent more time with her and less time at work. What is the old adage? You’ll never regret spending less time at work on your deathbed?”

  The doctor smiled and nodded. “Yes. Something like that.”

  “Her friend Bethany talked to Tamryn at the funeral. She said Jessica snuck out to pay her bookie and was probably hurrying back. I had no idea she even had a problem. Hell, I barely knew she gambled. She always bought lottery tickets, but so do most of the guys I work with. Maybe if I’d been paying more attention to her, I would have seen the signs. They’re so obvious in retrospect. The way she’d suddenly hang up the phone when I came into the room. The mood swings, the insistence on handling all the finances. I should have known. If I had, I would’ve forced her to talk about it. We could always work things out. We could talk about everything and anything.” The doctor picked his pen back up.

  “Not everything.” He murmured. I guess he had me there.

  “She kept it really well hidden.” I added. My knuckle stung, but when I lifted the towel, the bleeding had stopped. “No one knew she had a problem except Bethany. Until she died and everything fell apart.” I drank down the rest of the bottle and then vented my rage on the empty plastic crushing it flat before dropping it into the recycling bin.

  He sat back in his chair, pressing the tips of his fingers together. “Joe, if you don’t mind my saying, you seem pretty hung up on the money. That comes as kind of a surprise to me. You have never struck me as the materialistic type.”

  “Of course it wasn’t the money. Fuck the money! You can always make more...” The lump came back into my throat with a vengeance.

  “So then why are you so angry with her?”

  “I...she…ugh! Do you know what it feels like to fucking hate the woman you love? Depending on the day I would give anything to hold her in my arms or wring her damn neck! She stole from me! Who does that to someone they love?” I was nearly wearing a run in his carpet as I paced back and forth but I needed to vent the anger somehow.

  “Lots of people lie to their spouses about money. Some are just bad with finances. Money is the number one cause of conflict in marriages.”

  “It’s not the money!” I spat, pacing his narrow office restlessly.

  “Then what is it? Because she betrayed you? Tricked you? What is the core of your anger, Joe? When you think of Jessica and the anger comes out, what is buried all the way underneath? What is the ugly center that you don’t want to tell anyone about?” The rage built up until it felt like I was standing in the middle of a bonfire. Shaking, I let the words rush out of me.

  “She got herself killed and left me alone! She killed my son! She killed him! He never had a chance!” My knees gave out as agonizing pain blossomed in my chest. My lungs burned as I fought to force air past the giant lump in my throat. “I couldn’t save them! I couldn’t save either of them!” The world blurred behind a wall of tears.

  “Joe,” Dr. Greene stood and came to my side. He put a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t take that weight upon yourself. Not even your shoulders can carry such a load. Not without crumbling. It was an accident: a senseless accident. Yes, she had problems. Yes, she was less than honest with you. She wasn’t perfect. Neither are you.”

  I covered my eyes with my palms, trying to rein in my rising fury. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I should have been there! I could have stopped her!” Wiping my eyes I turned away from him, ashamed at anyone seeing my tears.

  “How?”

  I turned to look at him stupidly. “I don’t know. Somehow.”

  “Okay. I’m all ears, Joe. Jessica, a ga
mbling addict from all accounts, was able to hide her malfeasance from all of her colleagues. People who are trained in spotting just such inconsistencies, but she was able to fool them. Yet you feel lax in being able to spot what she was trying to hide from you. Why? Because you were in love? Perhaps you have a psychic gift that you have heretofore never mentioned? No?”

  I gave him a dirty look. But I had no argument.

  “Then it seems odd to blame yourself for something that no one could have foreseen. It is like blaming yourself for the accident. Unless you caused the accident by negligence, I fail to see how you can shoulder the blame.”

  I glared at him. “I knew her. At least I thought I did. If anyone was going to help her…stop her—”

  “Did you really have that kind of control over her?” He interjected, cocking his head to the side.

