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“Well, I won’t keep you,” she says, patting my hand. “Have a good day, and don’t work too hard!”
I nod. “See you around,” I tell everyone, giving them a wave before I push through the front door and head inside.
What my aunt said echoes on repeat. Busy is a single mom?
I didn’t see any kids with her last night, though that doesn’t mean anything. I highly doubt this is the type of thing my aunt would get wrong, especially with Busy’s mother sitting right there listening to the conversation. I scan back over our very brief interaction last night, trying to dig for any kind of indicator that she had a kid with her. But, try as I might, there’s nothing.
As I hop back into my truck a few minutes later, my black coffee in hand, I can’t help but wonder what her kid looks like.
Though why that even occurs to me, I have no idea.
By the time I’m heading home around four, I’m sweaty and dirty and feel a little bit worn into the ground. My intention was only to assist with the delivery, but then I saw this one slab of wood that spoke to me unlike anything I’ve seen in quite some time. One thing led to another, and now I’m working on a new table I’m pretty sure is going to sell almost immediately once I’m done with it.
I love creating furniture. Carpentry is all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life, and I’m beyond lucky to get to do the exact thing I love every day. My father was a carpenter, as was my grandfather. It’s in my blood, working with wood to create pieces that fill people’s homes.
But I’m beginning to feel the stress on my body differently than I did when I was in my 20s and working in my dad’s shop. Before it became mine, back when things were just…simpler. Now, at 32, the aches linger, the recovery time needed after long days on my feet or hoisting lumber or dealing with the vibrations from any one of my large tools is a lot longer than it used to be, and I know it will only continue to get more difficult from here on out.
I’ve always been a bit of a homebody, so I’ve never been one to put myself through the wringer like some of my friends, partying until the wee hours then making it into work early the next day. Now, I’m feeling too old for that kind of shit anyway.
Still…it would be nice to get home andnotfeel like I want to collapse every once in a while. The reality is, on top of work, it’s getting harder and harder to find the energy to do the other things I love doing: hiking, camping, exploring the nature thatis my very large back yard filled with mountains and lakes and creeks and waterfalls. Over the past few years, I’ve started to realize I’m lucky if I get in a hike or two a month, and I can’t even remember the last time I went on a camping trip. Though that’s less about my weary body and more about the fact that my old man isn’t around to go with me.
My heart pinches as I come to a stop in front of my house, a fresh wave of grief coming over me.
These emotions seem to come out of nowhere even though it’s been over two years. Just the other day I was driving back into town from a trip down the mountain and my brain told me to call my dad to see if he wanted to grab lunch. The way that hit me in the chest…
I shake my head and shove my door open, my dirty boots kicking up some dust as I step out onto the gravel. Before I can even lock my truck, a blur races toward me and then Sydney is jumping up, her paws on my jeans, her tail wagging.
All I can think is,How the hell did she get outside?
“What are you doing outside, girl?” I ask, petting her head and rubbing at that spot above her tail that she loves. “Huh? How did you get out?”
I glance around, trying to wrap my head around why she’s out here…and I spot Busy emerging from behind the tree line with a little girl resting on her hip, her blonde hair just as wild as her mother’s.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a smile that makes me think she’s as tired as I am. “This is your dog, right? I found her sitting on my back deck a few hours ago, so I just let her hang with us while we were unpacking. I hope that’s okay?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, she’s mine. I’m so sorry about that.” I glance toward my house then back at Busy. “You sure you didn’t break in and let her out yourself?”
She laughs, and it is…wow. It’s second only to the gorgeous smile that stretches wide on her face, her eyes closing as she giggles.
“Maybe that’s the real story,” she teases. “But I guess you’ll just have to take a look around to see if I took anything while I was in there.”
As I chuckle, my eyes fall to the young girl in her arms. She’s watching me shyly, her head dipping to the side but her eyes still focused on where I stand.
“Well, you two have both metmybaby. This is Sydney, by the way. But I haven’t metyourbaby. Hi there, sweet pea,” I say, dipping slightly and giving her daughter a smile. “I’m Reid. What’s your name?”
Busy shifts slightly, trying to angle her daughter toward me. “This is Junie. Junie, can you say hi to Mr. Reid? He lives next door.” When Junie tucks her face against her mom’s chest, hiding away, Busy snorts. “Of course you choosenowto get stranger danger.” She looks at me again. “She’s normallyveryfriendly, almost to the point that I get worried she’ll just hop into someone’s candy van someday.”
Busy jiggles Junie in her arms, and even though she’s mostly looking toward the trees, I can see the smile growing on her face.
“Are wesurewe don’t want to say hello to Mr. Reid?”
“Mr. Reid,” I echo, shaking my head. I grip the back of my neck and wince. “You’re making me feel much older than I am.”
“Sorry.” Her nose wrinkles, but the small smile on her lips gives me the feeling she thinks that’s funnier than I do.
“So…getting settled in okay?”
“Ooof. Yeah.” Busy lets out a long sigh, switching Junie to her other hip. “It’s just been a really long day of trying to put things away withthisone running around and getting into everything that’s sharp and small and not meant for her.” She gives me that tired smile from before. “But yeah, getting settled.”
