by Anthology
“I have an idea,” he said. “Maybe we could help each other out. I may not have any money, but I know how to work. And this place”—he gestured broadly to include the studio and the house in his statement—“charming as it is, could use some TLC.”
Maya looked up, her attention caught.
“There’s a lot I can do. I can put better shelving in here to hold all your work. Hell, I could even wire this place if you don’t mind using unlicensed labor. I could patch the rotting drywall in your house. Caulk the windows so the damp doesn’t get in as much. I bet there’re a hundred things I could do.”
“No kidding,” she said drily. “And in exchange?”
“You let me crash here until I find work and get enough money together to rent my own place. On the couch,” he added when she looked skeptical. “If you don’t want anything physical between us, I can accept that.”
“Really?”
He made the sign of the cross on his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“That’s a binding promise, you know,” she said, her expression deadpan. She held out her hand. “You’ve got a deal.”
They shook hands.
“I have a couple of caveats,” Maya said. “You’ll have to work on the house and studio in the afternoons or evenings. Mornings are my alone time. I need space and quiet when I work. No distractions.”
JD shrugged. “Suits me. I’ll be out looking for a paying job during the day. What’s caveat number two?”
Her brow creased. “If things don’t work out, for whatever reason, we don’t fight about it. You just go.” She pursed her lips and looked up at him pensively.
“I can handle that.”
She blinked and let out her breath with a sigh of relief. “All right, then.” She sat down and turned on the wheel, wetting her hands before placing them on the clay and slowly drawing the rim of the cup higher, molding a lip between her thumb and fingers. It was mesmerizing. JD stood for a couple of minutes and watched her work. Maya didn’t speak to or acknowledge him. The wheel spun hypnotically. She didn’t seem to notice when he let himself out.
JD bought a bagel with cream cheese and a black drip coffee and sat at a table in the Fred Meyer eating area along with the other blue-collar working stiffs who couldn’t afford a latte and a croissant at Starbucks. He scanned the pages of the Seattle Times, paying particular attention to any articles about new building projects in the area or construction job openings.
His mind kept veering off to thoughts of Maya. Last night had been incredible, but he hadn’t been surprised when Maya told him she wasn’t interested in a repeat performance. She’d held back, physically and emotionally, when they had sex. Hadn’t wanted him to pleasure her the way he would have liked to.
JD’s motto in the bedroom was ‘ladies first,’ and although it was an old-fashioned sentiment, most women had absolutely no problem with it. Maya wasn’t one of them. She’d been looking for an unembellished fuck, and he’d delivered. Not that he was disappointed, he thought, circling a job opening with a pencil stub. Beggars can’t be choosers. But he wanted to know why. Why she refused to let go, even when she was obviously turned on. Why she had decided—after the fact—that having sex with him had been ‘an aberration.’ The words still stung. The first time with someone new could be weird, but if it was also the only time, there was no hope of improvement.
Frustrated, JD chewed on his lower lip and told himself to stop thinking about her. What was the point? She’d made it clear there was no future for the two of them. He had to let it go.
The next stop was the Seattle library, an imposing edifice of glass and steel that had been built by some Dutch architect since JD moved away. He reserved time on one of the computers, printed out his resume, which was saved on a flash drive, and scanned the online listings.
It was clear that the recession had hit hard here as well as in California. The only carpentry jobs he found were for interior remodeling projects in the residential sector. He didn’t find any commercial jobs for which he was qualified. At $15-$25 an hour, the pay for framing and other carpentry work wasn’t great—assuming he could even get hired—but if he was frugal he’d have enough for a first and last on a one-bedroom apartment in a crappy area of town within a few weeks.
At least he still had his tools and his strength. As long as he had those, he could start over again and again. All the same, he felt dispirited.
A shadow crossed the window and JD looked up in time to see a seagull fly by. Beyond the downtown high-rises, the waters of the Puget Sound lay brooding, glazed by morning mist. A hint of sun reflected off the dark waters, undecided whether to make a full appearance. Much as JD hated starting over again, he realized if he had to, he’d rather do it here than anywhere else. Seattle was his home; he belonged here. Maya and her beach house had helped confirm that for him.
A pot of fragrant sauce simmered on one of the electric burners. The counters were covered with the detritus of meal preparation; chopping boards and kitchen knives, garlic and onion peels and tomato seeds, dirty bowls and empty cans and a half-full packet of pasta.
JD and Maya sat side by side at the counter with their plates. Maya lifted a forkful of spaghetti to her mouth and chewed. She closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”
“You like it?”
“It’s sooo good. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal until you showed up,” she added, almost shyly. “I like this even better than that chicken piccata thing you made last night. Although that was great, too.”
JD grinned at her enthusiastic reaction. “This is my signature dish.”
“The one you use to lure unsuspecting women into proclaiming their undying love?”
“Actually, this one only gets them into bed, if I’m lucky. For undying love, I go for the clams in white wine sauce with risotto.”
Maya pointed out the window with her fork. “Did you know you can dig for clams right here on the beach at low tide? I used to do it with my parents when I was little.”
“We should do it. Can you show me how?”
