Page 106 of Wood Riddance
Nothing irked me more than bullshit politics and middle school drama. And until recently, I’d kept my distance from all of it. Henri managed these monthly meetings, with Paz’s assistance. But now, my brothers were dragging me into it. And I had far more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.
Food poisoning. I’d been sick for the last few days, and I still couldn’t shake the godforsaken nausea.
Last weekend, Finn and I had grilled swordfish that did not agree with me. He was a Viking, so naturally, the spoiled fish hadn’t affected his iron stomach. I, on the other hand, had spent most of Sunday with my face in the toilet.
The vomiting wasn’t even the worst of it. It was the nausea. The constant feeling that I was on the verge of throwing up was wearing me down. It was even more distressing than actually puking up my guts.
Finn had been lovely and sweet, holding my hair, bringing me ginger ale and crackers, and snuggling with me in front of the TV.
But my food poisoning had ruined our plan to introduce him to my family at Sunday dinner. Instead, I canceled and spent the evening on the couch. And since then, my mom had been texting me nonstop like I had contracted the bubonic plague and she was concerned that I was on the precipice of death.
Our carefully orchestrated debut as a couple had been put on hold because of some less than fresh seafood. Finn took it in stride—of course he did—but waiting only made me more nervous. Logically, I knew we could do this. We could show up, face my mom and my siblings like the adults we were, and explain that we were together.
At my mom’s house, we’d have everyone there at once, and we could manage reactions. Plus, having Alice, Hazel, and Parker in attendance meant each of my brothers had a designated person to talk them down. Ultimately, my mom would love Finn. How could she not? He was a bottomless pit who would praise her cooking and clean all the dishes after.
We just had to manage the initial shock and keep the angry mob from picking up their torches and pitchforks.
Though originally I was the one who’d balked at the idea of going public, I was anxious to jump in and rip off the Band-Aid now. The initial rush of sneaking around had worn off. I was tired. So, so tired. And I hated lying to my family. We had our differences, but my brothers were important to me. Ultimately, they loved me, and once they got to know Finn and realized that he was nothing like his father, they would see how happy he made me.
Despite the vomit and the exhaustion, Iwasso much happier than I’d ever been. For years, I had yearned to find my person. A man who would embrace my Adele-ness rather than love me in spite of it. A man who pushed me to be better and who believed in me.
Sure, the family circumstances were not ideal, but after our weekend in Acadia together, it was clear that we were inevitable. This was real. Now I only needed to convince my family.
But first I had to deal with these roads.
“Adele.” A gruff voice interrupted my thoughts.
Richard stood in the doorway to my office. The act of looking up from my computer screen to the man across from me was enough to send another wave of nausea through me. Swallowing back the bile threatening to escape, I checked to make sure my trash can was nearby.
Without waiting for me to invite him in, Richard strode to my desk and gave me a tight nod. Henri had recently promoted Richard. For years, he’d overseen cutting operations at our camp and managed all the inventory. But given how much we’d expanded, Henri put him in charge of managing our roads and any related issues.
Which meant that now I had to deal with Richard. He wasn’t a bad person, but he wasn’t a Gagnon, and that meant I couldn’t yell at him like I could at my brothers.
Nope, I had to be calm and professional and explain to him why he was dead fucking wrong.
Richard was one of those older men who believed he knew everything and was adamant that the way things were done decades ago was the only way. Add a dose of good old-fashioned sexism to the mix, and it was no surprise that I did not enjoy our chats.
Richard had been my dad’s right-hand man and best friend for decades. He was tall and thin, with short silver hair, and he wore round glasses and an overall air of annoyance. He was old-school in every way and had never quite come to terms with the idea that a grown-ass woman could obtain a graduate degree in engineering, let along become one of his bosses.
Nope, he preferred to speak to me like I was a little girl who couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of a grader.
Taking a deep breath, I summoned all my patience. Henri trusted him, and although I didn’t exactly like the guy, he was good at his job and he was an asset to our business. So I let him make his argument as to why we needed to wait to develop Site 211 until next year and instead send our equipment up to the north side of the Golden Road, where there was even less infrastruture and a historic fire had taken out most of the trees a few decades ago.
There was no way I could spare the machinery for that, especially given the work needed at Site 211, but I listened without interrupting.
“Richard,” I said when he’d finished, being sure to engage the most respectful tone I was capable of. “I’ll make a note of this. Perhaps we can do some of this work during shoulder season next year. But right now, the priority is getting Site 211 fully accessible before cutting season this winter.”
He stared, unblinking, while I spoke, twirling his keys around his index finger, over and over again. With each rotation, his keys would clank gently. Around and around. It was annoying and making my nausea worse.
But I persisted. I explained the limitation of the current machines and the timeline I’d put in place for road and truck repairs before the season.
And he sat there, twirling the goddamn keys like he had better things to do than speak to me. I didn’t have the two spare graders lying around that his plan required, but I would have loved to throw him in front of one at that moment.
His mouth was a flat line, and he focused on something over my shoulder, as if my explanation was boring him. “I’ll have to talk to Henri about this.”
My eye twitched, and the tight control I had on my annoyance slipped a fraction. “Are you threatening to go above my head to my brother? Don’t bother. I can tell you exactly what his response will be. My shop, my rules. My machines, my rules. And if you don’t watch your tone, you’ll never touch one of my trucks again.”
He said nothing, only narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Then he hauled himself out of the chair and stalked out of my office.
