Chapter Thirteen #2
At the end of the day, with Corey doing the closing, Joe walked back to his woodshop. He’d spent many an hour working away in there. Taught his son how to use and respect power tools, taught him about wood and how to use it.
It hadn’t taken with Liam all that much, though he learned well enough. But his boy had other talents, other ambitions.
He’d taught Gideon the same on his summer visits, or school holidays when he’d come. And while that boy had had other ambitions, too, what Joe had taught, Gideon learned very well.
Joe heard the saw going, a happy sound to his ears, over the music Gideon tended to have banging out.
He stepped in, saw Gideon guiding wood along the blade.
And the completed unit, a stack of finished shelves, and another shelf in the clamps holding the facing on until the glue firmed up.
He waited—safety first—until Gideon raised the saw.
“Making progress.”
Gideon hit the remote to turn down the music, pulled off his safety goggles. “Yeah. I wanted to do the shelves for the first one, see some in there. But figured I’d start on the next while the last shelf glued up.”
“Arden was in the store today. Ordered an electric fireplace. Floor unit, stone surround. It’ll look good with these cases.”
“She knows what she wants.” Gideon pulled two Cokes out of the shop fridge.
“You know my weaknesses,” Joe said as he took the bottle. “Ordered a grill, too. Fancier than what we’ve got in stock. Got family coming in for a visit. They’ll be staying at the other cousin’s place—the one you met—but Arden’s having them all over for a cookout.”
“The ones I met seemed nice enough.”
“The way she talked, I think she’s close with all of them. Did you know she lost both her parents when she was just fourteen?”
Gideon lowered the bottle. “No, I didn’t. What happened?”
“I didn’t press on that wound. Didn’t seem the place to, with customers in the shop. My sense is this aunt and uncle likely took her in, raised her from there.”
“Had to be rough.”
“Losing someone you love always is, but a young girl, losing her parents?” Joe shook his head.
“Hurts my heart. I think the aunt and uncle must be good people. You can see she loves them. When she ordered the grill, and she went whole hog there, she laughed and said her uncle was going to drool over it. It was the way she said it. You could see the love.”
“Rough as it was, not everyone’s as lucky in the aftermath.”
“No, they’re not. You’d know that, have seen that, from your work in LA. Miss it still, don’t you?”
“I’m happy here, Pop. That’s the truth.”
“I know it. And having you around makes me happy.”
He moved over to the finished cabinet, ran his fingers over the wood. “This is fine work, Giddyup. Fine, good work. You know you could make a living at this.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a hobby.”
Joe slanted over a look. “She’s paying you for the work.”
“People get paid for hobby work. Reg makes his living teaching, but he sells his photography.”
“He’s good at both. We should have him and Della over, do some grilling ourselves before we run out of summer. You two hit it off the first summer you met, couldn’t have been more than six. And you picked it right up where you left off every time you came to visit after that.”
“I’ll text him.”
“Do that. Meanwhile, you’ve got this sanded down and ready for stain. We move it over there, away from the saw and the dust, I can give you a hand with that.”
Gideon took a slow drink. “What’s your rate?”
Joe grinned. “Two lunches and a week’s worth of coffee.”
“You’re hired.”
Arden sat back from her keyboard, stared at her screen.
She’d made the right choice in sitting down at her desk on a Saturday afternoon instead of completing her list of household chores.
She’d made the right choice and finished the first draft.
And really thought she’d nailed the ending. It worked.
She hoped it worked.
Evening had settled over the valley while she wrote. She’d stopped only to feed Zorro, let him run while she made a sandwich for herself.
She’d eaten at her desk, but the time, the effort?
“So worth it.”
Her fingers itched a little, but no, no, she would not start the second draft now. Her brain needed a rest. And so, she admitted, did her neck and shoulders.
She’d shut down, then go figure out what to wear to her first monthly Sunday brunch.
And after that?
She swiveled so Zorro’s head came up.
“How about popcorn and a movie?”
He got up to do his downward dog stretch, yawned, then sang his agreement.
“Settled.”
She’d wear a dress, she decided. If she couldn’t wear a dress to Sunday brunch, where? The soft yellow one Zoey had talked her into. And, Arden admitted, her cousin hadn’t had to push too hard on it.
She’d wear it with the little white sweater over it.
Heels? Why the hell not? The nude pumps worked. And she’d wear her mother’s locket, her good twisty hoops.