“Sure. Maybe this weekend.”
JD pushed a bowl of grated Parmesan cheese over to her. Maya sprinkled her pasta liberally with it and JD determined once and for all that, despite her waifish appearance, Maya Lewis had a hearty appetite. For a minute they were too busy eating to say a word.
Maya spoke with her mouth full. “So, how’d it go today?”
“All right. I dropped my resume off at a couple of places. One guy told me to come back tomorrow and talk to the boss. And I got a call back from the place I went on Monday. The shop in Georgetown that sells handmade custom furniture.” JD wiped his bowl clean with a hunk of garlic bread.
“Emerald City Woodworks,” Maya said.
JD was pleased at this confirmation that she had really been listening as he rambled on about his day. “Don’t think anything will come of it, though. It’s a mom-and-pop operation. Real small.”
“Different from what you’re used to doing.”
“Yeah. More artisan. Like the stuff my great-great-great-grandfather James Caldwell used to make.”
“Do you have any of his pieces?”
“Only one. A rocking chair. He made about a half-dozen of them and gave them to his family members. They’ve been passed down through the generations. My brother was pissed when my grandma Charlie gave me her chair. But she and I were close. I used to visit her in the nursing home where she lived the last few years of her life. He never had the time. The only reason he wanted it is because it’s worth a lot now.”
“Maybe you’ll open your own furniture shop one day.”
JD shrugged. “It’s not exactly a money-making operation.”
“Who cares? Do what you love, I say.”
“Like you do.”
Maya waved her hand dismissively. “It’s the only thing I know how to do.”
She was wearing a pair of old jeans, streaked with clay and torn at the knees, a fade
d green T-shirt that matched her eyes, and a necklace made out of bits of colored sea glass and twisted silver wire. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she sat with her bare feet wrapped around the legs of the stool. She wore no makeup and didn’t need to. Her skin was flawless, almost translucent.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said.
“The pleasure was all mine, mademoiselle.” He covered her hand with his. “You look real pretty tonight.” Maya jerked her hand away and stood up, clearing both their plates, dropping a knife on the floor in her haste.
“You cooked, so I’m doing cleanup,” she said.
“All right.” JD stood up and stretched. “I’ll go out to the truck and get the lumber I bought for the studio shelves.”
“Do you need help carrying it in?”
“Not if I can use that hand dolly you have.”
“Sure, go ahead. Just put it back where you found it. I need it to take my stuff to Pike Place Market tomorrow.”
“It’s your day to work there?”
“Yes, we alternate every three days.”
“Want some help tomorrow, loading and unloading?”
“That’s ok. You’re already making yourself way too useful around here. I may not be able to let you go.”
She turned the water on hard and started hand-washing the dishes.
JD stared at her back, wondering whether he’d heard her right.
Maya had a knack for keeping him perpetually off-balance. One minute she pulled her hand away from his as though he had cooties, the next she was telling him she couldn’t get by without him. Did she mean that she wanted him to keep working for her as a handyman, even after he got a job? Was she just making a joke? Did she want him to stay on, living with her, as a semi-permanent couch surfer? Or did she want more? He shook his head and went out to the truck. Women, he thought.
Chapter 3
JD sat on a folding chair in the cramped office behind the Emerald City Woodworks showroom. It was the second time JD was meeting with the owner, Pete Manners. The workshop and showroom were located in the heart of Georgetown, a semi-industrial yet rapidly yuppiefying area to the south of Seattle’s downtown core. Pete held JD’s crumpled resume in his hand and ran down the list of jobs with what was left of his index finger. JD figured that like many woodworkers he’d met over the years, Pete had lost the top joint in an unfortunate encounter with an electric saw. It was practically a rite of passage, this sacrifice of the flesh; one he hoped never to have to make himself.
Pete looked at JD from under a pair of bristling white eyebrows. “So what brought you back to Seattle? A girl?” He winked conspiratorially. With his bushy hair, rounded stomach and twinkling eyes, he reminded JD of an oversize teddy bear.
“Yup,” JD said. “Only I didn’t meet her until I got here.”
Pete laughed. “Son, if you want the job, it’s yours. I know the pay ain’t great, but you can think of it as an apprenticeship of sorts. We’re family owned, we do things small, and we like to work closely with our rookies. You’ll learn a lot, and one day you’ll take off with half my customer base.” He winked again. “Hopefully when I’m ready to retire.”
JD stepped out of Emerald City Woodworks and lifted his face to the sky. The rare warmth of the sun poured down on him like a benediction. It was a Friday afternoon and he had a job. The city looked prettier and the passersby seemed more friendly. He was no longer a tourist or a freeloader. Slowly but surely, he was weaving his way back into the warp and weft of the community. He liked the company, the furniture they made, and Pete. He thought he could learn a lot there; improve on the carpentry skills he’d already developed. And he was excited at the prospect of moving out of construction and trying something new.
His first impulse on reaching his truck was to call Maya, but he stopped himself. Better to surprise her over dinner that night. On the way home, he stopped at a grocery store close to the house to pick up ingredients for a celebratory feast. Flank steak, fingerling potatoes, asparagus, and key lime pie for dessert. His mouth watered at the thought. He also picked up a bag of charcoal and lighter fluid. There was an old Weber grill on Maya’s back porch—probably another Parker legacy—that he intended to put to good use.
