8. Ethan
ETHAN
The community center perched on the eastern edge of town, where morning light hit first and sunsets lingered in the west rooms. I pulled into my usual spot under the old maple that kept my truck cool, then grabbed the small package from the passenger seat, a new book on Japanese furniture joinery to keep Dad’s mind active as his hands trembled more each month.
The automatic doors parted with a hiss of cool air scented by cleaner and cafeteria food. Nurse Jenkins looked up and offered that warm, professionally sympathetic smile she reserved for regular visitors.
“He’s having a good day, Ethan,” she said, sliding me the sign-in clipboard. “He’s been asking when you’d come.”
I wrote my name and the time, the pen clinking against the board. “Any changes I should know about?”
She hesitated. “The tremors are worse in the mornings. Doctor tweaked his meds yesterday so he might tire faster.”
I nodded, adding this to the record of decline I’d kept since Dad moved here three years ago. First he struggled to stand, then balance, now he was losing steadiness in the hands that once crafted flawless chairs and benches.
The hallway to his room was so familiar I could walk it blind. Past the community room where TV news droned, around the corner where Mrs. Whitaker watched bird feeders, third door on the right with the tiny wood nameplate I made him, “William Talbot.”
I knocked, opened the door. “Hey, Dad.”
He sat in the armchair by the window, sunlight catching the silver in his hair. His face brightened when he saw me, though his left hand trembled on the arm.
“There he is,” Dad said, his voice still strong. “Thought you’d forgotten your old man.”
“Just busy.” I leaned down, squeezed his shoulder. His muscles felt smaller than last week, but I pushed that thought away. “Brought you something.”
He took the package in his steadier right hand and fumbled with the paper until I tore it enough for him to pull free. “Masters of Wood,” he read, genuine delight in his voice. “Japanese techniques. You remembered.”
“You’ve mentioned it a thousand times,” I said, pulling up a chair. He opened the book with care, fingers tracing photographs of flawless joints and interlocking timbers.
“Look at this joint, no metal, no glue, just perfect understanding of how wood fits itself together,” he said. The tremor worsened with excitement but he ignored it.
He closed the book and fixed me with his sharp blue gaze. “So, tell me about this road project everyone’s talking about. Carol said you’re the liaison now.”
I explained how I help the state consultant, Lena Mercer, tailor her plans to Cedar Hills. Dad raised an eyebrow. “Her? Carol didn’t mention that.”
“She’s from the transportation department,” I said. He watched me carefully.
“Carol says you’ve spent a lot of time showing this consultant around,” he said softly.
“It’s my job. She needs to know how Cedar Hills works, not just traffic numbers.”
His patient gaze made lying impossible. “And she’s staying in my old apartment above the shop?”
“Where else was she supposed to go? The Hilton?”
Dad chuckled. “Small town.”
We fell into comfortable silence. I looked out at the cardinal on the feeder. “She plays piano, mostly Bach, late at night. It reminded me of you the first time I heard it.”
Dad’s expression softened. “Your mother played Chopin. Bach was too mathematical. What does her playing tell you?”
I think of how Lena approached a complicated problem with precision yet expression. “She values structure but finds meaning inside it.”
Dad nodded. “You’ve built a life here, shop, reputation. You’ve done well. But a life needs more than work. It needs someone to come home to.”
“Dad,” I started but he continued.
“Going through life alone isn’t strength; it’s habit. And habits can change.”
I wanted to tell him that he’s got his own life to worry about. His own problems, but his tired eyes stopped me. Instead I talked about Mrs. Donnelly’s truck and the Independence Day festival coming up.
When the sun angled west, I helped him back to bed. His steps shuffled, and he leaned heavily on me.
“Bring her by sometime,” he said. “I’d like to meet this woman who’s got you making speeches at the supply store.”
“How did you–”
“Harold’s cousin.” His smile was mischievous. “She said you defended your road engineer quite well.”
I froze. “She’s not my, ” I shut up. “I’ll see if she’ll come.”
He settled against the pillows, voice drifting. “The overlook at sunset, that’s where I knew your mother was the one. Seeing the town through someone else’s eyes shows you what matters. Don’t wait too long, son. Time runs shorter than you expect.”
His words echoed as I left, past Nurse Jenkins, out the automatic doors. In my truck I sat with the key in the ignition, thinking of that overlook and what mattered to me.
I raced up the ridge road, Dad’s words still in my head.
The sun slanted through pines, shadows chasing me around curves.
I rounded the final bend expecting the wide pullout but instead slammed on the brakes.
Orange barriers and “AREA CLOSED” signs blocked my usual spot.
Tripods with survey gear dotted the clearing, a state department truck stood nearby, yellow caution tape sealing the footpath.
I parked on the shoulder and stepped past the barriers. Lena stood with her back to me, clipboard in hand, talking to the surveyor in a safety vest. When I spoke her name, she spun around in surprise.
“What is this?” I shouted, my voice echoing in the stillness of the overlook. “What happened to preserving community access?”
Lena stood before me, arms crossed, her expression defiant. “It’s temporary, Ethan. We need precise measurements for the guardrail and pedestrian grading. What is the problem?”
I took a step closer, frustration boiling over. “So, you just shut it down? No warning for the townspeople? What if they needed access? And in short, Ms. Mercer, you are my problem.”
“I followed procedure,” she snapped, but there was tremor in her voice that gave away her uncertainty. “I can’t just let anyone stroll in while I’m trying to work on a project!”
I shook my head, anger rising. “This isn’t just a project! How many times do I have to explain that to you? It affects real people, and you can’t block their access without considering them.”
Her eyes narrowed, and tension crackled between us.
“You can act all high and mighty if you’d like but what do you actually know about what I need to get my job done?
Has it occurred to you, that this is my livelihood too?
” she retorted, her stance firm but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her agitation.
“You think you understand what all of this takes, but you don’t have a clue! ”
“Maybe if you opened your eyes, you’d see why it matters so much, why I’m so angry,” I replied, my voice low and intense, unwilling to back down.
With every word, the space between us shrunk, the air thickening with unspoken emotions. I could feel the heat radiating off her, and it drew me in, a magnetism I couldn’t ignore.
“Do you even care about what happens to this town?” I pressed, frustration spilling over.
“I care about the work. I’m trying to do my job!” she fired back, her voice tightly wound, but even I could hear the uncertainty underneath.
In that charged moment, something shifted. I stepped closer, the distance between us evaporating. “You made a mistake, shutting this down without telling anyone, and you are too big of a coward to just admit it,” I said, my heart pounding.
“You are being both rude and unreasonable!” she shot back, her voice rising.
“Am I? Well, maybe that’s because somehow it feels like no matter what I do or say, I can’t get through to you. Are you so cold that you don’t feel anything?” I challenged, the tension in my chest constricting. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, a conflict that mirrored my own.
Before I fully comprehended what I was doing, I leaned in, pushing past the frustration and confusion. Our lips crashed together in a kiss that felt both forbidden and electric. It was messy, filled with pent-up anger and something deeper, a collision of emotions that left me breathless.
But just as quickly as it began, I pulled back, the shock of what just happened filling the silence between us.
“What… what was that?” she stammered, confusion flashing across her face.
“I—” I started, my mind racing. I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I stepped back, creating distance, my heart pounding as I struggled to collect myself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She shook her head, her breath quickening. “Now, that is something we both can agree on. You need to go,” she said, her voice shaky.
As I turned away, the weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, leaving me to grapple with the consequences of that kiss. I walked back down the path, in more emotional turmoil than I was when I arrived.