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When we eventually pull into the driveway, I’m in awe of the majestic property. For being in the mountains, it’s large and wooded, with a massive red shop at the end of the long, icy driveway. I notice the drive continues further into the woods, but I can’t see what building lies within.
I park off to the side in a spot I think will be easy to turn around. I shut off the engine, and Preston flies from the car, his backpack in hand. I follow suit, albeit more gracefully, stepping out onto the shoveled walkway and trying not to slip on the patches of ice.
Hunter pokes his head from his shop and smiles. “Hey, kid.”
Preston skids to a halt a few feet away and sticks his hand out. Hunter shakes it rather formally, then looks up at me.
“I’ll be hanging out in my car with a book and my tea,” I say. “Thanks again… for everything.”
“Stay. It’ll get chilly out there,” Hunter says.
Preston shakes his head, and I could certainly use the peace and quiet. So I refuse.
Hunter nods once, dipping his head politely. “Okay, we’ll have fun. Once he getsreallygood, he can open his own shop.”
Preston’s eyes light up at this, and he nods furiously. He launches into a hundred questions at once, telling Hunter he’s done some research but doesn’t understand how to hold a chisel. Hunter beams and tries his best to explain everything quickly to my impatient child.
I get back in my car and sit for a moment, thinking quietly and smiling to myself. Hunter seems like a great role model… perhaps he would agree to more sessions with Preston if this one goes well. Even when Spence was around, he didn’t make Preston a priority.
Watching Hunter with Preston makes me acutely aware of all that Preston is missing out on by not having a father in his life. An hour passes, and I watch the two of them side by side behind a power tool. They drag lumber. They start a fire. Then Preston runs toward my car.
I make quick work of wiping away my tears. “All done?”
“No, we have an hour left. But me and Hunter made you a good fire, and he pulled up a chair. He says you can read out here and enjoy the forest. Gotta go!” Preston bolts away.
I look from Hunter to the fire and back again. I try to think of a single more thoughtful gesture anyone has ever done for me, and I come up short. Without thinking, I gather my book and coat and sit by the roaring flames.
∞∞∞
The next day, Preston’s even more excited to see Hunter.
“You know,” he tells me, “Hunter said he’s going to teach me how to use his chisel today if you say it’s okay. He told me it’s really, really safe. There’s nothing to be worried about, Mom. I promise I was good. Hunter said I’m a natural at sanding, which is what he had me doing all yesterday. It’s simple once you get the hang of it.”
“So you had fun,” I say with a chuckle.
He’s been chatting non-stop about how much fun he had. He and Hunter seem to have hit it off. I find myself looking forward to seeing Hunter too. He is nothing like Spence, that’s for sure. He’s rugged and sexy. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks. At the same time, he’s shown us so much kindness.
“Yes,” Preston says and takes a deep breath before launching into another story about how Hunter can lift seven logs all by himself, whereas he can only lift two.
I try to stay as engaged as possible in the story while navigating up the steep inclines toward Hunter’s place in my car. I alternate between wondering if I should've taken more time on my hair and being thankful I have snow tires.
When we arrive, Preston jumps out of the car with even less restraint than yesterday. His excitement is contagious, and I find myself grabbing my keys from the ignition and making my way over to the shop.
Preston opens the door, letting himself inside, and the smell of sawdust hits me. There aren’t any light switches, but the curtainless windows allow enough light for me to look around. Every workbench is piled high with pieces of wood in various stages of completion.
“This is the one I was at yesterday,” Preston says, pointing to a tool in the corner. It’s one of the few without any saw blades or other dangerous-looking tools, and I appreciate Hunter’s caution with my son. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Why don’t we go check by his house?”
“Okay,” Preston says, skipping back toward the exit. “I know where it is. He went inside to get hot chocolate yesterday and the chair for you.”
Preston leads me by the arm up the long driveway between the trees crowding the path. The winter birds chirp and sing above, annoyed that we’re disturbing their peace. Our boots crunch in the snow, but beyond that, the forest is peaceful and quiet.
When the clearing comes into view, I’m awed. Hunter’s house looks entirely hand-built, if the architecture is any indication, and it sits in the middle of a small clearing. A small pond is frozen over to the left, and what looks like a barn out back.
“He grows vegetables in the spring,” Preston explains wisely. “Howcool, right?”
“Yeah, it is.”
