Damn it. A guy couldn’t catch a break and some peace if he tried.
He didn’t look up when Wally strolled in, only kept running the thinnest of curls off the edge of the cedar board.
“Whatcha up to, son?” Wally’s bass filled the room, like his presence always did. He didn’t know how to fade into the background, and he was one of those guys nobody ever overlooked.
Colt rolled the board sideways and examined the line. “What does it look like?”
Wally picked up one of the dowels Colt had cut earlier in the week, fingering the smooth end. “This is nice work.”
“It’s a dowel rod.” By now, he should be used to Wally in his workspace, but his voice still came out terse. If he’d had any sense, he’d never have invited Wally into this part of his life.
“That looks good.” Wally ran a hand over the small chest, front filled with smaller rectangular boxes like an old-school card catalog. The light finish allowed the color and grain of the cedar to shine through. The containers had taken a couple of months, the painstaking joinery threatening to make him come unglued more than once. He was kind of proud of the finished product, though. He’d thought of giving it to Louise for Christmas, but that would open a door he didn’t want to go through. The chest would find a good home at the assisted living place. “Go for a pretty penny if you put it in the gallery in Thomasville.”
“Yep.” They’d had this conversation a hundred times. One day, Wally might give it up. “Probably.”
He worked in silence a few moments while Wally ambled down the back wall, examining his projects, finished and half-done and barely started. Wally picked up a mug, one of a set just back from the kiln. “I don’t get you, Colt.”
“Huh.” Colt blew a curl out of the planer.
“Most people want to share their talent.”
Talent? Right. Chuck was talented, gifted in the way he could look at wood and turn out somebody’s dream. Colt was . . . what was he? Bored, maybe. Restless and in need of an outlet. A guy could only run or work out so much, and he liked having something to do with his hands.
“I share it with you.” He set the planer aside and picked up his ruler and pencil, ready to mark off his joinery points. “You should feel privileged.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Bent over the workbench, Colt shrugged, measuring twice, then penciling.
“You and Holly good?”
Colt closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have shared that part of his life with Wally and Andy, either. “Yep.”
“Figure she’s good for you.” Wally ran a fingertip around the edge of a wooden stand Colt had varnished Wednesday night while Holly was at church with her mama. “Get you outside yourself.”
With a harsh sigh, Colt dropped his pencil and straightened. “Pete working Tuesday?”
“No.”
Shit.
“Holly wants us to host a Friendsgiving at her place. You know, soup and stuff.” He rested his hands on his workstation. “I’m supposed to invite you.”
Turning another dowel in his hand, Wally snorted. “That’s a real gracious invite there, Colt. Sue would be proud.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Let me talk to Pete. Sure he’ll be down for it, though.” The dowel made another slow rotation in Wally’s fingers. Colt’s skin crawled. “He thinks she’s great.”
“She is great.” He pressed his fingertips into the scarred table. “Need you to keep your attitude toned down that night if we do this.”
“I don’t have to tone a damn thing down, buddy.” Wally’s voice remained even, dowel still turning in his easy hold. “I ain’t you, and I’m not gonna be. You want to wear that hairshirt? Fine. But I didn’t put one on when you did.”
He dug his fingers down so hard his knuckles ached. “Wally.”
The impressive wall of Wally’s chest puffed out. “You get the only reason I keep my mouth shut is out of respect for you, right?”
He restrained himself from slinging his pencil and ruler, maybe the planer and the hand drill. The drill would make a satisfying crack against the plank walls. “You get I’m the one that fucked up, right?”
