Page 39 of Love Notes

“Just this,” I said, pretending I hadn’t seen the message.Not to protect Sam, I didn’t think, but maybe to protectme?Because I didn’t know yet what was going on.Like the guy in the movie who got shot but kept going because his brain hadn’t caught up yet.Not until someone asked him if he was hurt, and then suddenly the pain caught him, and he was dying dramatically.I just had to stay ahead of that moment, that was all.So I smiled as I dropped the twenty on the table and shook my head at Ben’s immediate protestations.“Thanks for lunch.I’ll catch you around, okay?”

And before they could say anything else, I kept walking, even though every step was taking me closer and closer to something awful and inevitable.

MR.CARVER GAVEme a call when I was on my way back from Mapleview, a load of white ash tied down in the tray of the truck, and I listened to him and agreed he could meet me back at the cabin.When I got there about twenty minutes later, he was already waiting, and so was a heavyset kid wearing oversized jeans, a baggy shirt, and a suspicious expression.

“Ryan,” Mr.Carver said.“This is Elena.Thanks for letting us come have a look around.”

“No problem,” I said, even though I was worried it might be.“I could use a hand to unload.”

Between the three of us, we made short work of unloading the wood out of the truck and stacking it in the shed.Then I nodded at the workshop.“Come on in.”

Elena’s unhappy expression morphed the second we got inside, and the recognition of that transformation hit me like a gut punch, because I knew that feeling.I’d been miserable in all my high school classes except one.The moment I stepped into Mr.Carver’s class, I hadn’t been stupid or a waste of space.I’d been useful and smart and excited to be there.I could see the same light in Elena’s dark eyes.

“Touch whatever you want,” I told her.“Just be careful.”

She nodded and darted forward to inspect the chairs I was working on.

“What are you gonna use the ash for?”Mr.Carver asked me.“You got an order?”

“Nah,” I said.“I got the chance to grab it cheap.I thought maybe I’d make some Adirondack chairs for the porch.”

“Ryan renovated his cabin on his own,” Mr.Carver said.“The carpentry in the kitchen is beautiful work.”

I warmed in exactly the same way I had when I was fourteen and he’d asked me who taught me to do dovetails so well.I told him I’d learned it from a video online, and he’d made a huge show of lamenting that YouTube would put him out of a job, right before he said that if I was interested I could come back after school ended and he’d show me a couple more techniques.It didn’t take long for those after-school lessons to transfer into spending hours every weekend in his garage workshop.

“She’s good,” he said in an undertone.“She’s got real natural talent.Reminds me of you at that age.”

I gave a noncommittal hum and walked through the workshop to unlock the roller door and pull it up, letting the breeze in.

“Oh, wow,” Elena said, coming to stand beside me.“Lake’s right there.”She darted a look at me.“You ever made a boat?”

“I haven’t,” I said.

“Huh.”She turned away and headed for the lathe.

Mr.Carver’s hand on my shoulder took me back half a lifetime in a heartbeat.“Let’s go for a walk.”

We headed down to the shore of the lake, out of Elena’s hearing.

“You know what I’m going to ask you,” he said at last, squinting into the sunlight that glittered off the surface of the lake.

“I’m not a teacher, though.”

“Neither was I,” he said.“I was just some carpenter who messed his back up working in construction, and Harry Baines, the high school principal at the time, was in the Rotary Club with my father and threw me a bone with some substitute classes.Before I knew it, I was at community college every night, studying for that teaching degree.”

“I can’t have some kid work for me,” I said.“It wouldn’t be fair to her.I’m not qualified, so I could teach her everything I know, and she still wouldn’t be either.”

“Has that held you back?”He nodded in the direction of the cabin.“Ryan, you’re charging as much as a master because people see the quality in your work.”

Haider had said much the same thing the other night.

Old shame curled in my gut.“I still use story sticks for measuring.”

“Well, why the hell wouldn’t you?They work, don’t they?”Mr.Carver’s forehead creased with concern.“She’s not gonna give a shit about the dyslexia and dyscalculia, son.She’s playing it cool right now because she’s a teenager, but I showed her some of your pieces online, and she was hooked.And she’s a good worker and fast learner.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do wages and a 401K and all the shit you have to do for an employee.”Even the thought of it was churning my guts like the surface of the lake in a summer’s storm.

He squeezed my shoulder.“I reckon we can figure that part out between us.But before we even get to that bridge, how about you give her a trial until school starts up again?A couple of hours a week, that’s all, just to see if she’s a good fit.Do you think you can do that?”

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