“And done. See, if I had more clothes, this would’ve taken longer. Popcorn time!”
Since she wanted to share with Zorro, she settled on the living room couch with her popcorn, a well-earned glass of wine, and the flat-screen she’d brought with her from Ohio.
She decided on an action-adventure because she liked the cast. Though Zorro lost interest and curled up to doze, it kept hers to the end.
Since she wasn’t ready to call it a night, she opted for a second glass of wine and a double feature.
She chose a highly rated drama. Long before the credits, she, like Zorro, dozed off.
The banging on the door woke her. Groggy, annoyed, she pulled herself out of bed. In sleep pants and T-shirt, feet bare, she stumbled her way to the door by the glow of streetlights coming through the living room window.
“Just a minute! God, hold on.”
Half asleep, she fumbled with the lock, then opened the door.
“I brought you flowers!”
Fear hit an instant before he did. The blow struck her face, and she tasted blood as she fell.
Stars, she thought, stars circling again.
He scattered the flowers over her as she tried to push herself away along the floor.
This time she screamed. She screamed so her ears rang with it, but no one came to help.
“You shouldn’t have fucked with me, Arden.”
He dragged her up by her hair, struck her again, then let her drop so her head struck the floor and brought more stars spinning.
“You need to learn a lesson, and I’m going to teach you.”
He fell on her, dragged off her shirt. As she fought, as she screamed, his hand closed over her throat.
She could only see his eyes, eyes filled with mad fury, as her lungs wept for air, as her throat burned.
She woke choking. As she struggled to breathe, her vision started to go gray. Sliding, she thought. Sliding away.
Barking, whining, Zorro laid his paws on the sofa. He lapped at her hand, her face.
Her arms came around him, held on, held close until she could breathe again. Because he trembled, she stroked, soothing both of them.
“I scared you, I know I scared you. But I’m okay. I’m okay. You’re with me, so I’m okay.”
She lay back down, stroking his head, waiting for her heartbeat to slow.
“What brought that on?”
She hadn’t had a dream like that in months. Longer. Even when nerves had kept her too often confined to the house, she hadn’t had dreams like that.
Overtired, she decided. Worked too long. Add the wine, popcorn, drama flick, whatever. But she was all right now.
If it happened again, she’d contact Dr. Wren for a refresher. She knew better than to let something like that go.
For now, she’d assume it was a one-off.
“We’re going up to bed, my very good boy, my good, brave boy. But you should go out again first, and I could really use the air.”
It helped, that cool air, the night quiet. She heard an owl call through that quiet, and found the sound calming. A few lights sprinkled across the valley, but it slept under a shimmer of stars. And from here, she thought it slept peacefully.
When Zorro rounded back to her, they went in. She locked the door, then took a minute to assess herself.
No, she had no need, no urge to wedge a chair under the knob. She carried her bowl, her glass into the kitchen, put them in the dishwasher.
She knew she’d locked the mudroom, but didn’t think it obsessive to check.
They went upstairs, she changed into her sleepwear, then went in to brush her teeth, do her nightly skin care.
Normal, normal, she thought, though Zorro sat in the doorway and watched her.
“I scared you. I scared me, too, but everything’s all right now.”
She studied the woman in the mirror. Not pale, not haunted around the eyes.
That part of her life? Done. She didn’t live in that apartment anymore. She didn’t even live in the same state, the same freaking time zone.
And he was locked up for months yet. He didn’t know where she lived now—and that information wasn’t in her bio.
She wasn’t just safe here, she felt safe.
“Bedtime,” she told Zorro.
He circled his bed, chose his nighttime companion.
She took off the shams, the decorative pillows, but kept Burnie.
She turned off the light, stretched out in bed with an arm around the dragon. And assessed again.
No anxious need to lock the bedroom door or close and lock the window she left open an inch or so for the air.
“Just a bad dream,” she murmured. “People have them.”
She closed her eyes, listened to Zorro’s steady breathing, the breeze tickling the leaves, the call of the owl.
When sleep held off, she did her relaxation breathing and visualized.
She saw herself in her finished library, the dog sleeping in front of the fireplace where the flames danced. She sat in that big, gushy chair with a book while snow fell soft and silent outside.
Maybe it didn’t snow much or often where she lived now, but she could imagine it.
So her world? At peace. Her home? Safe.
Imagining it all, she slept.