Page 30 of Grouch-ish

My night was restless with thoughts of Pear and my kids. Maybe she was right about Nick. He didn’t have the same pressures I’d had. In many ways, he had it so much easier, and I wanted him to take advantage of the opportunities he’d been given. I didn’t want him to blow off his scholarship. He was a student athlete. He’d earned his scholarships and worked hard for his position on the college team. He had so much ahead of him.

Still, there was something to be said for happiness, and I’d been happy with the department. Sure, the ride has been bumpy at times, but I loved being a firefighter. A noble profession, Pear called it. She wasn’t wrong. I wanted Nick to be proud of whatever he did, to feel accomplished at something.

However, I wasn’t certain the department was the place for him. Then again, the hesitation might be my fear. I don’t want to ever get the news my kid has died in a blaze. Having to witness the deep loss in parents’ eyes at firemen funerals is rough. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that kind of pain.

To my surprise, Pear is gone in the morning, but another note telling me to meet her in the workshop is propped up against a red mug positioned next to the perking coffeepot.

“Good morning,” I mutter, as I enter the cold building. While the wood-burning stove is on, the space hasn’t heated up yet. Neither has the air around Pear.

“Mornin’,” she mumbles, lifting an awkwardly large box that looks a little too heavy for her onto a make-shift worktable consisting of a sturdy piece of wood resting over two sawhorses.

“What’s the plan today?” Infusing my voice with more enthusiasm than I feel, I hope to crack the ice between us.

“Owl boxes.”

With blinking eyes, I stare at the sturdy flat box on the worktable.

“We need to build them and hang them.”

“We?” I arch a brow, surprised she’s willing to help me today.

“There are four of them and it will take all day if you do this alone.”

“Where do they need to be hung?”

“We can affix one to the outside of the barn. Two on posts that once belonged to bird feeders, and the last one will go on a dead tree on the edge of the property near the forest.”

“Why not install some simple birdhouses?”

Pear stops moving and finally looks at me. “Because my dad likes owls.” End of discussion.

On that note, I rip open the edge of one box while Pear opens another, and we begin the tedious process of matching parts and pieces. A goes into slot A while supported by B in the B-hole. I’d laugh if I wasn’t growing more and more agitated with the strained, tense silence between us.

Her unwillingness to talk right now speaks volumes and I have a strange itch to communicate with her, when communication has never been a strength of mine.

Eventually, Pear slams the instructions in her hand against a square piece of flat wood and hangs her head. “There isn’t enough space for the two of us.”

The table is cramped and with each of us trying to keep our distance, an invisible line exists that divides the already tight table into even smaller halves.

“My place or yours, then?” I suggest, hinting at the owls’ intended new homes. “I’ll help you with yours, if you’ll help me with mine.”

Pear scowls at me, eyes narrowing like I have some kind of agenda in building owl boxes.

“Fine,” she mutters.

“Fine,” I counter, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. At least we’ll be talking even if it’s put part C into slot C.

I move the panels I’d been working with onto the flattened cardboard of the open box and set everything on the floor before stepping beside Pear, awaiting her instructions.

She holds up a long, rectangular piece of wood and lifts a side panel. “Part A slides into the A-hole.”

And with that, we’re both cracking up and the tension between us slowly breaks.

+ + +

Driving my truck around the property, we hang the boxes in the places Pear suggested. The owl boxes were heavy as hell and awkward as shit to carry up a ladder one-handed but the smile on Pear’s face after each box is in place is worth it.

Once finished, she stands back to admire each creation, like I’d built her a home. Little gleams of light sparked in her eyes despite the midwinter day growing dark at an early hour. Standing in the shadow of my headlights, her body outlined by the brightness, I wanted nothing more than to kiss her.