“Yeah, it does the job. Cuppa?”
“Sure, thanks.”
John moved to a bench against the back wall. Filling the kettle up at the sink, he said, “So, Juniper’s not well?”
“No. She’s caught what Billy had, apparently.”
As the kettle boiled, John turned and leaned back against the counter, surveying William. There was an unmistakably parental glint in his eye that had William swallowing convulsively. “And you’re just looking out for her, are you?”
“Something like that.”
John watched him a moment longer then turned to get mugs from the cupboard. “Good,” was all he said. The screen door into the house crashed open, and the sound of Billy’s sandals slapping on the pavement could be heard. Then Billy appeared, hugging a Tupperware container to his chest.
“I got cookies, but Nora said you can only have two.” He studiously handed the container to John, watching as he removed four cookies and put them on a plate, placing the lid back on the container. Satisfied that Nora’s dictum was being adhered to, Billy moved to a low table that was covered in plastic tools. He plonked himself down in the chair and picked up a toy drill. “I’ve gotta finish making the house.” It was abundantly clear that he spent a lot of time here and thoroughly enjoyed himself.
John made the tea, then took his, saying, “I just have to make a quick phone call. You’re okay here?”
“Sure.”
With Billy settled at his own little workbench, William was left to wander around at will. There was a large bin full of wooden offcuts from John’s latest project. William picked up a small piece, weighed it in his hand, discarded it, reached for another. Once he found the right piece, he looked around and sure enough, on the shelf attached to the wall, there was a set of wood cutting knives. He picked up a whittling knife and, moving back to Billy’s side of the shed, he leaned against the wall and, crossing one foot in front of the other, started working at the block of wood. He kept one ear cocked for Billy’s chatter but as he sliced the knife into the wood, shaving away at it here and there, working the wood around in his hand. He focused as the shape in his mind emerged in the wood, and the rest of the world faded away.
John returned just as he’d finished. “You a whittler?”
William shrugged. “Used to be. Don’t have much time for it now.”
John looked from the turtle he’d just whittled to William and back again. “Well, you’re damn good at it.”
William squirmed self-consciously. “Ah, thanks. Here you go, buddy.” He held out the little wooden turtle to Billy, who glanced up from his very busy work. His eyes fell on the turtle and widened.
“For me?”
“Sure.”
“You made me a turtle?” Billy reached for it, holding it in his hands reverently. “John, William made me a turtle!”
“I can see that. You look after it now.”
“I will! It’s the best turtle I’ve ever seen! Can you make me a frog?”
“I don’t think John wants us using up all his tools and stuff on that sortof thing.”
“On the contrary, John would really like to see how you did that. Help yourself.” He waved his arm expansively.
More than a little self-conscious now but figuring it would look stupid to make a fuss by refusing, William moved over to the bin of offcuts, testing a few before he found one that was the right size and weight. Then he sat down on a stool and set to work. As he worked at shaping the wood, narrowing his focus until everything else melted into the background, he was unaware of John watching him. When he’d finished, he surveyed his work. A bit rough, but no doubt the kid would be happy.
“There you go, mate,” he looked up to see Billy staring at him.
“Your colors got so white,” he whispered wonderingly, taking the carved frog from William and clutching it to his chest.
“That’s quite a talent you’ve got there, son.”
William shrugged as he turned his attention to John. “It’s just a hobby I used to muck around with when I was a teenager.”
John shrugged in return, clearly realizing the conversation was making William uncomfortable. “If you say so.”
“Well, we’d better head home. Thanks for the cuppa.”
“Any time.”