  My shoulders slumped and I shook my head. Jess had been her own woman. She always seemed to have everything together. If anyone had controlled anyone in our marriage, it’d been her. One of the things that attracted me to her most was her fierce independence. The doc reached a hand down and after a moment I took it. He pulled me up and led me back to my chair. As I dropped into the seat, he walked back around the desk and sat down.

  “What is it that’s changed?” Dr. Greene pulled off his glasses and rubbed his temples.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been coming in here for a long time. Most days you’ve just sat there with a scowl on your face and watched the clock. A few times you even napped. Don’t misunderstand me. I have no problem taking your money. I get paid either way. But recently you’ve had a breakthrough of some kind. Some catalyst set this desire to ‘get well’ in motion. You’re trying now. So what’s changed?”

  I raised my shoulders skyward. “I guess I finally got tired of letting everyone down.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Like who?”

  “Everybody.” I blurted, feeling inexplicably edgy.

  “Your sister? Co-workers?” I didn’t like the suspicious way he was eyeing me.

  “Yeah…all of the above.” His shrewd gaze was making me uncomfortable.

  “How long ago did you say you started carving again?” The question seemed so unconnected that I just stared at him for a minute. He flipped back through his notes.

  “Umm…About a month ago.” I thought back. “Yeah.”

  He tilted his head and put his pen behind his ear. “And what was the first thing that you made?”

  “A spice box. I made it from some scraps I had just lying around the workshop.” I explained.

  “Can I see it?” He asked. “Can you bring it next time you come?”

  I shook my head. “I gave it away.”

  He raised his chin and put on his glasses. “Do you have any pictures? I’ve always wanted to see some of your work.”

  I nodded and pulled out my cell phone flipping to the pictures. I slid the phone across the desk to him. He studied them in great detail, enlarging them, zooming in. My stomach sank as I realized just which picture the good doctor was obsessively focused on. My scroll work on the letters of her name was impeccable if I do say so myself. He looked at it for a full minute before handing my phone back. A knowing smile tilted the corners of his mouth as he focused on me like a laser.

  Ah, shit. Here we go.

  “So, Joe. Who’s Molly?”

  MOM’S A GREAT cook. I’d never say otherwise. But, her gravy had always been bland or lumpy as hell. None of us-not even dad- had ever had the heart to tell her this. So in order to make our family holiday as pleasant as possible, I volunteered for gravy duty. By the time I arrived at ten thirty a.m. Thanksgiving morning, Mom had been up baking pies for hours. Attempting to prep for gravy and stuffing turned out to be a battle royale for counter space against her 10 cooling pies.

  “Lord Almighty, Ma! Mason’s cholesterol is already high as it is!” I scooped a finger full of her homemade whipped topping into my mouth. Her gravy might suck, but sweets were her forte. I went back for a second helping and she batted away my offending finger. “Are you donating some of these to a shelter or something?”

  “Two of them. But the rest are for us. Mason likes coconut, Mac likes French silk. You always pout if I don’t make pecan. And the kids all want cherry.” She licked the spoon in her hand and tossed it in the sink. I gave her a big smile. There was no doubt where I got my need to feed the world. “And I always make a couple extra cherry pies for Joe.”

  “Joe?” I tried to hide my horror. “Is he coming?”

  “No. I called to invite him, but he had plans. He is actually going out to his sister’s in Driftwood. It’s good to hear he is not alone during the holiday. I figured you could drop them off on your way home.” I was glad her back was to me, because I felt the color drain from my face.

  Robin came through the back door with two casserole carriers just in time to hear me say “Gosh. What a sweet idea, Mom. But I have no idea where Joe lives.”

  “He lives right by the Sweetish Hill Bakery on West Sixth.” Robin chimed in with a sly smile. “You know where that’s at, right?”

  “Mmmhmmm.” I ground my teeth together and she wiggled her eyebrows up and down at me.

