6. Eli
ELI
The roofing job takes a day and a half, even though it’s a small roof and I have helpers. I do my best to finish it as quickly as possible, but my sense of humor dwindles as I work.
While I’d never admit it to Melody, I’m glad to be working inside now. Being Montana born and bred does not mean that I want to be out there working in the bitter cold all day long.
It’s blissfully warm in the interior of the cabin, the woodstove burning fully as soft snow falls outside, and I get to work restoring the old wood planks in the bedroom.
All the furniture from the room is piled in the living area, and I can barely see Melody amongst the clutter, but we chat back and forth as afternoon light fades into evening.
“You really do live up to your name,” she tells me appreciatively, staring at the newly sanded floors. “I barely recognize them.”
“My name?” I repeat. “Eli? Barton?”
She laughs. “Handyman. Is there anything you can’t do?”
"Oh." I sit back on my haunches with a light chuckle, brushing the sawdust from my jeans.
I pause my work, turning to face her with a thoughtful expression.
"I'm lucky enough to be able to do a lot, but restoration work is definitely one of my favorite things.
There's something deeply satisfying about taking something weathered by time and breathing new life into it. "
She smiles warmly at me. “You must need a lot of patience, though. I mean, if you do one thing wrong…”
“No. It’s like anything, really. You just put in your best effort and pay attention to detail. I mean, you’re a writer, you know how important details are.”
She balks at the reminder and averts her eyes. “Right.”
I return to my work. “All jobs come with a certain element of risk. But when you do what you love, you never have to work, not really.”
She doesn’t say anything, and for a second, I think she’s wandered off. I glance back to look at the threshold of the bedroom. She’s still standing there, looking pensive.
"I was surprised to learn in a letter from my Gran that she always wanted to be a writer herself. She never mentioned it during all our visits. It makes me think that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree sometimes."
I cluck my tongue thoughtfully. "I didn't know that about Lucy, either. She never mentioned any writing aspirations during our conversations. I wonder why she never pursued it."
“Different times, different priorities, I guess,” Melody answers. “Does your dad like to work with his hands? Is that where you get it from?”
I tense slightly, although I don’t know why. It’s an innocent enough question.
“He does,” I answer. “He’s good, but not as good as me.”
I flash her a joking grin, and she returns it. “I believe it. You set a pretty high standard. What about your siblings? You never told me about them.”
My shoulders tense more, and I realize what’s bothering me. We’re getting into personal territory here.
“Just one sister,” I say without elaborating.
“And you said she has kids?”
Suddenly, the pointed questions make me distinctly uncomfortable.
“One. A son.”
Melody seems to sense my reservations and stares at me, her mouth slightly parted as if she wants to say something but changes her mind.
"I'm going to put on another pot of coffee." She turns away, her shoulders falling slightly with disappointment. "Are you hungry? Should I make you a sandwich or something?"
A combination of guilt and appreciation washes over me, and I shake my head. “No. I’m going to finish sanding, and I’ll head out. I’ve probably been distracting you all day.”
When I look back at her, she is gone now, and I stifle a groan. Why am I fighting this so hard? Melody is nothing like Jill, but I can’t help but remember how calm and rational my ex seemed at the start. Everyone shows their best side until they don't anymore.
It's not fair to compare them. I'm punishing Melody for wounds she didn't inflict.
I stand to my full height, brush off my clothes, and join Melody in the other room, where she fusses over the coffeemaker.
The last streaks of sun filter through the window and catch golden tendrils shining over her hair like a halo.
She’s so pretty, and I want to capture this image in my mind’s eye for eternity.
As if she feels me staring, she turns and looks at me in confusion. “Everything okay?”
I nod and amble closer, folding my arms over my chest as I lean against the fridge.
“My nephew’s name is Matthew. He’s nine, and he goes to Holly Ridge Elementary,” I offer in a rush of words. Despite my clunky delivery, my words bring a smile to her face. “You’re an only child, I assume?” I continue.
She turns to face me. “I always wanted siblings. My parents were foster parents for a few years, but those kids always went back to their birth parents.”
“Your parents are saints.” I’m genuinely impressed. “That’s a hard job.”
A warm smile touches Melody’s lips, and she nods in agreement.
“They’re amazing people.” She falters slightly. “They’d never say it out loud, but I think they’d really like grandchildren one day.” She gasps as if she just realized what she said, and her eyes pop. “I didn’t mean?—”
I laugh nervously and look away. “No, I understand. My parents aren’t so covert about it. They regularly ask me when I’m getting married and having kids. They thought my ex?—”
I stop abruptly, paling.
“Your ex?” she prompts.
“Never mind,” I straighten and allow my arms to drop to my sides. “I should get back to sanding. It’s almost done. I don’t want to keep you away from work any more than I already have.”
I can’t believe I almost brought up Jill in the middle of a perfectly innocent conversation. What kind of hold does that woman still have on me? Clearly too strong of one, if I’m mentioning her in the presence of someone as wonderful as Melody Lane.
I’m clearly not ready to move on, and I have to stop pretending I am.