by Debby Mayne
“Why?”
His expression changes from happy to confused. “It’s a father-son project. I thought you’d enjoy it.”
I walk around the box again and pick up a couple of the pieces to look at them more closely. “Doesn’t look like much of anything to me.”
“Not yet, it doesn’t.” He picks up a rod and holds it above his head. “I’m thinking this thing’ll make a good roll bar.”
Sounds dangerous if it needs a roll bar, but I don’t want to totally diss Daddy, since he’s trying so hard. “So where do we start?”
“Well . . .” He picks up the wooden box and turns it over like he’s inspecting it. “Some of the guys at work gave me some tips. One of ’em said he’d even give me some plans and drawings he used when his kids were teenagers.”
I don’t know how to tell Daddy this, but guys my age aren’t into boxcars. They’re pretty old-school, but that’s something else I don’t want to say. He’s been having issues with losing his hair lately, and I don’t want to make it worse. When Mama teased him about male-patterned baldness, he started spending more time in front of the mirror, inspecting his hairline.
“What are we supposed to do with it after we finish building it?” I sure can’t imagine myself ever riding one of these things.
“Oh, that’s another thing.” His face widens into a big ol’ honkin’ grin. “I’ve entered you in the Annual Pinewood Boxcar Race that’s comin’ up on December first.”
This is so not good. I’m already considered somewhat of a dork at school, even though I’m on the football team, and this is the very thing that’ll seal my reputation for good.
His grin widens. “Come see the other stuff I got. I figured if you’re gonna race a boxcar, you need a cool-looking helmet to go with it.”
I follow him to the garage, where he pulls a black helmet with fluorescent lime-colored flame decals on the side out of a bag, followed by cans of paint with matching lids. “They won’t be able to miss you when you come down the hill in this.”
I let out a low groan. Sounds like my biggest nightmare.
“I figure if you wear black pants and a black jacket, you’ll be someone to reckon with.” He chuckles like we’re in on some sort of joke. “We can call you The Intimidator.”
I don’t want to be called The Intimidator. I don’t want to wear black pants and a black jacket. I don’t want to wear a tacky helmet and drive a boxcar. I look at him and open my mouth, but the hopeful look on his face stops me from saying what’s on my mind.
Daddy expects me to help build this thing, and I’ve never been all that good at stuff like this. So maybe there’s hope we won’t have it ready in time for the race.
“Ready to get started?” He looks so happy, and I can tell he can’t wait to start working on it.
I shrug. “Sure. I guess.”
“Worried you won’t do a good job?” He gives me a playful punch in the shoulder. “Is that it?”
Actually, I’m worried either way—that I’ll do a great job and have to drive this thing or do a terrible job . . . and have to drive this thing. “Maybe.”
“C’mon, son. I’ve done this before, so you have nothing to worry about. We’ll have this thing running like a fine-tuned race car in no time.”
I shudder with dread. The very thought of crawling into that box in public makes me want to run away from home.
“I bet Bucky’s never built one of these things before.”
Bucky is Julius’s daddy, and this is one time I envy Julius. “Prob’ly not.”
“Knowing him, he’ll try anyway.” Daddy laughs. “That should be a hoot. It’ll probably fall apart before it leaves the starting line.” He picks up his toolbox and gives me a satisfied look. “But I doubt he’ll bother because Julius has his own real car. Where’s the fun in that, right?”
Oh, I can think of where the fun in having my own car would be. I’d be able to cruise around town, check out some of the girls who don’t give me the time of day now, and maybe even get a date with one of them.
“Speaking of Bucky and Julius, they’re stopping by in a few minutes.” Daddy gives me a long grin. “I figure it’s my turn to brag about something.”
Please tell me it isn’t so. “Why do they want to come over?”
Daddy’s smile turns sheepish. “Because I asked them to, and I might have told them I have something that’ll blow their minds.”
I’m pretty sure this pile of wood and metal won’t blow their minds, but I’ll let Daddy find out for himself. I don’t want to be the one to disappoint him. If things go like I think they might, they’ll let him know how lame his idea is, and he’ll give up on the boxcar dream before they leave. Granted, I’ll have to be there for him when he beats himself up and wonders what he’d been thinking. But that’s a whole lot better than being the one to upset him. I let out a sigh of relief.
Almost as if it were planned, Mama sticks her head out the back door and hollers, “Digger, you and Brett have company.”
Daddy waves his hand over his head. “Send ’em on out. I want to show them something.”
As Bucky and Julius walk toward us, a sense of dread floods me. I brace myself for the humiliation from Julius’s smirks and comments.
Bucky makes a face and points to the pile. “What on earth is that?”
Daddy folds his arms over his chest, raises his head, and gives them a great big ol’ smile. “That’s about to be a boxcar that me and Brett are gonna make. Together.” Daddy looks at me. “Right, son?”
“A what?” Bucky walks around the pile while I cringe. I can’t bring myself to look at Julius, who must be sneering by now.
“A boxcar. I’ve entered Brett in the Annual Pinewood Boxcar Race.”
