Page 93 of Axe Backwards
Occasionally, Noah’s T-shirt bunched around his shoulder muscles, showing off his bulging biceps and distracting me. I was only human, after all. He handled the huge beams easily, lining them up while joking good-naturedly with Henri.
Henri, who only ever smiled at his wife and kids, joked back. My heart panged as I watched the two men interact. Noah thought so little of himself. He always brushed off how special he was. I wished he could see how much value he added to the lives of the people around him.
In the afternoon, Jude arrived, hat pulled down over his eyes, with his toolbox and a circular saw in tow. He gave Noah a hug and shook Henri’s hand warmly.
While the rest of us were pouring concrete for the fence posts and framing the roof, Jude took Henri’s plans and whipped up six nesting boxes in rapid succession. The guy was a machine.
“You should call Gus,” he said while carefully showing Tucker how to use his circular saw. “He’s an electrician.”
Noah pumped his fist. “I forgot about that. Good call. He could do lights, heating, cameras, whatever you want.” He yanked his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen.
“Yes,” Tucker said. “You need cameras. Probably motion sensor lights too. They’ll scare off the raccoons.” He was a gangly teen with kind, dark eyes. He looked nothing like his mountain of a father, but they had the same posture and identical mannerisms. In Lovewell, he’d made a name for himself as the resident tech guru. He single-handedly kept the library computers operational and was constantly helping the town’s seniors understand their phones.
“Yeah,” Goldie said. “Raccoons are nasty buggers.” Stepping closer to me, she tipped her head back and put her hands on her hips. “Have you thought about paint colors? Could we do glitter? The chickens need something jazzy.”
I shook my head. This project was moving quickly, and it was growing in scope by the minute.
By evening, we were fully framed and the fence was up. Every person here was brimming with ideas, and Henri and Noah hadbeen discussing where I should put a greenhouse. Apparently, it was time to think about growing my own vegetables.
My stomach was beginning to growl when Becca and Kali showed up with pizza.
“Brought dinner!” Becca said, her arms laden with several slim cardboard boxes. She let out a whistle. “Damn, you guys have been productive. I felt bad that I couldn’t be here to help, but it looks like you didn’t need me.”
Alice dusted off the old picnic table and waved Becca over. “Where did you get pizza?”
Lovewell did not have pizza. It was one of life’s great tragedies. But we survived. Heartsborough had an okay pizza place that would do if one was really craving it.
“The pizzeria,” Becca replied.
“It’s not open yet.” I opened the top box and took a big whiff of the greasy, cheesy deliciousness. “The windows are still covered with cardboard.” Rumors had been swirling since the empty storefront had been leased earlier this year. A sign had been erected and a construction crew had been there working, but the guys were from out of town, and they’d all been tight-lipped about it. Even the town gossips were in the dark.
Becca smiled. “Marco is my neighbor. He’s been firing up the oven and experimenting with recipes.”
Alice turned, her eyes widening. “Marco?”
Becca ignored her look. “Yes. As you all know, his shop is next to my salon. I met him a few weeks ago, and he makes incredible pizza.”
“You’ve tasted his pizza?”
“Yes. He brings his experiments over for Kali and me. He trained in Italy. This pizza is the real deal.”
I eyed Alice, who was already giving me a knowing look. This conversation was not over, but the kids had descended, cheeringfor pizza and grabbing slices from the box, so it would have to wait.
Becca procured a stack of paper plates, and Henri ran up to the gas station for a couple of six-packs of beer and nonalcoholic drinks for the kids, who ran through the yard and shrieked with glee as the air cooled and evening set in.
As I surveyed the people who’d gathered to help, I was struck with wonderment. These were my friends, the people I cared about the most. And they’d shown up. Not for me, but for this community. So we could build something that would help our neighbors.
“To the chickens.” Noah raised his beer. “May they lay a million eggs.”
“I think I’ll feature them on our Instagram and website. Make them the food pantry’s mascots,” I mused. “Try to work in some marketing and fundraising in addition to the million eggs.”
“You could offer naming rights,” Alice suggested
Becca perked up. “In exchange for donations.”
That was brilliant. I could use what we raised to pay for feed and upkeep. We needed every single dollar we could scrape together right now.
We ran lean and relied on volunteers and the generosity of the state and federal governments. As Alice and Becca had pointed out, I was the director and I was allowed a salary. But after I maintained our facility, paid all the bills, and provided as much food as I could to those who needed it, I only had enough left over to pay for my own health insurance.
