“Good. Can I have a snack?” he asks. “And can I help Jakob? He says he has a job for me.” He puffs his chest out importantly. He’s been helping Jakob and Walt every day after school. I don’t know that he’s actually being helpful. I suspect he might actually be slowing down the entire process, but he feels included, and he’s learning some basic construction skills, which are both big pluses in my book. I may be avoiding Jakob, but Gus is with him every chance he gets.
“Sure, sweetie.” I ruffle his hair and he squirms off my lap, eager to get on with his day. I guess cuddle time is over. I can hear Mom chatting with Jakob in the front room.
“I have a snack in here somewhere.” I rifle through my purse and find a bag with a handful of sprinkle sugar cookies I’d forgotten about. “Share those cookies with Walt and Jakob if they want one too, okay?”
“Okay!” Gus grabs the snacks, yells “Thanks” over his shoulder, and runs out the office door. Mr. Butters follows him, top hat slightly askew. A minute later I hear Jakob showing Gus how to use a measuring tape, patiently instructing him to measure twice and cut once. In the past week he’s shown Gus how to do a bunch of small tasks, like use a handsaw, drive a straight nail, and read a level. It brings a lump to my throat to hear his kindness with my son. I think this time with Jakob might be good for Gus’s heart. He seems lighter, not so anxious and sad, and he’s even returned his book on space to the library and checked out a book about construction projects.
Unfortunately Gus’s time with Jakob is having the opposite effect on me. I am trying very hard to pretend Jakob Kristensen doesn’t exist, a feat that is almost impossible when I find the two of them adorably tackling a project together every time I poke my head out of the office or kitchen. It’s good for Gus but terrible for me. Nothing screams “sexy” to a single mom like a man who gives off great dad vibes. Ugh. It’s utterly annoying. My ovaries cannot handle this.
I stand and stretch, then go to the office door to check on Gus. Yep, he’s eating sprinkle cookies and helping Jakob sort screws by size. Walt is on the phone arguing with someone about materials. The renovation is coming along slowly, but progress is being made. The wood flooring is installed and looks beautiful.The space is starting to really take shape. They’re painting tomorrow and then installing the display cases and fixtures. I’ve been picking out fixtures and even started looking for a faux tree on Etsy. I’m still trying to finalize a door color too. I’m wavering between dark blue and goldenrod. And I really need to order the sign, but the problem is that I still have no name for the shop. I’m definitely not going with the Happy Viking. I want a name that really means something, but so far I’m drawing a blank. I need inspiration to strike me, and soon. I can’t open a nameless store.
“Emmie, honey? Everything okay?” I glance up to find Mom has slipped into the office. She has a foil-lined plastic container in her hands. Mr. Butters comes in too and settles in his favorite spot by the desk with a heavy sigh. He looks at me dolefully. He really hates the top hat. It’s his least favorite.
“What’s in there?” I ask curiously, eyeing the container she’s holding. There’s a delicious smell wafting from it—sugar and blueberries.
“Oh, nothing much.” For some reason Mom blushes. “Just some blueberry muffins for Walt. A little thank-you.”
“Thank you for what?” Other than stopping her from falling into the construction hole, I’m not aware of anything Walt has done for Mom. And there is certainly no love lost between them, at least from Mom’s side.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you in all the busyness with the renovation.” She waves a hand dismissively. “The night you were in Seattle with Henry, Dot’s car wouldn’t start when we went to take Gus home. Walt came out to take a look at it. He gave it a jump with his truck and then insisted on replacing the battery the next time he was in the shop. Did it free of charge too, just to be nice.”
“Really?” I sneak a glance at Walt, who is busy in the front room, and then look more closely at my mom. Her cheeks arepink. This is interesting. And she’s put her good lipstick on, the one I haven’t seen her wear in a couple of years, at least since Dad died…
Does this mean she’s softening toward Walt? That would be a surprise twist.
“Did you know he likes puzzles?” Mom asks, looking intrigued.
“Walt likes puzzles? He doesn’t strike me as a puzzler.”
Mom throws me a rueful smile. “There are a lot of things about Walt that might surprise you,” she says. “When he dropped off those paint samples at the house last week for you, he saw the puzzle I’m working on, the French café one with the cats? He told me he does a puzzle a week, the one-thousand-piece ones.” She sounds impressed.
“Huh, really?” I try to reconcile this image of Walt as a consummate puzzler with the scruffy, blunt troublemaker I know. “That’s…unexpected.”
“I invited Walt to puzzle club,” Mom announces. This does astonish me. Mom’s puzzle club is composed of five ladies who meet every Thursday to gossip, drink cocktails (or seltzer in Mom’s case), and do a puzzle together. It’s the highlight of her social calendar. She never misses a meeting.
“I hope he likes gossip and gin and tonics,” I comment.
Mom raises her eyebrows. “He told me he’s been sober for twelve years. He’s a sponsor in AA.”
This conversation is getting more and more astounding. “But what about all the beer he drinks down at the Four Corners?” I ask skeptically.
“Apparently it’s nonalcoholic. At least that’s what he said.” She lifts her hands in a gesture of surprise. I peer around the doorway at Walt again. So that means all the times he’s gotteninto mischief or arguments, he’s been stone-cold sober? I don’t know whether to be alarmed by that or impressed.
I look from Walt back to Mom speculatively. I haven’t seen Mom this engaged in anything in a while. The years of caregiving for my dad, then the grief of his passing and her declining health, have all taken a toll. Her world has shrunk to the size of this store and puzzle club and buying doggy costumes on the internet. What if her world could expand again? What if Walt had a hand in that? It’s too early to say, but I do wonder…
“Mom.” I decide to change the subject. “Can I ask you a…personal question?”
“Of course, honey. Ask me anything.”
I glance around to make sure neither Jakob nor Walt is nearby, then shut the door just in case. Mom looks mildly alarmed. “Emmie, is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I mean, maybe. It’s about the visions. I need to know something.” I take a deep breath and ask the question I’ve been wrestling with all week. “Are you sure our visions always come true?”
Mom nods emphatically. “Always, yes. Why?”
I fidget with a trinket on my necklace and ask in a small voice, “What if what you see in your vision isn’t really what you want? What then?”
“What do you mean?” Mom peers at me cautiously.
