Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Since the axis of my world shifted, words have become hard. Anger overpowers my other emotions. Creating provides the outlet that keeps me sane. Taking my melancholy and sorrow out on inanimate objects stops me from becoming completely insufferable. Which is why I’m here.
I browse the workshop connected to our home.
Sturdy metal shelves lined with parts, screws, and half-finished projects fill seventy percent of the outer walls.
Browsing the rundown items in need of love, I skim my hand over the rounded top of a jukebox.
I’m not in the right headspace for the delicate touch a restoration would require.
The faded brown and white rocking horse, hanging on by broken springs, rubs salt into the injured pieces of my soul. Sunlight shines on a glass object hidden in the shadows in the far corner. Dad and I had great times in this space.
Walking around a tidy pile of wooden planks and random plastic bins with white labels written in my father’s handwriting, I reach my prize: a rusted red gumball machine.
“Perfect,” I whisper.
Rubbing my hands together, I lean from one side to the other, inspecting it. The glass dome remains intact on the outside, and the major components appear salvageable. Reaching out, I turn the handle. It resists. I apply more pressure. Groaning, it gives.
“You still have life left in you, huh?” I run my hand over the dome, removing dirt and grime. “We’ll restore you to your former glory.” If I’m lucky, this will be a straightforward job. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you yet, but the universe has a way of working those details out for me.”
Lifting the machine, I carry it to the drop-cloth-covered area. Setting it down with a soft thud, I move to grab a sanding pad. Wearing down the metal, imagining it’s the stagnation, rot, and doubt tied to my heart. I wrestle with feelings of unworthiness.
If only I could strip my own layers away so easily. Fighting back tears, I wipe the silver peak out from beneath the grossness. We can bring old, neglected things back to life, repurpose them, and make them shine with a little hard work.
My arms and shoulders ache from the repetitive motion. It’s cathartic with 90’s music coming from the old radio on the worktable; I enter a flow state.
The sound of my phone playing, “Thank you for being a friend” pulls me from my work.
I always take my bestie, Story’s, phone calls seriously.
With a six-year-old daughter, who happens to be my goddaughter, I never know if she wants to chat or tell me something’s happened to Journee.
Setting my tools aside, I pull the phone out, answer, and burst into laughter.
The chocolate-smeared face of the lanky brown-skinned girl with curly pigtails and a missing front tooth is precious.
“Hi, Aunt Phil.” She waves wildly.
“We’re having ice cream.” Story pokes her head into the frame.
“I can see that,” I say with a smile. “How’s my favorite kiddo doing?”
“Good. I miss you.” Journee pouts.
My heart swells, and I hold her love close. “I miss you too.”
Her tiny brow wrinkles, and she scrunches her button nose. “Where are you? It looks weird.”
I chuckle. “My dad’s workshop. I made a lot of cool things here. Do you want a tour?”
“Yes!” she cheers.
Switching the view on the phone, I give her a quick rundown.
“Wow,” she whispers. “Can I build something too?”
“If your mom brings you out to see me, of course you can.” Raleigh, North Carolina has never seemed as far as it does when I talk to my goddaughter. I miss seeing her face in person.
“Mom, can we go?” Journee glances up.
“We’ll see. Are you all done with your ice cream?”
“Uh huh.” Journee hops around.
“Good. Go clean up and pick out a story for after bath time.”
“Okay. Bye, Aunt Phil, love you.”
“Love you too.” She darts off, a small bundle of excitement. The kid loves bath time. Of course, with a mom who turns it into a main event with fun lights, bath tablets, and toys, who wouldn’t?
“I wish I could bottle up her energy and sell it. I’d be rich.” Story plops down on a stool at their breakfast nook.
“You wouldn’t want her any other way.”
“Nope.” Popping her p, story grins.
“Everything okay your way?”
Before the move, I picked Journee up on Mondays and Thursdays, in addition to frequent outings to give her mom a break.
