by Pamela Morsi
Today, however, he did have something he wanted to say.
“I wanted to kind of ask you a favor.”
“Kind of ask? Or kind of a favor?” Eli clarified.
“It’s a favor. For sure, it’s a favor.”
“Okay.”
“My mom needs me to build a shelf,” he said. “I told her that I would try. But you know I don’t know exactly where to start. Do I get a board and some brackets?”
“What type of shelf is it?”
Tru looked uncertain about the question. “The type that goes on a wall?”
Eli bit his lip to keep a grin at bay. “Kitchen shelf? Bathroom shelf? Books? Knickknacks?”
“Oh, it’s for coffee cups.”
“Coffee cups?”
“Yeah, Mom is helping the guy at Local Grind get his business in order. I guess he probably owes money. Mom came up with this idea to have personal coffee cups so he wouldn’t need to buy so much Styrofoam stuff.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, she and Mrs. Farris, from my school, they are doing these cups, but people coming in need to see them,” he said. “So Mom asked me if I can make a shelf.”
“Of course you can,” Eli told him. “It’s not rocket science. It’s carpentry.”
“I probably know as much about one as the other.”
Eli smiled at him. He liked that the kid was willing to do whatever was needed, but not puffed up with fantasies of his own abilities.
“Have you got a pencil and paper?”
“Uh...” He glanced toward the coat hooks. “No, I dropped my book bag off at home. Gram always makes a snack for me, so I go by there first.”
Eli walked back into the office area and retrieved a blank notepad from the bottom desk drawer. It was the kind he always used. He grabbed a pencil and carried both back to his workbench.
“Pull up a stool,” he told Tru as he handed off the items.
The teenager sat down, opened up the pad, poised the pencil and looked at Eli expectantly.
He remembered thinking Tru was a ringer for Driscoll. But now, now that he knew him better, he saw that all that similarity was on the surface. Same facial features, same color hair, same color eyes, but the intensity and intelligence in those eyes was very different from the scheming, cynical gaze that was such a big part of Tad. Whether it was his upbringing or a harkening back to generations gone by, Tru Gulliver was not a Driscoll.
“Okay,” Eli said. “I want you to go to the coffee shop after school tomorrow. You need to see the space where they want the shelf. You should talk to Charlie McDee about what his expectations for the shelf are.”
Tru was writing Eli’s words in the notepad.
“I’m sure Mazy told you what she thinks. And maybe even what Karly Farris thinks. But every person will have a unique vision of what they want. All of those visions are valid, although ultimately you’ll have to do it the way that you think is best.”
Tru’s eyes widened. “You’ll help me figure that out, won’t you?”
“Sure.”
He let out a breath as if relieved.
“Take a tape measure with you. Do you have one?”
“No.”
Eli rooted around in his worktable drawer for a moment before coming up with one that he handed to Tru.
“You’ll need all the dimensions,” he said. “How high and wide the space is. And how deep it needs to be for the cups to fit in easily.”
Tru was nodding as his pencil scratched across the paper.
“Find out what kind of numbers we’re talking about. A shelf to hold a dozen cups will be different from a shelf that needs to hold forty.”
Eli thought about that for a moment.
“But then, you don’t want to have a bunch of empty space,” Eli said. “We’ll rough out plans to add another shelf if it becomes necessary.”
“Okay.”
“There are questions to ask about the surface, as well.”
“Surface,” Tru mumbled as he wrote down the word.
“I haven’t been inside the place since I was a kid,” Eli told him. “I don’t know what Charlie had to do to rehab the place. But in an old building like that, the walls might likely be shiplap and plaster instead of Sheetrock. Charlie should know.”
Tru nodded, writing.
“If it’s plaster, run your hand across it to see if it’s textured,” he said. “Textured is easier to fix if you crack it, but it can be a bi— It’s, uh, it’s sometimes difficult to fit perfectly.”
Tru gave a quick glance and continued writing, commenting sotto voce, “Can be a bitch to fit perfect.”
Eli managed not to smile.
“You’ll need to decide about the color. If Charlie can remember the name of the paint, then it would be possible to match it. But contrast is always an option, as well. I don’t know what the cups look like, but you probably don’t want that color.”
“They’re kind of white,” Tru said. “And they’re really more mugs than cups, I guess. Mom found them and figured out how to personalize them. That’s one thing pretty neat about my mom. She’s, like, supercreative about problem-solving stuff. No matter what kind of hole she digs herself into, she always manages to put together a ladder. Even if she has to use duct tape and toothpicks.”
Tru laughed, but the sound had as much pride in it as humor.
“When we were in Wilmington, this psychologist thought that I should go to this teen support group. I only went a couple of sessions. It was way too hard-core for me. The other kids, a lot of them had parents who were, like, serious criminals. Some had been abused or abandoned on their own for days at a time. They’d be forced into state care and then suddenly back home, wherever home happened to be. I mean, wow. I realized Mom really hadn’t done such a bad job. I always have food and clothes and a warm, safe place to stay. So, I mean, she’s not perfect. But she’s pretty cool.”
