6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Honey
I’m in the middle of sanding a joint on the quilt-pattern commission when Patrice calls.
I know it’s her before she explains. She’s the only client who’s emailed me twice in two weeks without a question, just thinking out loud about her design. Wolf motif, full soundboard decoration. I set down the fret saw and pull off one glove.
“I know this is a lot to ask,” she says, and I can hear her steeling herself. “But I think I want an elk instead of the wolf, and I need more time to be sure. Is there any way to push me back?”
I look at my order board. Patrice is next. Behind her: Kragen.
“How much time do you need?”
“Six weeks? Maybe eight?” Another pause. “I feel terrible.”
“Don’t. You’re not bumping anyone; you’re just moving yourself. Everyone else stays where they are. I’ll fill your slot and be in touch when your new window opens.”
She thanks me twice and hangs up.
I look at Kragen’s file. Custom mountain dulcimer, wider neck, no decorative work.
A plain commission is faster than a decorated one.
No pyrography, no design planning, no hours with the burning pen.
The fact that his requires custom templates—wider neck, adjusted fret spacing—is additional structural work, yes, but structural work moves differently than decorative work. Cleaner. More straightforward.
This is just good scheduling.
I pick up my phone.
It rings twice before he picks up, and his voice when he answers is lower than I remember from the consultation.
“Kragen,” I say, “it’s Honey. I have some good news about your timeline.”
A beat. “Yeah?”
“A client just moved back in the queue. If you want the slot, I can start your instrument in the next week or two instead of six to eight.”
The silence on his end is the kind that means he’s actually taking something in. “That’s… wow. Yeah. Absolutely.” And then, “What happened to the other client?”
“Couldn’t decide between an elk and a wolf.”
He laughs—short and genuine. “I hope she figures it out.”
“She will. They always do.” I’m already reaching for a pencil. “I’ll be in touch when I have a confirmed start date.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he says. A pause, and then, quieter, like he’s saying it more to himself than to me: “I’ve been thinking about that instrument.”
I stop reaching for the pencil.
“That’s… good,” I say. “That’s the idea.”
Neither of us hangs up right away.
“I’ll wait to hear from you,” he says finally.
After I hang up, I stand in the workshop, looking at his file. Custom templates. New neck ratio calculations. Wood selection for the top. I’ll want to go through my full stock carefully, find something with the right grain for a wider instrument.
Plain commission. Just the structural work.
I open a fresh page of notes and start the calculations. Outside the workshop window, the morning keeps going as if nothing has shifted. The crow up the hill complains at full volume. Somewhere down the hill, the creek is running.
I’m three pages into the calculations before I catch myself humming.
I stop.
I have no idea what I was humming.
I go back to the numbers.