“Other than missing you terribly? Yes.” Her smile fades. “But I called to check on you. Are things dying down?”
I snort. “I wish. That man and I are oil and water. I baked him a pie to say sorry in a more personal way. And you know what he did?”
“Ate it and said thank you?” Story guesses sarcastically.
“Hah. No.” I shake my head. “He asked me if he should be worried that it might harm him.”
“That cad.” Mouth wide, she feigns shock. “How dare he tease you?”
I roll my eyes. “You laugh because it’s not you he’s tormenting.”
“That’s a strong word. What do you want him to do?”
“Stop making me feel guilty.”
She presses her lips together. “Is that really him, or you?”
I snort. “Whose side are you on, Stor?”
“Yours. Always. Which means I worry about your overall well-being. I know you’re hurting and working on healing, but the pain you’re ignoring is building up and bubbling over in ways I don’t think you notice.”
My chest tightens. She doesn’t mince words when it matters. “Have I been doing that?”
Story nods. “A little. Your entire demeanor has shifted. I get it, believe me, I do. But…” She trails off.
“I’m trying,” I croak. Losing the path to my envisioned future has me struggling with bitterness. Things could always be worse. It was a blessing to be able to help my parents but the sacrifice it cost came at a high price.
“Are you still seeing your therapist?”
“Yes, but it’s like I’m stuck. Going back isn’t an option, and seeing a new way forward feels impossible.
I’m in the one place I never wanted to come back to—other than visits.
There’s no room for my old dreams here. So where does that leave me?
The town itself is in decline. I hate to admit it, but the closed storefronts scare me. ”
“Maybe it’s a sign that it’s time to make new ones. You planned massive projects for a living. Bringing a place back to life sounds right up your alley. I know this isn’t what you chose for yourself, but you have to climb out from under the storm cloud keeping you in perpetual gloom.”
The word rainstorm reminds me of the blonde haunting my life.
The chemistry we have frightens me. I hadn’t noticed a man for more than a casual dalliance in a long time.
Now I can’t stop checking out the man with broad shoulders, a wide chest, and ass for days. That man can fill a pair of blue jeans.
“Are you drooling?”
“Huh?” I touch my lips, embarrassed.
She giggles. “Gotcha, I understand why he bothers you so much.”
“His annoying, upbeat attitude?”
“Uh, huh.” Her flat tone drips with doubt.
“No, it’s not like that at all, Story.” I shake my head furiously.
“What’s the worst that could happen if you stop icing him out and let him see who you truly are? Might gain a new friend?”
A small voice shrieks through the speaker. “Mommy, I’m ready for my bath now!”
“Your godchild awaits. Ask yourself what’s under all that anger toward a man you wronged, intentional or not, and we’ll talk.”
“Story—”
She disconnects. I growl at the blank screen. I love how easy she makes it all sound. Rattled, I abandon the new project. Time for a snack break. It’s always easier to think on a full stomach.
Washing my hands in the small sink hooked up to a water line, I shake them dry and wipe them off on my faded denims. I push open the back door and step out of my slip-on sneakers before I enter the house.
“Hey, honey. How was the shop?” Mom looks up from the tray she’s setting for two.
“Do we have visitors?” She never breaks out the sunflower-patterned China for just her and Dad.
“Your father does. He’s talking about a potential commission with someone.”
She lifts the tray and hands it to me.
“Is that wise?” I’ll never forget the sight of him attached to machines keeping him alive, in a coma while they controlled the bleeding in his brain. He always loomed so large that I forgot he was getting older and just as human as I am.
“The doctor agrees a little tinkering will help with his physical and occupational therapy.”
“And you don’t think he’ll overdo it?”
“Well, if you’re worried, why don’t you take it out to them?”
“Sure.” Ready to help Mom hold the line on how much Dad pushes himself. Curiosity piqued, I walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the sunroom.
