22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackie
W e’re both up early the next morning. Silas makes eggs and toast while I pack everything up and get stuff ready to pull out once we’re done breakfast.
He seems a little distracted this morning… Jittery . That’s the best word I can think of to describe his mood. Like a guy who’s been up all night, then denied his morning cup of coffee. But I know he slept, because he was fast asleep when I woke him up to come inside in the wee hours of the morning. And he’s had two cups of coffee already. Possibly three.
Neither of us has brought up the conversation from last night. I do think about it, though, as I sit at the table eating what are quite possibly the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had. Mostly, it’s made me think about my mother. And it makes me miss her.
I haven’t missed my mother in a long time.
Mom was never really present when I was a kid. I mean, physically she was, just not in all the other ways that count. She was always distracted by a sadness that had a stronger pull on her than I ever did. And I went through a phase, about a year or so after her death, where I resented her for that. I was angry about it, even—that I got short-changed on the number of years I had with her, but then also on the amount of meaningful memories she left me with.
And then I spent another year feeling guilty about those feelings. Because she may not have been the best mother in the world, but she was a good person and she loved me, deep down… I think. And that’s more than a lot of people can say about their parents .
Then these past few years, as the distance between my present and my childhood grew wider, and with the absence of any remaining neediness to fill whatever hole her absence initially left, I now just feel bad for her. I’m sad that she never got the help she needed, because what a horrible existence that must have been—to live a life filled with sadness.
I wonder if Silas is thinking about it too, but I don’t ask. I think it’s going to take a while before he sorts everything out in his head.
We just have one stop this morning on our way to Bar Harbor: Lumberjack Lucy’s. We’re going for log rolling and axe throwing lessons.
“I didn’t think you could possibly top the umbrella cover museum,” Silas murmurs as we pull into the parking lot. There’s a hint of awe laced with the sarcasm, though. We’ve arrived right at opening and it looks like we’re the only ones here.
“I aim to exceed expectations,” I tell him, putting Trudy into park.
“In all areas?” he asks, with a mischievous grin, “Or, like, just scouting out tacky roadside attractions?”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. And also pretend I’m not turning fifty shades of red.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Carmichael.”
“Aw…” he fake pouts. “So, no gutter museum, then?”
I laugh “Shut up.”
“Giant fiberglass gutter sculpture?”
No answer this time. Just a snort I fail to contain.
“World of Gutters theme park?”
“No.”
He sighs. “Aw, man… you’re no fun.”
I swat his arm, but it doesn’t wipe the grin off his face, which is fine with me .
We’re greeted at the entrance by Lumberjack Lucy, a middle-aged amazon of a woman with bleach-blond shoulder-length hair, beefy muscular arms, and a smile the size of Texas.
“Yo-ho!” she calls over to us, as we approach the axe-throwing station.
“Yoho!” I call back.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Silas mutters, and I swat his arm again.
“Be nice,” I hiss out of the corner of my mouth, as we follow Lumberjack Lucy over to the far edge of a forested area lined with large wooden bullseye signs.
She takes us through the basics of axe-throwing and already Silas is fully focused - a complete one-eighty from the distracted, restless guy he was at breakfast. He goes first, bringing his arm up so his forearm is lined up with his ear. Then with a limber flick of the wrist, the axe sails through the air, well past the bullseye, and lodges itself with a loud thunk! into the trunk of an unsuspecting pine tree.
Lumberjack Lucy (who I can’t think of as just Lucy now, no matter how hard I try) lets out a loud cackle.
“Yo HO! That’s a lot of pent up energy and aggression you’ve got there, boy!”
He shrugs, rolling his shoulders.
“Rein it in,” she tells him.
“Yeah,” I want to repeat. “Rein it in, Silas.” But I keep my mouth shut.
“Chanel all that energy into your aim,” Lumberjack Lucy continues. “Less power, more focus.”
And next go, he lands a bullseye. Thunk! Easy as pie.
Only it’s not. Easy as pie, I mean—because when I have a go, the axe lands on the grass a good ten feet from the target board. It is, however, perfectly lined up with the center of the bullseye.
“Less focus,” Lumberjack Lucy instructs me with a grin, “More power.”
It looks like we’re going to be learning all kinds of life lessons this morning.
I try again, and it’s the same thing. And the next time. And the next. I blame it on my spindly Kermit The Frog arms. I’m actually winded already, and it’s not like I’m in bad shape. I’m on the soccer team at school. And the track team .
Defeated, I turn and extend the axe toward Silas so he can have another go.
“No way, man. I’m not going again ‘till you at least hit the board.”
At first I think he’s making a dig at me, being his usual sarcastic self. But his eyes are utterly serious. Totally sincere.
