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Lincoln held his axe high and let it fall against the large branch.
Another month.
He raised the axe again, his muscles taut.
Two, maybe.
He let the blade fall, and the limb succumbed. He stared at it, his breath coming in quick gasps, and wiped his forearm across his forehead. They hadn't discussed a specific length of time, a specific end date. But the assumption had been the end of the month. Time enough for her to find a new place. Time, so that she and her boy wouldn't end up on the street.
Lincoln lowered to bring the branch closer. He stood perpendicular to it and hacked away at the smaller branches and twigs. It was a good piece, a strong piece. Good enough to help form his wall. He dragged the cleaned limb to a pile he was collecting. Two more months. Two more months without his own space. Two more months of the confusion and disorder Kali's existence brought to his life.
He let the axe dangle and stood tall, taking in the land around him. His land. At least he had this. And maybe them being in his apartment would be stronger motivation to get the work done, make this land his home sooner. Lincoln surveyed the wooded area: free from disruption, free from disorder, free from Theo's smiles and laughter, from the curve of Kali's neck.
Lincoln chuckled, remembering the way Theo's eyes widened as Lincoln put the plate in front of him this morning, how he smacked his lips with exaggerated pleasure after each bite.
And Kali? She was a bother, sure. Always around. Always with her scathing glances, her looks that dripped of ... resentment? Which was ludicrous. He was doing her the favour. Not that it would be easy—taking charity from a stranger. Finding yourself in someone else's home and not quite knowing how to fit.
But there was the curve of that neck. And the fact that she was helpful. She cooked. She cleaned. One night last week when she'd thought he was asleep on the couch, she pulled a blanket up under his chin.
Lincoln stood beneath the tree that would hold his home. Soon, he'd build a temporary platform, clear away the branches that would get in the way of his planned structure.
Heart still pumping, Lincoln sank to a stump. How long had he been hacking away at the brush around the base of the trunk? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? He used to pump iron with his brother and their friends for an hour. Of course, they'd joke and laugh in between. Spot each other. When he was a teenager, summers working construction with Andrew by his side, they hauled two-by-fours for hours. They hammered away the afternoons. And, sometimes, still had the energy for a hike or swim afterward. Maybe he was getting old. Thirty wasn't that far away. Lincoln grinned in the stillness. Lucy had been terrified of thirty. Like it was a death sentence. Like when the day came she'd suddenly gain twenty pounds, her hair would gray, and her face succumb to wrinkles.
He'd teased her about it, secretly thinking she got prettier with each year. More the woman and less the girl. Not that thirty had been super close for either of them. Even now, he still had over two years to wait. Thirty.
The things he thought when he was young: By thirty he'd be married to a wonderful woman. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. As good a cook as his mother. He'd have at least one kid. Maybe two. He'd have his own business—like his dad had. Small, perhaps, but thriving. And with the knowledge he'd glean from his father's advice and input, he'd one day surpass his father's success. Or, a not so bad alternative, his father would retire and he and Andrew would take over the business. Partners. Joseph, he assumed, would pursue some other endeavour.
Lincoln leaned his head in his hands. Partners. When his father started to disappear, the dreams had shifted. No longer would Dad guide Lincoln through life. It was Joseph he turned to. Joseph who exploded the company, took it further, and made it larger than their father ever imagined. Joseph who groomed Lincoln. Who pushed him. Directed his path. Made them all rich.
Enter Lucy.
Lucy, who pushed aside any of Lincoln's resistance. Who persuaded him, when he'd considered going to school for architecture, that an MBA, as Joseph suggested, was the right choice. Lucy, who took his dream of a house just outside the city, built by his own hand, close to his parents' home but not so close they'd pop in daily, and transformed it into dreams of new and modern condos in cities far away. Montreal. Toronto. Vancouver. Wherever the business moved. Wherever Lincoln would have the most power. The highest salary.
He let her groom him. Let them groom him. Never suspecting there was more to their team effort. Believing the life they laid out was what he wanted—what he always wanted.
Lucy even had him collecting art, which he pretended to understand. Lines and corners. No feeling. No story. Like Lucy, like her beauty. Stunning, but sharp.
He should have seen it sooner, her lack of real affection. If he hugged her too tight, she'd chastise him for a wrinkled dress. If his kiss smudged her lipstick, she'd roll her eyes and pull out a compact. Did she do the same with Joseph?
Or had it been Joseph she wanted all along? Had she resented Lincoln because, out of deference to him, Joseph refused to go public, refused to come clean and commit?
Lincoln picked up the axe and hurled it. Romper convulsed, yelped, and sent Lincoln a look of accusation.
“It was miles from you,” Lincoln yelled. Romper lowered his head, his gaze still on Lincoln. “Miles.” Lincoln yanked the axe out of the trunk it had wedged in. He leaned his head against the tree. It probably wasn't even your baby. Lincoln had known something was wrong in those last months. Lucy, who in the beginning had encouraged him to work, encouraged him to devote his life to the business, started to resent it.
She encouraged him to go out, have fun. Encouraged him to make friends. Told him he needed a life, a life that revolved around more than his job, and more than her. But he couldn't. He didn't have time. She'd created him. Created his drive, his need to succeed. And success didn't come easy. Not for Lincoln. Joseph could do it all—win in the office and win in life. Lincoln had to choose. And he chose the office. Joseph was the full package. Lincoln was not.
He saw it, and so had Lucy.
Had that been when she decided she couldn't pretend anymore? Couldn't stand a life with the wrong brother?
She'd told him one day she was going off birth control. That she'd read an article about how bad it was for women, and why should she have to put synthetic hormones in her body that could cause irreparable damage when, instead, he could wear a harmless piece of rubber. He'd agreed. It wasn't like they were sleeping together too often by that point anyway. But had avoiding synthetic hormones been her only motivation? Had she been trying to trap Joseph—not Lincoln—into finally making a choice?
Lincoln turned from the tree. Not even close to a full day. Three measly hours. But he couldn't be out here. Not now. Not today, with all these thoughts. The ball in his gut landed with a thud. But what would he do when he was living here permanently. Where would he run?
Maybe it wasn't the location, but the work. His back was throbbing. He'd been pushing too hard, too soon. Lincoln crouched in front of Romper, willed him to come to him. Romper stared a moment, then, forgiveness granted, padded over. Lincoln cupped his hand behind the dog's head. Scratched, rubbed. He wrapped his arms around the furry body like a child would. He held on, one second, two, enough was enough. He stood.
“Come on.” Lincoln gestured toward the trail leading to the car. “That's all today.” Lincoln looked straight ahead. It made sense to take it easy. He was still recovering, after all.