Page 60 of Axe-identally Married
“I’m not that guy anymore,” I said, keeping my voice low and my eyes downcast. “Haven’t had a drink since that night in Vegas, and I have no plans to.”
“Good for you.”
“I want to be better.” I looked up at him again. “Be worthy of her. And I want to show her that.”
He grinned at me, the expression especially effusive for my reserved brother. “You’re a Hebert. I’m pretty sure you can prove it to her.”
“You sound like Finn.” My middle brother, the prior service Navy pilot, was all confidence.
“You could learn a thing or two from him. He got his girl, and trust me, she put him through the fucking wringer.” He smiled. “She’s awesome.”
He wasn’t wrong on that count. Adele Gagnon was a force of nature, and it was clear in every interaction I’d witnessed that she made the hyper-cocky Finn work for it.
Jude walked out of the room, shouting “get your ass up. I need to move” over his shoulder.
I obeyed, cringing. What was with people forcing me outside in the cold while mid-conversation?
“Now,” he barked, heading toward the door with Ripley on his heels.
He put on his Carhartt jacket and boots, and I did the same.
“Where are we going?”
He pulled a wool hat over his head and stepped outside. “To chop wood.”
“Why?”
“Because chores gotta get done, and it helps me think,” he said, pulling the door shut behind me. “Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to chop some wood, brother. You’re descended from a proud lumberjack lineage.”
He headed down his driveway toward a large shed. He was shorter than me, yet to the rest of the world, he was considered tall. And he hiked through the snow with speed. I followed him, shaking my head. I hadn’t swung an axe in years.
Jude unlocked his shed and pulled the string hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the single bulb. Like the rest of his house, this little building was meticulously organized, with a lawnmower and snowblower lined up neatly. Peg boards on the walls held tools sorted into type, scrap wood was stacked on racks, and several chopping tools hung in a row from the largest axe to the smallest hatchet.
He opened a drawer and handed me a pair of leather work gloves. “This one,” he said, taking a large tool off the wall. “This is a small splitting maul. Should be good for you.”
Maul in hand, I followed him back outside and around the structure to where a lean-to had been built into the side.
He rolled out a few cut logs. Then he picked up his own maul. “I assume you know what to do with that?”
I nodded, lining up and swinging.
The blade hit the wood, but rather than slicing it in two, it got stuck halfway.
With a laugh, Jude took the maul from my hand and wedged it out with his boot.
“Use your knees,” he said, bending his own knees in demonstration. “And drive with your whole body.”
I nodded and tried again. This time, the log split, but not evenly. One side was way larger than the other.
“Better. Do it again.”
My next swing was better. I threw the cut pieces into the pile and grabbed another log.
While I worked slowly, Jude effortlessly and efficiently chopped half a forest a few feet away. I paused for a moment, watching each movement, trying to understand his technique.
We chopped and chopped, and with each swing, my form improved. My back ached, and I was sweating through my clothes, but it felt good.
“You’re not bad,” he said, leaning against a tree. “We could train you. Get you competition ready.”
