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Holding it out to her, she took the squirrel carving in her hand, rolling it over and looking at it. I was embarrassed now. It was dumb, just a piece of wood.
“Just a silly squirrel.” I shrugged, and she sat on the bed cross-legged to look it over again.
Her fingers traced over the divots of cut wood. “Did you make it?”
“My uncle gives me the scrap wood to carve. It helps the bad days.” And it did. The anxiety and out of control feelings I wasn’t able to talk about. It helped when I wanted to rage at the world and when I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. It kept me focused on not being a young and dumb asshole like my father had been. My uncle told me things and warned me about what becoming a man like him would do and for once in my stubborn life I listened.
“My mother, she loves…” Taylor Jane cleared her throat before speaking again. “She loved to watch the squirrels from the kitchen window in the fall while she baked.” A throaty chuckle escaped her lips with a tremble. “She said the squirrels were naughty.”
“Naughty?” I watched her half smile and her top teeth bit her bottom lip lost in thought. I had naughty thoughts of my own I slammed the door on quickly. I was older, more experienced yes, and all of those things she didn’t need right now.
Taylor Jane was transfixed by the carving and asking me questions that should have brought up the pain, but instead made me warm throughout. I was supposed to be comforting her, but she turned the table on me.
My armor felt dismantled in her presence, and I overshared, waiting for her to say something. I changed the direction back to safer topics. “What did she bake?”
Her quiet voice was whisper thin when she spoke, “My mother, Jolene—Joey, my dad would call her—made the best cherry tarts. She would put dough shaped acorns on all the mini pies she made and drizzled them with icing, which was the best part.”
I watched her lose herself in the memories and get off the bed to place the squirrel on the windowsill.
“I thought maybe it would make you smile. Your mom always told Damien and me how she loved your smile.” It was true. Taylor Jane’s mom loved to see her daughter happy and telling me made me feel responsible to make that happen now that she wasn’t here any longer.
“Thank you. I love it.”
I stood up, and we looked out the window together, our hands slipping down between us, fingers grazing at first and then tentatively touching in a wordless understanding. It seemed natural to hold her hand like this entwined, like tree roots stabilizing each other. The warmth in our grip was reassuring and ready to put up some good fights in the future world to come.
“Ahem. Food’s ready.” Startled, we turned our heads and Damien returned with Kristen in tow, peeking over his shoulder. I felt their glances sizing me up and realized we were still holding hands.
I glared at Damien, who had this shit eating grin on his face, daring him to say something smart-alecky so I could punch him. The urge to hit him was there, but her touch kept me grounded and the riotous feelings at bay. Gently, I broke the hold I had on Taylor Jane’s hand. “We’ll be right down.” Gruffly I ushered them back down the stairs and waited, escorting Taylor Jane next to me. I felt rattled and still unsure who had needed who most in the moment back there.
9
Hunter
“Hunter! Holy shit, get in here!” Taylor Jane screamed at the top of her lungs, scaring the shit out of me as I scrambled to get down off the ladder, nearly catching my hammer in the process. This happened to be one of those nights where it was the two of us who remained working together and everyone else quit for the day. The ladder jerked and for a moment I wondered if I was going to fall before I righted myself, taking another step down to the solid wood floor beneath my feet.
This woman would be the death of me. I questioned why I ever agreed to this damn project in the first place, tripping on the last rung down. My boot lodged, the aluminum ladder colliding on top of me. Crashing down, my body broke the ladder’s fall and my back hit the floor hard, kicking the wind right out of me. Luckily nothing killed me falling off the top, only the rain of silver nails I had been using to secure the section of drywall I was working on putting up. I rolled over off the floor, and felt the pinch of two nails poking through the ass of my jeans.
“Fuck,” I said to the empty room. The nails pulled out easy, and I tried to recall the last time I had a tetanus shot. I didn’t remember. It might have been a year ago when I sliced my arm splitting dry wall. I really didn’t want to have to get another one. This project would be the death of me, this much I knew was certain.
“HUNTER!”
“Coming, Shrew….” Grumbling through the pain, I pocketed the stupid nails, ignoring the sting of punctured skin, wondering if I bled through my damn boxers. All these years and the girl still had a set of lungs on her that didn’t have me too worried about someone busting into the house. Nope, she’d just take a few years off my life in the process.
I rushed toward the kitchen, bypassing a mirror hanging on the wall that she refused to take down and imagined seeing a few new gray hairs taking root in my scalp. I couldn’t confirm from first glance, but I would be back later to check it out.
“Babe”—the nickname fell from my loose lips followed by—“what the hell—oh fucking shit.” I stumbled into her, nearly taking her down, getting a mouthful of strawberry scented blond hair. Grabbing her shaking shoulders to keep her upright in front of me, I pulled her back against my chest. Her breasts were heaving under my arms, two soft mounds pressed against me with the potential to cross my eyes and curse me stupid. If I were a real pervert, a skill better left to Damien to master, I would have sneaked a peek down my best friend’s red checked flannel shirt. Instead, I forced myself to think about aging aunts with twenty cats and piss smelling trailers in the Alabama heat to keep my dick from doing anything dirty from behind. She was holding the crowbar she must have been using to chip off the godawful tiles from the counter’s backsplash. I looked past her at the corner of the kitchen into large black beady eyes that glowed with malevolence from under tufts of gray and brown feathers.
“Stupid bird scared me half to death.” She shuddered under my grasp, and hooking my arm protectively around her, I squeezed gently, pulling her back out of the way into the hallway behind us.
“Give me the crowbar.”
She handed me the metal bar, hovering next to me. I took it from her hands and placed the ball cap on my head backward so nothing obstructed my view of the disease bringing flying rat.
“Hunter?”
I waved her back with one hand, my eyes trained on the enemy. “I got this.” Eyes locked on the bird, I didn’t know who I was trying to reassure more, her or myself, but I knew I couldn’t back out once the words were uttered.
“Hunter, are you sure? I mean, what if it has rabies?” Hissing, I found Taylor Jane’s faith in my ability to annihilate the feathered creature not at all encouraging.
