I wake up to the grey light of dawn – to an aching body and a pounding headache. I didn’t think I’d drank that much at the wedding, but maybe my age is finally catching up to me. I groan as I get out of bed and stretch my stiff limbs. There’s a chill in the air, even though summer is on its way. A shiver passes through my body and I rub my eyes before getting up.
It’s not until the scalding hot water from the shower hits my body that I truly start to wake up. I wash myself slowly until I can move normally again, and then pour myself some coffee before heading out to the workshop.
The mug is steaming and I can see my breath as I make the short walk across the yard toward my workshop. It’s bigger than my house, but I don’t mind. I don’t need much room to live, but I do need room to work. I throw open the door and turn the space heater on to warm up the shop. I’ll need my fingers to be working properly. I’ve got a lot of detail work to finish up today.
My father is the one who showed me the basics of woodworking. He bought me my first tools and encouraged me to make toys and small pieces of furniture from the time I was a pre-teen. Every time I walk into the workshop and smell the sawdust and fresh cut wood, it takes me back to my youth. I turn to my workbench and look at the half-finished chair that’s laying there. I’ll have to finish the whole set by the end of the week to fill this order. After that, I’m not sure what I’ll do. My list of orders is worryingly short.
Furniture-making suits me. I like being alone. I like working alone. The hum of the lathe and the whining of the saw never fails to clear my head and put me in a state of Zen. I grab the intricate latticework that I started on the back of the chair and inspect yesterday’s work.
Not bad.
Business was growing, for a while. I was making a name for myself as the best custom furniture maker in the area. I was even starting to get orders from out of state. But when the hotel burned down, it suddenly seemed like a lot of the bigger companies didn’t want to be associated with me anymore.
I keep telling myself it was the right thing to do – that in the long run it’s best that the hotel doesn’t exist. Still, I wish it hadn’t had such a dramatic effect on my business. I lost a couple contracts, and then things slowed so much that I’m starting to get worried about where my next job will come from.
It’s not a good place to be. I glance over at the table and half-finished chairs that I’ve made for this order, and I try to ignore the gnawing thought at the back of my mind:
After this one, I’ve got nothing.
I take a sip of coffee and put the thought out of my mind. I take a piece of oak and measure it up for a chair leg. Soon, I’m in my element. I’m not thinking about the next job, or money, or my brother and his wife, or the hotel. I’m not thinking about Mara, or why I care that she’s coming back. All that exists is the grain of the wood under my calloused fingers and the smell of sawdust in the workshop.
Soon, I’m taking off my jacket and turning off the space heater. I brush my hair off my forehead and open the big garage door at the front of the workshop to let some cool air in.
The late spring sun is starting to warm up the earth, and I take a moment to breathe in the fresh mountain air. The cobwebs in my mind have cleared. I know things will work out – they always do. I’m just not sure how. At the end of the day, I’m working for myself in this little paradise in the Adirondacks. What else could I want?
As the thought crosses my mind, a truck turns down the quiet road leading to my home and stops out front of the workshop. Aiden and his new bride hop out.
“Dominic!” he calls out, raising his hand in the air.
I nod to them. “Aiden, Maddy,” I say. It’s the first thing I’ve said all morning, and the words come out as a growl.
“We wanted to stop by to say thank you for yesterday. Your speech was beautiful. Here,” Maddy says, handing me a small box.
I shake my head. “You didn’t need to get me anything,” I say.
She smiles. “Open it.”
I lift off the cover and pull out a thick frame around a small wooden figure of a bear. The corners of my mouth lift up and I start to chuckle.
“My first wood carving,” I say, shaking my head. I look at the two of them. “Where did you find this?”
“Found a box of Dad’s things in the attic,” Aiden responds. “He kept it all those years. Maddy thought it would be nice to frame it for you.”
I feel my chest get heavy, and a wave of guilt washes over me. I shouldn’t have been jealous yesterday or gotten upset at them. Maddy has lifted Aiden’s spirits and made him into a new man. He’s laughed more in the past year than he did in the whole decade before it. She’s always thinking of all three of us brothers. My eyes prickle, and I nod as I look at the carving.
“At least I’ve gotten better since then,” I say with a grin. “Workmanship isn’t the greatest.”
“Dominic,” Maddy chides with a laugh. “You were nine years old.” She pauses and smiles at me. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I say. This time my voice is choked with emotion, but I hide it with a cough. I look at the wall where I hang all my hand tools. Dad’s old tools are in the place of honor in the middle of the wall. I walk over and put a hook in the pegboard, and then hang the framed carving beside Dad’s favorite chisel. I take a step back as Aiden and Maddy appear at my side. Aiden puts his hand on my shoulder and nods.
“Looks good,” he says.
I can only nod in response. I don’t trust my voice. It does look good. I can’t believe my father kept that stupid little bear all those years. I think of all the hours and days he spent teaching me the craft and I shake my head.
I need to keep this business going. If not for myself, then for his memory. I stare at the frame for a few more seconds before turning to my brother and Maddy.
“You guys heading off now?”
They look at each other and smile. “Yep,” Maddy says. “Honeymoon, here we come!”
“Take care of yourself,” Aiden says as he extends his hand to shake mine.
I grunt. “You keep saying that to me,” I say. “Are you worried I won’t?”
“Just take care of yourself. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”
I watch them get back into their truck and drive off. A small cloud of dust follows their car down the gravel road, and I watch it until the pickup disappears around the corner. I turn back toward the pegboard and look at my first wood carving one more time. The memories that I’ve tried so hard to push aside start flooding in.
I think of the hours that my father spent with me. The patience he had. The encouragement he gave me. I stare at the bear for an eternity before shaking my head and looking at the chair on my workbench. All I can do is make this chair the best chair I’ve ever made. All I can do is try to do my best work and hope that people start noticing again.