Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Dan
The first hammer strike rattles up my arm and settles deep in my shoulder like an old argument I never finished.
The vibration lingers longer than it used to.
I rotate the joint once, loosen it, refuse to let it dictate the pace.
The stake sinks another inch into the lawn.
Red-white-and-blue bunting snaps in the morning breeze.
The air already smells like cut grass and distant charcoal. Pine Hollow stands dark beyond the rooftops. Somewhere toward Harbor Road, a truck backfires, echoing faintly.
I can feel Mel through the house the way I used to feel her across a crowded room.
The kitchen window is open and the scent of brown sugar and spice drifts out in slow waves.
I know exactly where she’s standing without looking.
Left side of the counter. She always plants her feet when she’s concentrating.
I can tell her mood by the rhythm of her chopping.
Sam parks his truck crookedly two houses down. He steps out like the sun belongs to him. Henry follows, sleeves already pushed up, both moving without looking at each other and still never colliding.
They fall into step automatically.
“Need a hand?” Sam calls as they approach.
Without a word, I hand him the other hammer.
Henry uncoils the string lights beside me. We work shoulder to shoulder, close enough that I feel his body heat when he leans in to knot a loose cord.
Sam passes him a nail without looking. Henry reaches and takes it without breaking stride.
Judith appears from somewhere behind them, laughing at something Sam mutters under his breath.
Henry’s hand finds the small of her back like it’s magnetized.
She leans into him without a thought. Sam’s palm settles on her hip from the other side.
My jaw tightens hard enough I taste metal.
Not because it’s wrong. But because it’s effortless and no one here is wondering where they stand.
I swing the hammer again.
I remember when Mel used to lean into me. Used to hook her finger through my belt loop in the grocery store to see if I’d react. Used to press me against the refrigerator after the boys went down for their nap and whisper, “Don’t make a sound.”
I haven’t heard that tone in years.
“You good?” Henry asks.
I nod.
He studies me a second longer than necessary.
Sam cracks a joke about the fireworks and it makes me laugh. The sound feels rusty, like it’s been sitting unused somewhere behind my ribs.
Judith swats Sam’s arm. Henry catches her wrist and pulls her close enough to brush his mouth against her temple.
I look away before it turns into staring.
Mel steps onto the porch.
I feel the shift in the air before I see her.
She’s wiping her hands on the old strawberry dish towel she refuses to throw out. The wind lifts the shorter strands of her silvered hair, exposing the curve of her neck. She’s still beautiful but also unreachable in a way.
She scans the yard automatically, assessing what still needs doing. Tables straight. Grill lid open. Coolers spaced evenly. She moves like she’s holding everything together by sheer will.
Her eyes find me.
For a split second, it’s twenty years ago. Newly married. Barely furnished house. Too many guests. Mel daring me with a look to pull her upstairs before anyone notices.
I adjust the lights.
Henry hands me another nail. Our fingers brush when I take it.
His skin is warm and callused, and his hand is broad.
The contact lingers just long enough that my grip tightens around the nail. I imagine his hands on more intimate parts of my body. My chest pulls tight on the inhale that follows. Heat drops low and fast, settling heavy in my gut before I can shut it down.
I shift my stance, boots grinding into the dirt, like I can shake it loose. My tongue presses briefly against the roof of my mouth. I fix my eyes on the fence post and drive the nail in harder than necessary. The impact travels up my arm.
Behind me, Sam slings an arm over Henry’s shoulder.
Their bodies fit without thought, Henry leaning in just enough to take the weight.
My gaze flicks back before I catch it, dragging over the line of Henry’s back, the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders.
Sam says something I don’t catch. Henry’s mouth curves in an easy half-smile.
I used to stand close with Mel.
Now we orbit.
She brushes past me in the kitchen with a tray in her hands and a grocery list in her head. I step aside so she doesn’t bump into me. She thanks me like I’m a guest in my own house.
Sam claps my shoulder. “Looks good, Carter.”
I nod.
Across the yard, Mel nearly collides with a cooler. I step forward without thinking and catch her wrist. “Watch your step.”
Her pulse jumps under my thumb.
Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s something in there I haven’t seen in a long time. Surprise. Heat. A question she doesn’t voice.
I could tighten my grip. I don’t.
Someone calls my name from the far side of the yard.
I release her slowly.
She pulls her hand back like she felt it too.
The yard fills. Laughter builds. Someone turns the music up loud. The smell of charcoal thickens as Sam lights the grill. Henry steps in close again to help adjust the speaker cord. His shoulder brushes mine. Intentional or not, I can’t tell.
I don’t step away. I don’t lean in either.
Mel laughs at something Mrs. Langley says, and the sound carries over the noise. I look at her, really look at her. The strong line of her jaw. The faint crease between her brows. The way her shirt clings to her back in the heat.
I’m tired of standing on the edge of my own life. Tired of watching other men claim what’s theirs while I measure my steps. If I don’t step forward soon, I might forget how.