I want to run inside the house and hide, but I can’t bring myself to hurt Daddy’s feelings. He’s been by my side through everything, no matter how bad it was, although he’s never really understood. But at least he’s been there.
Bucky snickers. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“One of the guys from work has some plans,” Daddy says. “I think it’ll be fun.”
“It’s stupid.” Bucky shakes his head. He looks over at Julius and gives him a look that makes me feel terrible for Daddy. But I just stand there and keep my mouth shut.
Before Daddy can defend himself, Julius steps toward the pile, bends over, and picks up one of the wheels. “I think it’s cool.” He turns to his dad. “Dad, I want to build one of those things and be in that race.”
Dinner at Mack’s was fun, but I had a hard time getting past knowing how many times Nate has been engaged. Now I’m second-guessing myself and wondering about my judgment of men.
Shortly after high school, I liked a guy and thought there might be a future for us, but my interest waned when I realized he wasn’t as manly as my dad. I’ve tried to find something to like about different men, but none of them measured up. And there’s Tom. I had the biggest crush on him until he started getting on my nerves because he kept trying to be the man he thought I wanted, when all I really wanted was to find out who he was. It got to where I couldn’t stand to be around him or even see his number on my caller ID.
After pouring my coffee, I walk into the workroom. Sara looks up and shakes her head.
“You look miserable.” She pauses. “Was your date really awful?”
“No, it was actually quite fun.”
“But—?”
“I can’t get past the fact that he’s been engaged so many times.”
She makes a sympathetic face. “Yeah, I can see that being a problem.”
I shake my head and glance down before looking back up at her. “But it’s something I need to work through.”
“Remember that no one is perfect. Everyone has something messy in their past.” Sara points to the shiny silver ribbon. “We just got slammed with holiday orders, so let’s see how much metallic ribbon we’ll need to order.”
I appreciate the fa
ct that Sara is willing to change the subject, even though I know she’s dying to hear more about last night. We fill most of the orders before she finally stands up, stretches, and walks toward the door. “I’ll go make us some lunch. Do you want soup and a sandwich or leftover pizza?”
Until she got pregnant, we ate a lot of salads, but those don’t satisfy her anymore. Both Justin and I have put on a few pounds right along with her.
“Either is fine.” I grin up at her. “Surprise me.”
“Okeydokey. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have lunch on the table.”
After she leaves the workroom, I study the orders that have come in since we started. We’re busy year-round, but if this year is anything like it’s been since we started, the orders will grow exponentially until about a week before Christmas. Then our sales will drop like a bomb. The first time that happened, we freaked out, but orders started right back up the day after Christmas.
I jot down some of the things that I think we need and bring the list into the kitchen, where my sister has been working hard to fill the table with food. “Pizza, sandwiches, and soup?” I sit down at my normal place. “Girl, we’re all gonna be fat if you keep this up.”
“I can’t help it.” She lifts a slice of pizza off the serving plate and puts it beside the sandwich. “I’m always hungry. This baby is taking a lot out of me.”
As we eat, we chat about the orders, and she agrees with me on what we need. “So, when are you planning to go see Justin?”
She lifts her soupspoon and sighs. “Around two. I wanted to go earlier, but they told me he doesn’t work as hard when I’m there too much.”
“I wonder why that is.”
She shrugs. “Apparently, I’m a distraction. I sure will be glad when he’s able to come home.”
“It won’t be too long.” I know she’s worried sick about her husband, and to be honest, I’m concerned too. They’ve been married less than a year, and now she might be looking at a lifetime of caring for an injured husband as well as a small child. He’s doing quite a bit better, but we’re still not sure if he’ll ever be back to his old strong self.
“Have you heard anything about your new condo?” She shoves the pizza crust into her mouth and chews. She never used to eat the crust, but now she doesn’t leave even a crumb on her plate.
“Nate says Jeanine’s starting to dig her heels in.”
She gives me a questioning look. “Again?”
“Afraid so. She’s acting awfully skittish.”
“I wonder why.” Sara frowns. “It seems like she’d be happy to get rid of the place, since she can’t afford it.”
“Apparently, this is pretty common behavior for someone who is about to be foreclosed on. He probably shouldn’t have told me this, but she had an offer before me that would have brought her a little extra cash, and she turned it down.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I think she’s acting on emotion. At any rate, I’m concerned it might fall through.”
“When will you know for sure?” Sara asks.
“At the closing. Nate says he’s seen deals fall through all the way up to the point when it’s time to sign the papers.”
“Wow.” Sara takes another bite and shakes her head as she chews. “That’s nerve-racking.”
“Tell me about it.” I stand and carry my plate to the sink. “Want me to go to the rehab place with you? I’ll wait in the lobby after I say hi to Justin.”
“You don’t mind doing that?”
“Of course not. I want you to know I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” As soon as those words leave my mouth, I regret saying them, knowing Sara is an emotional wreck. I look up at her and see the tears glistening in her eyes.
She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “Sorry about that. I can’t control the tears.”
“I understand. Now go splash some cold water on your face, and let’s go see Justin.”
