drifts he waded through, it must have snowed a good four or five inches already. At this rate they’d be snowed in by morning. AJ and Mandy would be thrilled, but the idea had Joe’s skin itching again—it felt like it had grown too tight to contain his body today, like he was about to burst from its confines in a fit of fear-driven angst and leave it in a gory pile in the snow. He had to have a way out.
When he reached the shed, he opened the walk-in door and flipped on the lights, stomping hard on the rubber mat to knock the snow off his boots. Then he leaned down and brushed off the fine coating of snow on his jeans, leaving them slightly damp.
The first order of business was plugging in the 210’s engine block heater and clearing a path to the snow blade so he could start plowing as soon as the wind died down tomorrow. The maintainer didn’t usually make it by here the first day after a big storm and right now he needed to be able to drive away. In fact, he might just call up Dykstra in the morning and see if they had a long-haul load for him. He’d kept the semi tuned up and ready to go, in case he couldn’t take being home-bound all winter—he just hadn’t expected to need it this quickly.
After he’d plugged in the engine heater on the semi too, he made his way across the shed’s pristine concrete floor to their newly finished, insulated workshop. It was warm enough inside for him to leave off his coat so he went straight to his workbench and started sanding the pieces of AJ’s second quilt rack by hand with fine-grit paper to take his mind off his growing feeling of doom.
His tension gradually ebbed, as it always did when he worked with hardwoods. Not only were they beautiful and durable, but they came in fascinating grains and textures that he loved to bring out in his carpentry projects. He had plans for a number of projects over the winter, including Adirondack chairs and a replica of his mother’s antique dry sink that he’d been stupid enough to sell for a song when he and Caroline split. But if he wasn’t going to be here to finish them…
He drowned out the thought, if not the pain it caused, by cleaning up the fine sawdust with the shop vac and then turned his attention to gluing and clamping the rack’s pieces together. The glue would have to dry overnight before he could apply stain and a clear finish, so he set it aside, wondering what he could work on now that would keep his hands and his mind busy but not require more than a few hours to finish.
A vision of a cradle came to mind, and Joe flinched. Dammit, just what he was working so hard not to think about.
Besides, he didn’t need to make another cradle when he already had…
All Joe’s breath left him like he’d been punched in the gut, and when he finally inhaled sharply, he could feel his ragged heartbeat in his throat. Dear God, could he do it? Could he open that box and put his hands on the first thing he’d ever made for his son, the only one he’d saved for himself when he and Caroline disposed of sixteen years’ worth of possessions along with their marriage?
Joe didn’t give himself time to think about it. He walked out the door, around the side of the workshop and straight up the raw pine steps to the open storage area above. There wasn’t much up here, just the few boxes he hadn’t quite been able to part with over the years. The one he was after sat right at the end, and like all of them, it was free of damage from pests—he was always careful to keep mouse bait nearby.
Brushing a couple years’ worth of country dust off the top with his hand, he scooped up the box and carried it downstairs. When he knelt beside it on the workshop’s low-pile gray carpet and reached for the packing tape sealing it shut, his hands shook. Part of the box’s outer flaps peeled away with the tape, but inside, the unbleached packing paper lay undisturbed.
He took a deep breath and pulled it all out to reveal the cradle.
It
When he reached the shed, he opened the walk-in door and flipped on the lights, stomping hard on the rubber mat to knock the snow off his boots. Then he leaned down and brushed off the fine coating of snow on his jeans, leaving them slightly damp.
The first order of business was plugging in the 210’s engine block heater and clearing a path to the snow blade so he could start plowing as soon as the wind died down tomorrow. The maintainer didn’t usually make it by here the first day after a big storm and right now he needed to be able to drive away. In fact, he might just call up Dykstra in the morning and see if they had a long-haul load for him. He’d kept the semi tuned up and ready to go, in case he couldn’t take being home-bound all winter—he just hadn’t expected to need it this quickly.
After he’d plugged in the engine heater on the semi too, he made his way across the shed’s pristine concrete floor to their newly finished, insulated workshop. It was warm enough inside for him to leave off his coat so he went straight to his workbench and started sanding the pieces of AJ’s second quilt rack by hand with fine-grit paper to take his mind off his growing feeling of doom.
His tension gradually ebbed, as it always did when he worked with hardwoods. Not only were they beautiful and durable, but they came in fascinating grains and textures that he loved to bring out in his carpentry projects. He had plans for a number of projects over the winter, including Adirondack chairs and a replica of his mother’s antique dry sink that he’d been stupid enough to sell for a song when he and Caroline split. But if he wasn’t going to be here to finish them…
He drowned out the thought, if not the pain it caused, by cleaning up the fine sawdust with the shop vac and then turned his attention to gluing and clamping the rack’s pieces together. The glue would have to dry overnight before he could apply stain and a clear finish, so he set it aside, wondering what he could work on now that would keep his hands and his mind busy but not require more than a few hours to finish.
A vision of a cradle came to mind, and Joe flinched. Dammit, just what he was working so hard not to think about.
Besides, he didn’t need to make another cradle when he already had…
All Joe’s breath left him like he’d been punched in the gut, and when he finally inhaled sharply, he could feel his ragged heartbeat in his throat. Dear God, could he do it? Could he open that box and put his hands on the first thing he’d ever made for his son, the only one he’d saved for himself when he and Caroline disposed of sixteen years’ worth of possessions along with their marriage?
Joe didn’t give himself time to think about it. He walked out the door, around the side of the workshop and straight up the raw pine steps to the open storage area above. There wasn’t much up here, just the few boxes he hadn’t quite been able to part with over the years. The one he was after sat right at the end, and like all of them, it was free of damage from pests—he was always careful to keep mouse bait nearby.
Brushing a couple years’ worth of country dust off the top with his hand, he scooped up the box and carried it downstairs. When he knelt beside it on the workshop’s low-pile gray carpet and reached for the packing tape sealing it shut, his hands shook. Part of the box’s outer flaps peeled away with the tape, but inside, the unbleached packing paper lay undisturbed.
He took a deep breath and pulled it all out to reveal the cradle.
It
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