13
Okay. The important thing, I’ve decided, is not to make mountains from molehills. Yes, I find John objectively attractive.
So what? This isn’t news. I thought he was hot when I first met him, until I found out about his personality (or lack thereof).
And yes, I’ve come to realize he has a bit more personality than I originally gave him credit for, but he’s still Boring John. He still cares about cars more than people.
He still answers half the things I say with an incredulous stare.
Honestly, I think this is more a reflection of how starved I am for a proper crush. Like, if you’re lost in the desert for
a month, even a dirty old can of soda is going to look just as good as a strawberry daiquiri, right?
Okay, that was mean.
John’s not a dirty old can of soda.
But he also isn’t the kind of guy I want to date. I like really driven, outgoing guys. Like my high school boyfriend, who
was class president and the captain of the soccer team. Or my university boyfriend, who was pre-law, or even my post-uni fling
with that slightly eccentric (but very engaging) medical student. I like guys who want big things from life and who push me
to want more from my own. What’s John going to push me to do? Work at the auto shop forever? Die with grease stains on my
clothes?
. . . okay, that was also mean. There’s nothing wrong with working at an auto shop forever.
But it isn’t me .
Anyway. I slept on it last night, and I’ve decided the thing to do is just ignore my inconvenient physical attraction to John
and focus on something else, like my Barrel Into Summer event.
On Wednesday, I design a flyer and use the auto shop’s printer to print off a prototype. John helps me change out the color
cartridge, and I don’t pay any attention to how warm his arm is when it brushes against mine.
On Thursday, I make a list of all the places I can put the flyers up, and John and I practically die of laughter when the
Wordle answer turns out to be FLYER. I definitely don’t notice how nice his laugh is or that he gets dimples on his cheeks
when he laughs really hard.
On Friday, I walk into the break room to find him and Dave watching a YouTube video of some big crash in Formula 2, and when
I comment that I thought it was called Formula 1, not 2, John subjects me to a twenty-minute lecture on all the different
racing leagues on the planet. I don’t want to interrupt him, since it’s the longest he’s ever talked to me, which feels kind
of nice, but it’s all incredibly confusing and more than a little boring. So really, you can hardly blame me for spacing out
and getting lost in the honey-brown shade of his eyes.
Needless to say, by Saturday, I’m very glad to have some time away from the shop. I get up early and have a cup of coffee
on the back porch, soaking up the warmth of the fragile May sun. At nine a.m., I head out to the breakfast date I’ve set up
with Jim.
It isn’t part of my caregiving service, really, I just felt like he needed a little company this weekend. His wife’s birthday is next week—she would’ve turned ninety-four—and I can tell he’s really torn up about it.
I drive to the bakery downtown and buy a box of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and then head to his house. It’s an old-fashioned
farmhouse that sits on the top of a hill, with a wide porch overlooking his neighbor’s farmland. We sit outside and have tea
and cinnamon rolls and watch the neighbor’s horses graze. There’s a white one who I’ve decided is named Ghost, and a brown
one I’ve named Epona.
I ask Jim to tell me about his late wife, and the memories roll out of him slowly. It’s less of a story of their lives together
than a collection of unrelated snapshots. She always put a half-cup of sugar in her tea. She stepped on a snake once in the
garden and hollered so loudly that the neighbors came running over. She didn’t like to drive. She cooked chicken and boiled
potatoes on Sundays.
Listening to him talk, I can’t really glean much about their relationship, or even what kind of person she was, but I know
that doesn’t matter. He’s reliving those tiny moments with her as he tells me about them, and after an hour or two of talking,
the lines of his shoulders seem a little looser.
“You’re a good girl,” he says, as I return from taking our teacups back into the kitchen. “Spending your Saturday with an
old fella like me.”
“I’m happy to,” I say honestly. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got my shift at the museum. I’m going to ask Shelley
if I can throw that event I was telling you about.”
Jim lets out a breath. “Shelley,” he says, with a dismissive shake of his head. “I don’t have much to do with her. You know she tried to stop me working there after Josephine died? She said the place didn’t need security.”
“You’re kidding,” I say indignantly. What sort of person tries to fire a ninety-six-year-old volunteer? “What did you do?”
Jim shrugs. “I kept showing up anyway.”
I giggle. “That’s amazing.”
“If you want to throw your party, just do it. Don’t pay that woman any mind.”
I smile. “Thanks, Jim. See you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.”