“I think so, too,” Eli answered, although his mind was whirling. He was trying to sort through the new information.
Mazy had sent her son to a strange teen support group? What could that be? Sons of Moms Who Love Guys Who Are Wrong for Them?
“Do you have everything in your notes?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Tru started to tear the pages out.
“No, leave them in,” Eli said. “It’s harder to lose the pad than little slips of paper. And then you have a record of everything you did and the how and why of doing it. At least, that’s how my dad taught me.”
Eli scooted his own notepad toward Tru and he opened it up.
“Wow, cool drawings,” he said.
Eli shrugged. “I do bigger ones, of course, on the drafting table. But this is good both as a quick reference and a reminder of the different incarnations of any particular piece.”
“What do you do when it gets full?”
“I have the start date on the front,” Eli said. “When I get to the last page, I put that date underneath it and then I put it in a box. If I ever need it, I know it’s there.”
“Good idea,” Tru said.
Eli watched as he turned to his own notepad and wrote the date on the top line of the cover.
27
Mazy had been delighted at dinner when Tru gave her his update on the shelf-building project.
“Eli had me take notes, just like in school. And tomorrow I’ll go over and assess the sight and decide what design to use. We want to build a shelf that correctly fulfills the needs of the client.”
“Listen to that,” Beth Ann said. “He already sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”
Mazy’s brain had gotten stuck on the word we.
“So, Eli is helping you with this,” she clarified.
Tru nodded. “He’s going to show me how to do things. But it’s important for me to do, rather than watch. That’s how he learned from his dad.”
She had needed the shelf built. She’d asked her son to do it, worrying that it was beyond his abilities. Now Eli had agreed to help him. So the shelf would be built and her son would learn a useful skill. Mazy was very pleased how that turned out.
She hurried through her meal.
“Tru, would you do the dishes tonight?” she said. “I want to talk to Eli.”
He agreed and Beth Ann insisted that she would help. Mazy slipped on her jacket and headed out the back door.
There was still a light on in the wood shop, so instead of making her usual trek to Eli’s basement apartment, she walked down the slope to his place of business.
A small bell tinkled overhead as she opened the door. She remembered it from her childhood as being as magical as any damselfly or woodland sprite. The interior was much as her memory recalled. Flashes of the past assailed her. She had been here so many times as a kid. Laughing and playing. Getting into mischief. She had been here with her father. And she had been here with Eli. Strangely it all seemed smaller than the image in her mind. But comparing was inaccurate, as Eli seemed much bigger.
“Well, hello,” he said, looking up from the pieces at his workbench.
He rose to his feet and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to walk up and give him a kiss.
“Mmm,” he said by way of compliment as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. He kissed her back with a little more than friendly intent. As they parted, he couldn’t seem to resist one final peck on the lips.
“Did you come down here just to kiss me?” he asked.
“Isn’t that a good enough reason?” she teased.
“I suppose it is.”
“Actually, I came to say thank you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“For helping Tru with the shelf,” she told him. “He’s willing and he’s enthusiastic, but I warn you—he doesn’t actually know much about building anything.”
“I know what I’m getting into,” he said. “We all have to learn on something. And a shelf is a pretty good place to learn, especially a shelf for somebody else. If you make one for yourself, you’ll have to look at your mistakes for the rest of your life.”
He laughed and she laughed. He still had his hands at her waist.
“Well...as I said, thank you.”
He released her and took a step back. “Nothing says ‘thank you’ like a well-timed blow job.”
Mazy glanced around the very masculine, very memory-filled place from her childhood.
“Here?” she squeaked the question.
Eli glanced around and his expression changed. His narrow-eyed gaze widened and his hardened jaw appeared to relax.
“Probably not,” he answered. “I remember hearing my dad joke once that my brother, Clark, was conceived in here. But I’ve always made it a point to keep my personal life and my work life separate.”
Mazy was glad. She would not have told him no, but somehow such an act in this place seemed strangely irreverent.
She changed the subject.
“So, what are you making?” she asked him as she looked at the joined pieces of wood atop his workbench.
“I’m doing a sheet-music cabinet for the museum conservatory in Boone,” he answered. “One of the donors is gifting it. It’s a tax write-off probably, but it’s needed. And I want to make something functional, beautiful and guaranteed to last a couple of hundred years.”
“A couple of hundred years?” Mazy repeated incredulously.
Eli nodded, proudly.
“These are the doors,” he said. “Inside there’ll be a series of thin pullouts. They’ll function like drawers, but take up less space and allow you to store more in less size.”
He got out his notebook and showed her what he’d drawn up.
“It’s really pretty.” She ran her hand along the raw poplar.