The man who dominated my last conversation with my bestie is sitting across from my father as if he belongs there.
“What are you doing here?” I asked with a severity that surprised even me.
“Philomena Joiner.” The sharp bite in my father’s voice is laced with disappointment.
“S-sorry. Just took me by surprise.” I smile, setting the drinks down in front of them as my face grows hot.
Korren studies me with his eerie, dark-green eyes that somehow see through my facade. Can he see the jagged pieces? Breath quickening, I glance away.
“He came to see me, but I told him you were the woman for the job.”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow and shove my hands in my pockets.
“I wanted to add some interactive pieces to the store, as well as freshening up end-caps and shelves before they cave in and crush a customer.”
My mind moves to the gumball machine. “What did you have in mind?” I look at my father. See? I can be polite and professional.
“I’m not sure, really, outside of the updated logo I sketched out.”
“Too bad you don’t have the examples with you.” I need to get him out of the house before our lives tangle any further. I can already tell Dad likes him. My father collects people like poke-balls. He’ll be inviting him over for dinner and drinks soon.
A slow smile breaks out across his face. “I do.”
“Perfect,” I lie, forcing a smile. Stomach fluttering, I swallow around the lump lodged in my throat. “Let’s take a look at them.”
He reaches into the leather satchel at his feet. I admire the veins flexing on the back of his hands.
“You can have my seat. I’ll let you young people take it from here.” Dad is up in a flash, shooting me a look that demands I behave.
“Thank you for having me over and listening to me, sir.”
“You keep bringing me cheese and meat baskets, and you’re welcome anytime.” Dad smiles.
No! I’m already too late. I notice the smile lines and crow’s feet that speak to my father’s good humor have deepened.
He looks good. When I first arrived home, he was the exact opposite.
I was afraid we might lose him. I peer down at the worn Girl’s Build patch on my bib and brush off stray flecks of paint from my pants.
“Excuse the appearance. You caught me during work in the shop.” Sinking into the seat Dad vacated, I silently curse Bill Joiner for being a massive traitor.
“I like the carpenter uniform you have going,” he answers sincerely.
Why does he have to be so nice?
“What are you working on?” He steers the conversation back to me.
“I- I’m not sure yet,” I admit.
He laughs. “That’s amazing. I always need a clear path forward before I start anything. Math is my superpower.”
I gag. “Better you than me. I can do equations just fine, but I don’t love them.”
His eyes sparkle with excitement. “There’s something about all the things mathematics can tell us.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Were you a math teacher in a previous life?”
His smile drops slightly. “Or something.” He places a sheet of paper on the table face down and slides it between us. “I’m not ready for you to judge my art.”
“I’ll be gentle,” I promise.
“Be kind.”
“Would it help you if I admit I have a Victorian miniature home waiting for me to design and assemble it I’m avoiding because I’m afraid, I’ll screw it up?”
“A little.” He flips the page over and moves back.
Carefully avoiding eye contact, I look down, and my breath catches. “This is amazing.” The blocky, graffiti-style letters pop off the cream paper. In a white font with a dark green background, the new logo is written on a VHS tape.
“Yeah?” He cocks his head to the side.
I can already see the gumball machine in the same forest green. A stencil would be easy enough to create on my cricket in a font similar to the one he’s used.
“Tell me what you hope the display does.”
“Create an interactive experience that will bring people in and get them engaged with renting movies.”
Images of tiny capsules with papers printed with movie genres dance in my mind. “I might have something. Are you willing to do free rental promotions for a while?”
He nods. “I know it costs money to make money. Getting traffic in is the priority.”
“Give me a few days. Can I keep this?”
“It’s all yours.”
Excitement bubbles up in my chest at the thought of breathing life back into the town. A purpose greater than myself is exactly what I need. I cast a quick glance at Korren. Even if it means working with a Ken doll look-alike. I can keep things professional.
Famous last words, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Story says.