Page 5 of Saved By Noel
I’m in. I’ll come sign everything tomorrow.
DAWN
“I’m going to submit the offer tomorrow,” I declare to my parents, who respond with enthusiastic cheers.
I’m doing it, Aunt Gloria.We’redoing it.
Chapter five
Clark
“Be careful with that, would ya?! I don’t need you two ruining my masterpiece!” Pops yells from the bottom of the stairs.
“Calm down, old man! It’s your fault for making this thing so dang heavy,” I yell back. “Hold on,” I add to Davis, who’s holding the other side of the massive headboard several steps up from me. Grunting, I shift my grip before nodding to Davis to continue down the stairs.
Bill Allen, a.k.a. “Pops,” is a master carpenter who specializes in custom-made, high-quality pieces of furniture. Translation: furniture that’s heavy as all get out.
At least, hewasa master carpenter. Right up until arthritis took away the thing he loved most—aside from Bev, the wife he’d already lost. With no kids of his own to check in on him, Davis, Beau, and I have taken turns stopping by. We generally sit and shoot the breeze with him, keeping him apprised of town goings-on. It’s no skin off our backs, considering that Pops functioned as a surrogate grandfather to every kid of our generation who grew up here.
Now the arthritis is taking away his ability to climb stairs, but Pops would never hear of moving out of the home he shared with Bev. Instead, I helped him convert the formal dining room into a first-floor bedroom to eliminate the need to use the staircase. Today, Davis and I are moving everything from the upstairs bedroom to Pops’ new quarters.
The solid walnut headboard truly is a masterpiece, but I know it holds even more sentimental value to Pops. It was his wedding present to Bev. I’m not about to ruin it on purpose, but darn-it-all if this thing isn’t impossible to maneuver down the narrow staircase.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and carry it straight to the new bedroom. Pops mutters under his breath the whole way. I know this extra-cantankerous show is a mixture of his regular personality, plus his grief over losing his capabilities coming out sideways. Normally, I’d smart-mouth him right back. But for today, I bite my tongue.
An hour later, Davis and I have replicated the layout of Pops’ original bedroom, complete with a framed photo of Bev on his nightstand. I set the pair of whittled blue birds next to the frame. Pops carved and Bev painted them decades ago, before Pops got too busy with all the furniture demands.
Pops invites us out to the front porch for a cold drink. Chase, my one-part Golden Retriever, one-part mutt mix, is already lying at Pops’ feet. It may be the first week of October, but the weather still clings to summer in Arkansas.
We sit down in custom-made Pops rocking chairs and accept tall glasses of sweet tea. Bev always had a pitcher of tea so sweet, I think she must have been paid under the table by the town dentist. Pops has kept up the tradition. Although, he somehow manages to add evenmoresugar than Bev’s original recipe, making it closer to pure syrup than tea. Still, I’ll never turn him down—Pops is pretty much the only “family” I have left.
“So, Beau’s gone,” Pops announces, like it’s breaking news.
I take a swig of tea rather than responding.
“He came to see you before leaving town, right?” Davis asks Pops.
“’Course he did,” Pops answers. “Such a shame. Gonna miss him and Abby and their folks.”
Only my loyalty to all Pops has done for me keeps me sitting in this chair instead of heading to my truck. Discussing Beau leaving isn’t on my wish list today. Or any of the other families who have left. My comfort zone is slowly shrinking day by day, and I don’t want to think about it.
Davis must sense my mood and changes the subject. He entertains Pops with a story about his four-year-old son, Davis Jr., trying to sneak a toad into the house past Sydney, his wife. “Junior practically squeezed the thing to death trying to hide it behind his back,” Davis laughs.
Pops chuckles. “Reminds me of you boys when you were young. Your poor mamas never could keep the outdoors from coming indoors with you. You two and Beau practically lived in the river.”
Davis still practically lives in the river, running Deer Floats, the largest float trip company in town. Some customers rent kayaks, rafts, or canoes for day trips, while others pay for guided overnight experiences. Thankfully, Deer Floats is well-established and successful every summer, meaning Davis won’t be abandoning us. At least, I don’t think he would.
“Yeah, my mom probably gets déjà vu every time she’s over helping with Junior. We’ll see if Addie grows up to cause as much mischief as Junior. She took her first steps right after her first birthday, so she’s becoming more of a handful,” Davis says.
A tiny pang stings my chest, the same one I get every time Davis or Beau talk about their close-knit families. But I quicklybury it away. Like I always do. I might not have any blood family around, but I still have this town and the people in it.
At least, the ones who are still left.
Davis announces that he should get back home to Syd and the kids. As much as I want to retreat home to some solitude, I know this is a tough day for Pops. I shake Davis’ hand goodbye, but sit back down and pour a second round of tea syrup for Pops and me. I give Chase a scratch behind the ears, but he stays where he is, head in Pops’ lap. Chase can always tell who needs him most.
I sidestep around the day’s reality for Pops. “Gonna be real nice, having everything on one level. Next thing you know, you’ll be having breakfast in bed every morning,” I say with a smirk.