I wave goodbye to Ghost and Epona and head to the museum, practicing my argument for Shelley as I drive. I’m going to put
all the food on my credit card, so it isn’t going to cost her anything, and Trey and I will handle everything the day of the
event. I’m not sure why she would say no—and yet I have a sneaking feeling that she’s going to.
The morning volunteer, a nice older woman named Brenda, is struggling to use the credit card machine when I arrive. I help
her sort it out and resolve to make a cheat sheet for her for the future. She agrees to watch the desk an extra five minutes
while I go talk to Shelley. My palms are a bit prickly with nerves. I rub them on my jeans and then knock on her office door.
“What?” she calls.
I open the door. Soup is dripping from her spoon onto her desk as she scrolls through Facebook on her computer, and there’s a crumpled fast food container on the floor. I swallow down a spike of annoyance. Her office could actually be really cute, if she made any attempt to keep it clean. There’s a big window overlooking the backyard and a bookshelf on either side of the desk, giving the place a cozy, reading nook kind of vibe.
“Hi, Shelley,” I say politely. “Do you have a minute?”
She glances up. “What’s up?”
I take a breath and launch in. “I was thinking it would be fun to host an event here next weekend, to celebrate the start
of summer and maybe draw in a little extra business.”
“We don’t have money for that,” Shelley says, half-turning back to her computer.
“No, I know,” I say hastily. “But I’ve got it all planned out so it wouldn’t cost a thing. There’s a local musician who can
play for free, and Trey’s got a barbecue we can use, so we can sell hot dogs and hamburgers and lemonade—”
“I don’t have time to plan something like that.”
“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” I say. “I can plan it all. You could just—show up and enjoy!”
Shelley lets out an impatient breath and glances back at her computer, like I’m keeping her from some important work. “When
did you want to do this?”
“I was thinking next Saturday. The weather is supposed to be really nice, and it’ll be a week before the kids get out of school,
so I was thinking we could call it the Barrel Into Summer event.” I force a cheery smile. “Kind of a cute name, right?”
Shelley scowls. “A week isn’t enough time to plan something like that.”
She’s turning away again. Her tone is final.
“I think it’s a good idea,” says a voice from the door. I glance back to see Trey leaning against the doorframe with his arms
crossed.
Shelley’s lips press together. Her eyes move between Trey and me, as though she’s weighing whether or not it’s worth arguing with us.
“Oh, fine,” she says ungraciously. “But you two have got to sort it out yourselves. I’ve got too much on my plate already.”
Too much on her plate ? What, is she trying to scroll through the entirety of Facebook or something?
But, whatever. She said yes. That’s all that matters.
“Awesome,” I say. “Thanks.”
I turn to leave and then hesitate at the door. I consider telling her my other idea, the one that Jean Shorts Girl gave me,
but then I think, screw it. I’m going to take Jim’s advice and just do it without her. She probably won’t even notice.
Out in the hall, I hold my hand up to Trey for a high five. “Success!”
He chuckles. “Success. You need me to do anything for it?”
“Could you help me set some stuff up outside? Or wait—your hand—” I peer at his hand, which I’ve just noticed is bandaged.
“Eh, I can still lift stuff.”
I frown. “Are you sure? Didn’t you say you got stitches?”
“It’s fine.” He peels back the bandage—which, yuck, I didn’t ask him to do—and shows me the long line of black stitches underneath.
“It’s not that bad.”
It looks pretty bad to me, but I can tell there’s no use arguing with him. “I’ll do all the carrying,” I say instead. “I just
need you to tell me which stuff I can take outside. And I want to tell you about this exhibit I want to make. If you think
it’s a good idea, I mean.”
I take him to the back of the museum, where there’s a big stretch of empty wall. Because of the way the building is designed,
this part of the wall goes all the way up to the second floor.
Trey looks amused as I explain my idea. “Do you think it’s possible?” I ask.
He studies the wall. “Should be. I’ll need another pair of hands if you want it done by next weekend, though.”
“My friend John said he could help out tomorrow. He works with me at the auto shop.”
Trey nods. “See if he can come by around noon.”
He heads off to his demonstration station and I walk back to the front desk, doing a little celebration dance as I go. I relieve
the other volunteer, Brenda, then settle into the chair and take out my phone to text John.
[12:19]: Any chance you can still come by the museum tomorrow to help Trey?
He sends back a thumbs-up.
[12:19] John: what time?
[12:20]: Would noon work?
A pause.
[12:21] John: WORKS
I stare at it for a moment, confused. Did he accidentally put caps lock on or something?