“You got this.” He steps behind me. “Relax your shoulders.” He kneads my shoulders, then pats me twice with both hands. “Relaaax…”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re a ball of nerves.”
I shake my head at him, then turn, narrowing my eyes at the wooden board straight ahead of me. Then I take a couple of slow breaths, lift the axe, and throw.
And totally miss again.
I let my head fall back. “Geez… I suck at this.”
“No you don’t,” Silas says calmly. “You’ve barely tried. Give it another shot.”
“He’s right. Don’t give up,” Lumberjack Lucy agrees. “You wanna be a lumber-Jane or not?”
I kind of do.
I shake my arms out, roll my shoulders, and take my stance again. And throw.
This time, the axe lands in the corner of the board. Nowhere near the bullseye, but still—on the board.
Silas and Lumberjack Lucy whoop and holler.
“Whoa!” Silas calls. “Girl’s got muscle!”
I laugh because… well, that statement is totally laughable. But also so like the Silas I used to know.
“Way to go, kid.” Lumberjack Lucy pats me on the shoulder. “I knew you had it in you.”
“I just didn’t want to embarrass Silas,” I tell her.
“Good call,” Silas grins, as we follow Lumberjack Lucy over to a large shallow pool.
Time for log rolling. Which, it turns out, I’m a total natural at. And Silas is not . I guess everything does all balance out in the end .
The trick is to do continuous, really quick, light steps while you’re standing on the log in order to keep from falling in. Once you wrap your brain around that, it isn’t too hard. I manage to stay up for a solid minute on my third try.
Silas has been at it for over fifteen minutes. He’s so entertaining to watch that I eventually give up with the cheers of support and settle in for the show.
He hauls himself back on the log for about the tenth time, while Lumberjack Lucy calls out to him:
“Pitter patter, Silas! Pitter patter, pitter pat—”
“What the fuck is pitter patter?” he yells. And I double over again. Who doesn’t know what pitter patter means?
Silas, apparently. Who just fell backwards off the log again with a loud splash.
“I give up,” he says, pushing his wet hair off his forehead and oh my gosh, he looks so good right now.
“Get back up there, kid,” Lumberjack Lucy tells him. “Your girlfriend didn’t give up with the axe-throwing, now you need to—”
“Oh! I’m not his girlfriend,” I correct, a little too quickly. Super awkwardly.
Raking his hands through his wet hair again, Silas gives me a look that says “seriously? does it really matter?”
And I turn the color of a beetroot.
Luckily, he’s back up on the log and hopefully hasn’t noticed.
“Quick steps, Silas! Lightly! Imagine you’re a wood nymph. Or a pixie… That’s it—lightly! Pitter Patter!”
And with that, my embarrassment is forgotten and I’m doubled over laughing again.
“Come on, Silas!” I call. “Channel your inner wood nymph!”
He doesn’t look at me, too concentrated on staying up on the log, but he does extend his arm to give me the middle finger. He’s nowhere near pixie-like, but apparently his steps are light enough to keep him upright for several seconds this time. Fifteen, at least.
“Ha! Nailed it!” he yells, jumping off the log right in front of where I’m standing a few feet away. He pushes me under the water with his hand and when I pop back up, laughing and wiping my own hair off my face, he flicks my ear .
“You suck as a cheerleader, by the way.”
“Sorry,” I laugh. “You’d get it if you could have seen yourself.”
“Sure,” he drawls, “Laugh all you want now. But when we’re attacked in a dark alley by a bunch of thugs, you won’t think it’s funny when I take a couple of them out with my axe and leave you to escape the rest of them with your epic log rolling skills.”
“Unless they’re a gang of wood nymphs,” I grin, “In which case—”
“Oh, you’re asking for it…” He wades toward me, his lean body slicing smoothly through the water as I stumble backwards, laughing so hard I barely notice when I hit the edge of the pool.
Silas reaches out to steady me, his long fingers circling my arm. Our eyes meet for a split second and there’s something that passes between us. An intense awareness. Maybe something more…
Or maybe nothing. I’m probably reading a lot more into it—because, like I said, it’s only a split second.
One side of his lip curls into a grin. “Careful there.”
“Thanks.” I smile, righting myself.
Silas nods, dropping his hand to his side. He climbs out of the pool, and I follow a few seconds later. And soon, we’re bidding our farewells to Lumberjack Lucy. Then, changed, dried off and sitting up front again, we’re ready to get back on the road.
“Alright, where to next, Lumber Jax?” Silas asks, unfolding the map.
I smile. “Bar Harbor… Festival by the Sea. Lead the way, Twinkle Toes!”
And he does.