Sara spends a little extra time with her face, since she says she doesn’t want him to see her all blotchy and red-eyed. I understand. She only gets to see him for a couple of hours a day now, and she wants to present the best front possible. However, I know she’s a basket case with her emotions compounded by her pregnancy.
All the way to the rehab facility, she chatters nonstop about how well Justin is doing. The doctors and physical therapists are surprised by how much progress he’s made over the past five weeks. I mostly listen, with an occasional comment thrown in to let her know I’m not tuning her out.
When we pull into the parking lot, she reaches over and places her hand on my forearm. “I want you to know how much I appreciate what you’re doing.” Once again, she tears up.
“I’m happy to do it. Let’s get in there before you start an all-out crying jag.”
The receptionist grins when she sees us walk in. “Hey, ladies. Go on back.”
Something about the way the receptionist smiles makes me suspicious, but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to get Sara worked up. As soon as we round the corner toward Justin’s room, we both stop in our tracks.
Justin is standing outside his room without a walker, wearing his favorite outfit of jeans and a logo T-shirt from the shop where he works. A grin covers his entire face as Sara runs toward him.
She stops about a foot in front of him and gives him a tentative look. He opens his arms wide and pulls her close for a hug. Now it’s my turn to cry, and I can’t help the heavy flow of tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Surprised?” He holds her back and laughs.
“When—” She gulps. “How—?” She scrunches up her face and tilts her head. “I just saw you yesterday, and you weren’t—”
“I’ve been walking for several days now, but I wanted to wait until I could make it all the way down the hall and back before showing you.”
“So, what does this mean?”
He winks at me and then hugs her again. “It means I’ll for sure be out of here in time to go to the family reunion with you.”
I say a few more words before excusing myself. “I’ll be in the lobby answering hair bow queries on my phone.”
She nods and waves before turning back to Justin. Looking at them now makes me wonder why I ever thought they weren’t a good match. They’re clearly perfect for each other.
There are more than a dozen questions about our hair bows, so I sit down and thumb-type responses into my cell phone. My phone rings, and I see that it’s from Shay.
“Hey there. How’d your date go last night?”
“It was good. Thanks for letting him know you told me about his engagements. I wasn’t sure how I’d bring that up.”
“Yeah, I thought it might be uncomfortable for you. Are you satisfied with his answers?”
“Sort of.”
“That’s why it’s a good idea for you to take your time. Get to know him. Find out if your feelings are real or just infatuation.” She chuckles. “I mean, he is awfully cute, and I can see how that would make you swoon.”
I laugh. “Sounds like words of wisdom coming from experience.”
“Oh, trust me. They are. I’ve kissed more than my share of frogs who looked like princes . . . until they didn’t.” She clears her throat. “I know you’re super busy, but I have a huge favor.”
“Sure, you know I’ll do anything for you.”
“You might change your mind when you hear what I’m about to propose.”
“Just ask.”
“Okay, here goes. Puddin’ and I have decided to rent the space next door, and we’re putting in several lines of children’s apparel. We’d like to feature some of your hair bows and anything else you’d like to put in there.”
Sara and I once discussed opening a shop with children’s accessories, but we both decided we like not having to keep regular hours. This might be perfect. “Sounds like a good plan, but I will have to discuss it with Sara. When?”
“After the first of the year. The carpet
company just moved out this week, so we have to get our design people in there to put in some walls and shelves.”
“Perfect. I’ll definitely tell my sister.”
“Can y’all stop by sometime this afternoon?”
“We’re at the rehab center, so maybe we can come by on the way home.”
After I get off the phone, I pick up a magazine and wait for Sara to come out to the lobby. I’m excited to tell Sara what Shay said. But instead of being overjoyed, she frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
You’d think someone asked Bucky to dig ditches, the way he’s been carrying on after Digger talked to him about building a boxcar. He hates the very thought of working with his hands, since he seems to think he’s above all that now.
Well, I’ve got news for him. What attracted me to him in the first place was the fact that he’s from a family of doers. I’ve always liked men who are self-sufficient and don’t mind getting their hands calloused and dirty. Now his hands are softer than mine. It takes so much effort to get him to fix something around the house that I don’t even ask him anymore. Instead, I call someone, and he doesn’t even know it was ever broken. I’d probably give up on the boxcar thing if it weren’t for Julius being so excited about being in that race. For the first time since we came into money, our son is acting like an eager child who has family values and wants to spend time with one of us rather than a spoiled brat who can’t be pleased no matter how much money we throw at him.
So I figure it’s high time to talk some sense into Bucky. As soon as he lets out another gripe about having to build a boxcar, I turn and face him.
“Can’t you see what you’re doing?” I cough to try to clear some of the shrillness in my voice. “Our son is excited about spending time with his daddy and helping build something together.”
“It’s just a silly boxcar.” Bucky downs the last of the water in his glass before putting it on the edge of the counter. “Maybe I can hire someone to build it for us.”
I walk over and put the glass in the sink. “It’s not just a silly boxcar, and you are not going to hire someone to do your work. Why aren’t you listening to me? It’s not about the boxcar. It’s about your relationship with him. He wants to spend time with you.”