  I chopped my stuffing ingredients a little more aggressively, figuring I’d find a way to weasel out of the doomed errand by the end of the day. The last thing I needed was to deal with Joe. Focused hard on my plan to expand my business, I’d finally saved up enough to purchase a second truck. With Stacy’s assistance, we’d sweet talked our way into a great lot on South Congress. I’d finally be able to stop working doubles, though I’d have to give up my favorite employee. In a few short weeks, Sanchez would be head chef of the second Wrapgasmic truck, and I was certain he’d do me proud. He’d be working nights in SoCo with a whole new crew and he and I were already training his replacement for the day shift. I was sad to lose him, but I couldn’t trust my second location to anyone else.

  Stacy had been busy as well, rocking the webpage and the social media sites. Our weekend appearances on Sixth and SoCo had people talking. A lot of the guys from the hotel jobsite had also helped to spread the word about our little mobile restaurant, and some had even brought their families out to the food park to try it. We unveiled a ‘Turkey Dinner’ wrap and Austinites clamored for more. Just the week before, I’d been interviewed by The Austin Chronicle.

  It’d been a little awkward, since such a large part of the company’s story was wrapped up in my recent past. Thus it was potentially embarrassing and I really wanted to keep my private life private. When Draven and I split, everyone in the restaurant got a front row seat to our personal lives. The humiliation surrounding his affair was one of the reasons I’d been so eager to sell and leave town. It wasn’t the primary reason, though. Deep down, I was afraid of him and just how far he might be willing to go to hurt me.

  When The Chronicle first approached me, I turned them down flat. Stacy had an absolute fit. She argued that the interview was good for the business and told me it wasn’t just about my success anymore, but everyone’s at Wrapgasmic. Plus, she pointed out, if I told the story I could tell it exactly like I wanted it told.

  Joe’s absence had definitely made focusing easier at such a hectic time. When Graham mentioned he’d told Joe to take some time off, I’d tried to plead his case. Graham stood firm, insisting Joe would be alright financially and that he needed to ‘get his head out of his ass’. He promised to bring him back for the finish work after Thanksgiving. There’d been no more late night appearances on my doorstep and I hadn’t seen Joe at all in the past month.

  In less than thirty minutes, I unexpectedly turned the conversation back to him.

  “Mom, the kitchen remodel was a brilliant idea. I love it! It’s so much more functional now.”

  “Isn’t it? That Joe’s a sweetheart. To do all this for me, just for cooking him some casseroles…” She shook her head. “Poor baby. His parents must be the most heartless people a
live, disowning him like that. I’ve never met a kinder-hearted boy.”

  I’d been sipping my sweet tea and nearly choked on it.

  “Joe did all this?” I took in the kitchen with new eyes.

  “He sure did. It was a total surprise. The design is genius isn’t it? Mac and Mason let him in when I was visiting Aunt Joyce in Boca Raton right after Daddy passed.” Her brown eyes looked a little misty under her salt and pepper bangs. “They say he did all of it. They just helped move appliances and hang the cupboards. Can you imagine? I was only gone for a week and I came home to this.”

  “He even did the floors?” I looked down at the tile that had replaced the hideous linoleum of my youth. Mac wandered in to pick at the relish tray.

  “Yep. He’s a hell of a worker. I worry about him. A lot. I keep hoping he’ll meet someone nice. Settle down again.” She shook her head in a manner that made it evident she didn’t expect a miracle.

  “Joe?” Mac looked at me for confirmation. I nodded and took another sip of my tea.

  “He’s pissing away his real talent. Look at this place. Every single one of these cabinets, the molding, all of it, custom built and carved. He’s a master level woodworker and he’s sanding molding and framing doors. Now, I’m not saying that everyone is a studly framer like myself. And I’m not saying Joe can’t do it well. But Joe working in framing is like having Michelangelo whitewash your fence. It’s bullshit. I told him he needs to get back to it the other day when he showed up at the dart tournament. He mentioned that he started doing a little carving again. So I guess that’s something.” I nodded.

  “He made me a spice box for my birthday. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “He what?” Mac whipped his head in my direction and nearly dropped his half eaten tray.