CHAPTER 15 SHELVES BETWEEN THEM
The first serious disagreement of their new relationship began with a bookshelf.
Eli wanted to replace the tall shelf beside the stairs.
Clara wanted to repair it.
“It’s bowed,” he said.
“It has character.”
“It has structural fatigue.”
“You say that because you want to build a new one.”
“I say that because books are heavy.”
“It has held books since 1978.”
“That is not evidence it should continue.”
Clara put both hands on her hips.
Eli mirrored her posture.
Beth, working at the register, quietly picked up her coffee and moved into the reading room.
Clara noticed.
“Coward,” she called.
“I’m hourly,” Beth answered.
Eli laughed.
Clara did not.
The argument should have ended there.
Instead, it grew.
Eli said Clara was preserving too much because it belonged to June.
Clara said Eli replaced things too quickly because he trusted his own judgment more than history.
Eli said the shelf was furniture, not a memorial.
Clara said he did not understand what it felt like to inherit a place full of someone you loved.
The instant she said it, she knew she was wrong.
Eli’s face closed.
“My father’s workshop,” he said quietly.
Clara stopped.
He set down the measuring tape.
“I inherited every tool, bench, cabinet, unpaid invoice, and unfinished project he left.”
“I know.”
“Apparently not.”
“Eli—”
“I replaced things that needed replacing. I kept what mattered. That’s how a place stays alive.”
He walked out.
Clara stood beside the bowed shelf.
Beth reappeared cautiously.
“Do you need anything?”
“A new personality.”
“I don’t think we stock those.”
Clara laughed once, miserably.
She waited until closing before driving to Mercer Woodworks.
The workshop occupied a converted feed mill near the railroad tracks. Clara had never visited.
Through the open bay door she saw worktables, clamps, lumber racks, and six men finishing for the day.
Eli stood at a bench sanding a cabinet door.
He saw her.
His expression did not change.
Clara waited until the employees left.
Then she walked inside.
“I was wrong.”
Eli set down the sandpaper.
“I know.”
“Do not make this harder.”
“I’m not.”
She looked around.
“Which things were your father’s?”
Eli pointed.
The heavy bench near the wall. A drill press. A wooden toolbox. A clock above the office door.
“Most of the rest is newer.”
Clara touched the old workbench.
Its surface was scarred by decades of cuts and stains.
“Was it hard?”
“To change things?”
“Yes.”
“Very.”
“How did you decide?”
He came beside her.
“I asked whether I was keeping something because it served the work or because I was afraid losing it meant losing him.”
Clara swallowed.
“And?”
“Sometimes the answer was both.”
She nodded.
“I’m doing that with June.”
“I know.”
“I keep thinking if I change too much, it stops being her shop.”
“It already stopped being only her shop.”
Clara looked at him.
“When?”
“The day she gave you the key.”
Tears filled Clara’s eyes.
“I hate when you’re right.”
“Frequently inconvenient.”
She smiled.
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“About the shelf too?”
“No. I’m replacing it.”
She laughed.
Eli took her hand.
“Come here.”
He led her into the office.
On one wall hung a framed pencil sketch.
Clara stopped.
The house.
Wide porch. Two trees.
Wherever we build it.
Her handwriting appeared beneath his.
As long as there are books.
She had forgotten writing that.
“You kept this?”
“I told you I kept things.”
Clara stared at the sketch.
“Is your house really based on it?”
“Somewhat.”
“I want to see it.”
Eli went still.
“Tonight?”
“If that’s okay.”
He nodded.
His house stood on five wooded acres outside town.
It was not the little house from the drawing.
It was better.
Weathered gray siding. Deep front porch. Warm windows. One large maple tree near the drive.
Clara stood beside his truck.
“You built this.”
“With help.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Inside, the house was simple and warm. Wood floors. Bookshelves. A stone fireplace. Furniture built by Eli. Photographs of Anna, Noah, his parents, and friends.
It did not feel like a house waiting for Clara.
That mattered.
It was Eli’s life.
Complete before she entered it.
He made tea.
They sat on the porch beneath blankets as the October air cooled.
Clara looked toward the single maple.
“What happened to the second tree?”
“Deer.”
“You mentioned.”
“I planted another twice.”
“Persistent.”
“Stubborn.”
They sat quietly.
“Eli,” Clara said.
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you built a life without me.”
He looked at her.
“I mean it. I think I needed to see that.”
“Why?”
“Because part of me still thought I had broken everything.”
“You broke us.”
She winced.
“But not everything,” he continued. “And I healed.”
Clara nodded.
“So did I.”
“Good.”
She leaned against him.
“Tomorrow, replace the shelf.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“I already ordered the lumber.”
Clara sat up.
“You were going to replace it anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Eli Mercer.”
He laughed so loudly it startled a bird from the porch rail.