Then I laugh.
[12:21]: Ha!
[12:21]: If that’s really today’s answer, I’m going to be pissed.
[12:22] John: lol
[12:22] John: I haven’t done it yet
[12:23]: DITTO.
I put my phone down for a minute to help a lovely middle-aged couple who come in to buy tickets. They’re visiting from Australia
and they seem genuinely interested in the museum. I chat with them for a few minutes and they tell me that they own a vineyard!
Hence the interest in barrels, I suppose.
“Make sure you tell Trey that,” I tell them. “He’s our cooper.”
They head off eagerly into the museum. I pick my phone back up and see I’ve missed a few texts.
[12:24] John: lol
[12:24] John: first word?
[12:37]: EVENT
[12:37]: As in, Shelley just agreed to let me do the Barrel Into Summer event!
[12:38] John: nice
[12:38] John: let me know if I can help
[12:39]: Thanks!
[12:39]: I’ll probably take you up on that.
[12:40]: What's your first word?
[12:41] John: umm
[12:41] John: ORDER
[12:41]: As in??
[12:42] John: as in nothing
[12:42] John: you know you don’t have to pick every word based on something happening in your life, right?
I laugh aloud.
[12:43]: I know you don’t HAVE to, but it’s more fun that way
[12:43]: Plus, I’m convinced the Wordle answers are connected to my life
[12:43] John: ...
[12:44] John: what?
[12:45]: Like on Thursday, when it was FLYER!
[12:45]: And remember yesterday, when the answer was SPILL?
[12:45]: I spilled coffee all over the desk an HOUR later
[12:45]: Coincidence???
[12:45] John: yes
[12:46] John: that is a coincidence
[12:47]: Nope
[12:47]: Wordle was trying to warn me about the future
[12:48] John: what if today’s answer is DEATH?
[12:49]: Speak well of me at my funeral.
[12:50] John: lol
[12:51] John: ... you don’t really think Wordle answers are connected to your life, do you?
[12:51]: You’ll never know for sure until you read my autobiography
The museum door swings open again and a slightly flustered woman comes in with a young boy.
“Hi, there,” I say.
“Hi,” she says. “Do you have a bathroom we could use?”
“Er—of course.” I point. “Right through there.”
“Thanks.”
Darn it. I swear, more people come in here to use the restroom than to see the barrels. What is wrong with people?
Then I have an idea. I grab the Barrel Into Summer flyer from my purse and quickly make ten copies on the museum’s ancient
copy machine. I get back to the desk just as the woman and her child are stepping out of the restroom.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Of course.” I smile. “Are you visiting Waldon on vacation or—?”
“Oh no, I’m from here. We were just at the park up the street.”
The park up the street? I wonder if there’s a bulletin board there.
“Well, if you’re around next weekend, we’re having an event here,” I say brightly, handing her a flyer. “There’s going to
be music and a barbecue, and er—fun stuff for kids.”
I can’t be more specific than that, mostly because I haven’t planned any stuff for kids. What would kids enjoy that costs zero dollars?
“Like a scavenger hunt?” asks the boy.
I beam at him. “ Exactly like a scavenger hunt. How did you know?”
The kid grins at me proudly and his mother thanks me again. As the door swings closed behind them, I add “Plan scavenger hunt”
to the to-do list on my phone. What a perfect idea! I can make a treasure map and hide clues around the museum. I’ll have
to get prizes, but maybe I can find something cheap at the dollar store. I wonder if they have barrel-themed toys.
(Probably not.)
My phone dings on the desk.
[12:57] John: is there a double letter?
[12:58]: Hang on, just starting now
I open Wordle and type in EVENT, which gets me nothing. Shoot. I look around the room, drumming my fingers on the desk. From
inside the museum, I can hear the clanking of Trey’s tools.
CLANK.
The C is green; the rest is gray. Hmm.
TOUGH. This puzzle is tough.
Ooh, that’s more helpful. The U and H are both green.
C_U_H
I scan the unused letters. CQ, CW, CR...
CR!
CRUSH!
[1:04]: Got it
[1:04]: No double letter
[1:04] John: nice
[1:04] John: and is it connected to your life? lol
I glance away from my phone and catch sight of my reflection in the window opposite the desk. My cheeks are slightly flushed
and I’m smiling foolishly.
I look down at Wordle, those five green letters staring back at me mockingly.
CRUSH .
[1:06]: Nope.
[1:06]: I guess I was wrong.