I wish she hadn’t asked that of me. I’d be charging through the trees right now, if she hadn’t said that. Even if I ignored her wishes and knocked on her door anyway, I don’t know what I’d do when I arrived. What is there to say? The damage between us is irrevocable.
We can’t come back from what happened. It’s all there on these pages. We started out a fairy tale, and turned into a nightmare. Because of me.
What right do I have stomping over to her cabin and knocking on her door?
None.
Dixie stands at my left, staring at me meaningfully. I have forgotten her dinner.
I push off the chair and go inside. I move through the motions, measuring out Dixie’s food, and then making my own. Everything is thick and robotic, as if I’m underwater.
Avery described us as a storm we created, and willingly put ourselves in the path of its destruction.
I wonder how often people do that. Create storms and die inside them.
When Avery and I met, I was already a stealth tornado. I didn’t know it, and neither did she. When you’re living your life for someone else, how can you be anything but a disaster in the making?
CHAPTER 6
GABRIEL
I’ve been workingon Camryn’s arch for the past three hours. She’s requested a special message.
C loves D, with a heart drawn around it. She wants it small, hidden from a first glance. When the order for this arch came in, I had no idea who it belonged to. The details aren’t my job. My job is to put hands on the wood, to carve and sand and mold. And burn.
Joel has agreed to introduce some of my pyrography pieces on his social media. I’ve brought my wood burning machine with me today, and a few new pens and tips. I have a handful of decorative wood slices finished, but I think custom coasters and wooden spoons will sell better. They are less expensive and easier to give as gifts.
The irony of my past life and my current life intersecting isn’t lost on me. No matter what I do, I end up around fire.
Like most mornings, Avery was my first thought when I woke up. Usually my thoughts are wistful, but today I felt frustrated. Even though she’s so damn close, she’s still so damn far.
My fault. All of it.
Joel walks into the space where I’m set up, finishing a section of the arch. He is a kind man, quick to smile and slow to judge. Thank God.
“Looking good,” he says, surveying my work. “I hate to admit it, but you’re better than me.”
“Nah.” I wave away his compliment, but he’s not having it.
“I’m serious. I thought I had a good ten years left with this business, but looking at what you’re capable of…” He trails a fingertip over a curve in the wood. “You might just edge me out. And I might just let you.”
I look at my feet and smile. Joel is too good to me. His wife, Kimberley, has been just as kind. She sends him to work with lunch for me, and baked goods, and random items she swears are either deeply discounted or two-for-one specials.
“Don’t go retiring on me yet,” I tell Joel. “There’s plenty I still need you to teach me.”
He points at my wood burning tools on the desk across the room. “I think it’s you who should be teaching me. Where did you learn to burn wood?”
He’s probably expecting me to say the big P word, except they wouldn’t have allowed us to have weapons, and wood burning tools could absolutely be weapons.
“I took woodshop in high school as an elective. I wasn’t expecting to love it, but it all clicked for me. The way a person can take something made from the earth and imbibe it with their own creativity. I couldn’t believe I could put my hands on something so precious, and leave a mark. It felt like even if I was just this tiny human, I mattered.”
“I understand what you mean. I never learned pyrography, but building and carving makes me feel the same way.”
He walks around the arch, eyes roaming the details. “Thanks again for watching Dixie for us.”
I returned the dog to him this morning when I arrived here at work, and Kimberley came to pick her up and take her home. I wasn’t expecting how much I enjoyed having Dixie around, and I feel sad thinking about going home to an empty house. “Anytime. It was nice having her there.”
Joel lingers. I can tell he wants to say something to me, so I draw out the work. I go back over what I’ve carved, pretending to smooth and perfect.