No one was home, so he let himself in with the key Maya kept in a pot by the door. “There’s nothing to steal,” she’d said when he pointed out that with a hiding spot like that, she might as well stick the key directly in the lock.
They could steal you, he’d thought. Mentally, he added two new projects to his growing to-do list:
Install deadbolt on front door.
Buy metal box with access code for extra key.
He unpacked the groceries, wondering when Maya’s shift at Pike Place Market ended. He’d wanted to go to visit her there today but the job interview had taken longer than expected. He hummed as he started the dinner prep and threw Smoky a sliver of raw steak when she came to rub against his ankles. He’d gotten used to domestic life during the years he’d lived with Alexis and hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed it. Only with Maya at the heart of it, even the routine, day-to-day mechanics of cooking and cleaning seemed infused with promise, excitement and unpredictability. The canvas of his life with Alexis had turned from bright colors to muted sepia tones as the love slowly ebbed from their relationship.
JD heated the charcoal in the grill and covered it. He would put the meat on when Maya came home. While he was waiting, he went into the studio to do a little work. He’d located the studs in the walls where he intended to put up the shelves and spent the next hour measuring and prepping. Once he was satisfied, he went out to his truck to get his electric drill.
The beige minivan still wasn’t there. JD glanced at his watch; it was getting late. His excitement over the new job seemed to wane with the setting sun, along with the burst of energy that had propelled him through the afternoon. Wearily, he hoisted the drill case out of the truck and trudged with it back down the drive, but instead of going into the studio, he let himself into the house and pulled the last of Parker’s beers from the fridge. He checked the grill; the charcoal was starting to cool.
JD sat down on the couch, wishing for the first time for the soporific, soothing buzz of a television. Once he got paid, he could buy one for the house, although Maya would probably prefer that he put the money toward getting his own place. JD sighed and took a long pull from his drink. His cell phone vibrated and he fished it out of his pocket, not recognizing the number.
“Hello?”
“JD, it’s me.”
Relief flowed through him like an incoming tide. “Maya. I was wondering where you were.”
“I got together with some friends after work. Then we ended up at this party… Hey, Aaron. Aaron! What’s your address?” Sounding somewhat breathless, she gave it to him.
“Is that on Capitol Hill?”
“Yeah. Want to come over? They’re ordering pizza.”
Before leaving the house, JD turned off the oven, put the steak in the fridge and scattered the coals in the grill.
His dinner plans hadn’t worked out, but maybe a party would be even better. Maybe after a couple of drinks Maya would let down her guard a little.
By the time he got to the address Maya had given him—a large craftsman house in a residential area of Capitol Hill—it was dark. Music and party voices and light spilled onto the front lawn. He knocked on the door and let himself in when no one answered.
An alternative crowd sporting piercings, tattoos and asymmetrical haircuts filled the living room. Several people gave him an appraising once-over as he entered. JD walked through the house, looking for Maya. He found her sitting on the steps of the back porch next to a guy with angular features and cropped blonde hair. He wore tight black pants and a black button-down shirt. A pair of rectangular-framed glasses perched on his narrow nose.
Maya turned and squinted up at him in the light from the house. “Oh, hi. You made it.”
“Yeah.”
“This is Clint Smothers.” Maya touched the guy’s arm.
JD—who had taken an instant dislike to Clint—swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Hi,” he said.
“Clint runs Smothers Art Gallery in Pioneer Square. He’s putting on a pottery exhibition next month. I’m one of the featured artists.”
Clint put an arm around Maya. “I love Maya’s work,” he enthused in a false English accent. “Her style is so organic.”
Hands off my girl, you metrosexual asshole.
“JD’s helping me fix up my studio,” Maya said. “He’s transforming it.”
Great, JD thought. She makes me sound like the hired help.
Clint’s lips twitched in a sour facsimile of a smile. “That’s nice.” Turning sideways to shut JD out, he began to talk to Maya about promoting the show. JD towered over the two of them like a lumbering idiot. He didn’t know what he was doing there, or why Maya had invited him if she intended to spend the evening tête-à-tête with Mr. Hipster.
After a minute he went inside to find a drink.
An hour later he stood in the living room, half-listening as an intense young woman with curly black hair told him about her near-death experience in a white-water rafting accident. “I hit the rock and then everything went black, except there was this light in front of me, and I was sort of barreling toward it, like I was in a subway tunnel or something, and then I heard this disembodied voice, kind of calling me back, you know…”
Maya was still outside with Clint. Dramatic as the story was, JD couldn’t concentrate. His body was in the house, but his thoughts were firmly planted on the porch steps between Clint and Maya. What the hell was she doing with that posturing doofus? Was Clint Smothers the reason she’d been keeping him at arm’s length? Perhaps she preferred artsy fartsy quasi-intellectual types to low-life carpenters. JD’s gut twisted into knots. He wasn’t good enough for her and he knew it, but to be upstaged by a guy like Clint was almost unendurable.