“It’s going to be more than pretty,” he assured her. “I’m going to veneer the exterior in a cracked ice pattern.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, veneering is putting a very thin layer of another wood atop this sturdy poplar,” he explained. “Typically you do this in a sheet. As if you’re trying to pretend that the entire piece is actually the wood that you’ve put on top.”
“Right.”
“But what I’m going to do is cut the veneer wood in rectangles, one by two. And then attach them kind of crazy-quilt fashion. With the grain of the wood going every which way, what it ends up resembling is cracked ice.”
“Wow. It sounds incredible. I can’t wait to see it.”
“Me, neither,” he said. “Unfortunately, something really special takes a lot of time.”
“And I’m interrupting you.”
He grinned at her. “You are my favorite interruption,” he told her. “Besides, I was about to quit for the night, anyway. I need to go up and see my dad.”
She nodded and watched as he began putting away his tools.
“Would you mind if I went with you?” she asked. “I miss Jonah and I haven’t seen him since his stroke. But I don’t want to intrude.”
“He would love to see you,” Eli said.
“Good.”
A few minutes later, Eli was turning off the lights and locking up the doors. He took Mazy’s hand as they walked up the path. It was such a sweet gesture. It felt genial and familiar. He was still her best friend, even if he was also a very exciting lover.
On the porch he hesitated.
“You’re going to be shocked at how much he’s changed,” Eli said. “He’s more or less paralyzed except for his left arm. He can move his mouth and make noise, but he has no intelligible speech. And he’s about half the size he was when he was still on his feet.”
“Okay,” Mazy said.
“I know he looks bad, but I don’t want you to burst into tears and race out of the room.”
“Eli, I am made of sterner stuff.”
He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “I know you are, Mazy.”
Inside, Jonah sat in his recliner in front of the television. Ida was seated close by, feeding him from a plate on a tray table.
The woman jumped to her feet at the sight of Mazy and made hasty apologies about the way she was dressed and the presence of her apron.
Mazy greeted her with pleasure and waved away her concerns. “You look very comfortable. That’s what we’re all going for at home. And please forgive me for barging in on you two. I twisted Eli’s arm to get him to invite me.”
Ida insisted that her guest needed some refreshments and bustled off into the kitchen. Eli stood on the other side of his father.
“Dad, you remember Mazy, of course.”
“Like he could ever forget!” she said, smiling down at him. “Hi, Jonah. Long time no see.”
He was looking up at her. She could see all the life that was still in his eyes. She hadn’t remembered that they were so much like Eli’s eyes. Perhaps her younger self had been too busy to notice. Or her younger self hadn’t spent enough time looking at Eli. Either way, she’d always liked him. He was a connection to her father. And reminding her of Eli didn’t hurt anything, either.
Because Ida had gone into the kitchen, the chair next to him was empty. And the tray table with his dinner sat abandoned. Mazy sat down and twirled the spoon in the plate of shredded meat over rice.
“This looks good,” she lied.
She offered a bite and he opened his mouth to accept it. To counter the silence, she began to talk. First about beef tips and gravy, which she was pretty sure this dish was supposed to represent. And then on to great meals
she’d eaten in Wilmington and elsewhere.
“Sometimes how good I think the food is turns out to be directly proportional to how hungry I am,” she told him, rattling on. “When I was on litter pickup, we would have a truck...” In midsentence she realized what she had revealed. Stutteringly she attempted to dial it back. “My...my employer enrolled the company in one of those adopt-a-highway things,” she lied. “So we, uh, we all had to do some pickup. Like sort of a community service.” Mazy knew she was making a mash of it. Determinedly she moved on. “I was totally not used to that kind of exercise. When the truck showed up with our meals. I didn’t care what it was, it tasted great.”
Ida returned to the room with some very weak and watery cups of tea. She was completely charmed that Mazy had chosen to feed Jonah.
“I don’t think I’ve gotten him to eat that much in a week,” she said.
After he’d finished, the four sat around chatting.
Actually, Ida did most of the talking. It was obvious to Mazy that any woman trapped in a house with a man who could no longer speak might seriously need some airtime. Mazy was happy to give it.
But when Eli got his father to bed and they were ready to leave, she was pleased about that, too.
“I can lift him,” Ida told her. “I can move him around, get him to the bathroom or change him if need be. But it is a genuine blessing to have Eli coming twice a day to get him dressed and undressed.”
“I’m sure he’s grateful to be able to help,” Mazy said.
Eli came back into the living room. “I think Dad wants to say good-night to you.”
Mazy followed him back into the bedroom.
Jonah lay on his side. He was wearing blue flannel pajamas and covered by an expanse of eiderdown.
She got down on her knees on the floor next to him.
“It was really good seeing you again,” she said. “I promise I won’t stay away so long again.”
He reached his arm out and laid a hand against her cheek. She covered his with her own.
When he removed his hand, he laid it across his heart.
“Thanks.” Mazy leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good night.”