The envelope she places on the cherrywood table looks full.
“Martha—” I have an inkling about what’s in there and my ears burn.
“I’ve already had a chat with Thomas,” she cuts me off. “He’s found some reclaimed wood and has some extra materials returned from his nephew’s construction projects. The boy has his own crew and won’t rip you off.”
Why doesn’t it surprise me that Thomas, the grumpy old man running the hardware store in town, wants to come to my rescue again? He’s such a good soul, hiding behind those scowls and grunts he calls conversations.
“I can’t accept it,” I falter. The lump in my throat is a dry sponge I can’t swallow.Charity case.“I don’t want to ask for any more favors.”
“I know this town has failed you over the years, but you’re one of our own and we help each other. There’s no shame in relying on your neighbor to help keep your head above water.”
“What if I can’t pay you back?”
“Oh, sweet child. Nobody’s keeping score.”
She gently lays her tender hand over mine, stopping me from cracking my knuckles.
“We won’t abandon you, OK? You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
Her optimism kindles my own like a candle in the dark galleries of a mine and I wonder if I can keep it burning until I safely reach the surface.
“It’s not much.” She pushes the money forward. “It was in my will for you if you were still with Jared when I kicked the bucket. At least now I have something to be excited for besides Saturday’s knitting club.”
She claps and I giggle at the visions of fixing the cabin, living on my own, and having the freedom to live as myself, without being forced to fit Jared’s mold.
The thought is also frightening. The Miller’s cabin was in better shape. What if I can’t fix it and waste everybody’s time and Martha’s money?
Jared didn’t care when I asked him about the color he’d prefer for the walls and rolled his eyes when I restored an old chic coffee table I found at a yard sale.
“There will be no one to tell you what you can do with it,” Martha says, reading me as always. “The boy has no clue what he’s lost.”
Her words make me uncomfortable. “I don’t think—”
“Didn’t you fix the couch by yourself?”
Jared blew a gasket when he came home early one time from his business trip and found me reupholstering the couch. It was the first time I did something so big, and it took a while longer than planned. I wanted to surprise him.
“All of Main Street could hear his screams.”
My skin crawls at the memory. Jared yelled at me for ruining the couch.
You know nothing about fixing furniture. YouTube does not make you an expert.
“Because he’s an idiot. A good man would’ve rolled up his sleeves and helped you finish.”
He didn’t. So I did my best to finish faster. Blinded by tears, I almost chopped my finger off. He never saidanything about it, even with all the afternoons he spent plopped on the couch watching TV.
Martha pats my knee. “You don’t get to be my age and not learn a thing or two about life. It’s OK to start wanting different things along the way. You grow, you change, and that’s the beauty of it.”
“What if what I want is foolish?” Could I turn my hobby into something more?
“You’ll find your spark, dear,” she says knowingly.
“My spark?”
“Yes. The thing that makes you jump out of bed in the morning. That drives you.”
Her words settle over me and I soak them in.
