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What brought out the competitive spirit in her and Joey was when a tool was dropped on the counter in a paper bag, the pieces rattling around inside. Some homeowner had decided he could fix the tool, had taken it apart, then couldn’t get it back together. By the time Jecca was fourteen she’d conceded to Joey on fixing the machines, but she challenged him to see how fast he could do it. She’d just hand the bag of pieces to her brother, then watch the clock to see how long it took him to put it back together.
Regular customers loved to watch him, so Jecca started making a show of it. When a power tool was bagged in by a do-it-yourselfer, Jecca would blow a whistle. Joey would leave whatever he was doing and go to the repair bench. Jecca held a stopwatch and customers yelled encouragement. He was like a soldier reassembling his rifle. When it was done, he threw up his hands, she blew the whistle, announced the time, and everyone applauded.
The last time she was home she’d tried to get Joey back to performing. But Sheila had declared the show “undignified,” so he didn’t do it anymore.
Now, looking at the chainsaw pieces covering the dining table made Jecca smile. The sight had good memories for her—and it made her miss her dad and Joey. If they were there they’d put the thing back together in about nine and a half minutes.
“Be careful,” Roan said as he came in carrying a load of wood. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
She took a moment before turning around. She’d heard that tone at least once a week all her childhood. It said, “You’re a girl. You couldn’t possibly know anything about tools.” Over the years she’d wiped many of those smug little smiles off men’s faces.
When she turned to look at Roan, she was smiling.
Tris was behind him. “Jecca’s dad—” he began, but cut off at her look.
“Did you take it apart?” she asked, wide-eyed, innocent-sounding. It was the tone and expression she’d used on any man who assumed she didn’t know how to use a power tool. Their regulars, especially the contractors, loved to hear that tone. They knew what was coming. Jecca was going to show some MCP exactly what she did know asheng at tbout tools.
Some of the contractors used Jecca to test new employees. They wanted to see how he’d react to being bested by a girl. When she did outsmart them, some men got angry—Joey’d slammed a left hook into the belly of one of them—but most men laughed at themselves.
“Yeah,” Roan said in a gruff voice, “but it’s worn out. I need a new one.”
Jecca knew that particular make and model of chainsaw, and it was less than a year old. It was her guess that Roan—college professor that he was—didn’t know how to use it. He’d probably tried to saw through a fence post but hadn’t detached the fence. If that was so, he was lucky to still have all his limbs.
Roan turned to Tris. “I’ll have to drive into town tomorrow and get a new saw. I need to get the wood cut for the winter. It’ll be cold up here.”
Tris was looking behind Roan at Jecca. He had an idea she was up to something, but he didn’t know what. He gave her a smile that let her know that whatever she did was all right with him.
Fifteen
Jecca couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the fact that she’d slept until eleven that morning, or maybe it was because Tris was so close but so far away. It wasn’t possible, but after just one night together, she missed him beside her.
But then, her sleeplessness could have been caused by Tris’s cousin Roan. All through dinner he’d been quiet. She didn’t have to be told that silence wasn’t usual for the man. What college professor didn’t love to talk?
She glanced across to the other bed, at Nell sleeping peacefully. Moonlight came in through the window and shone on the child’s pretty face. In spite of her nap in the car, she had been so tired she’d nearly fallen asleep at the table.
Tris had carried her to bed, Jecca got her into pajamas, and they’d both kissed her good night. By the time Jecca got back to the living room, Roan had cleared the plates away and put them in the rickety old dishwasher.
It should have been a time for the adults to sit around a fire and get to know each other, but that didn’t happen. Roan’s silence made Jecca feel awkward and that she wished she hadn’t come. After all, it was his house, and he had a right to choose his visitors. Maybe tomorrow she’d return to Mrs. Wingate’s and work on Kim’s ads.
Not long after Roan excused himself to go to bed, so did Jecca. She gave Tris a quick kiss, then slipped into the bedroom with Nell. She quickly undressed, pulled on flannel pajamas, then lay there, staring at the ceiling.
At midnight she gave up trying to sleep. That chainsaw on the dining table was haunting her. She put on her robe and slippers and tiptoed out into the living room.
She didn’t want to turn on an overhead light for fear of waking anyone, but she did manage to pull an old floor lamp—circa 1952—near the table.
For once she was glashengne, d that a do-it-yourselfer had tried to repair a machine, because Roan had left his toolbox at the end of the table. Opening it, she saw that the tools were basic, all of them bought in sets, so most of what he had was useless. But there was enough that she could do the job.
One thing she’d taught herself was that when she was doing her artwork she couldn’t think bad thoughts. She’d learned that the hard way. Years ago, the day after one of the worst fights of the Sheila War, Jecca had done six watercolors, her homework.
On Monday when her paintings had been critiqued by her drawing teacher, she’d been shocked to see that all her anger had gone into her work. If they’d been good she would have said seeing her father dueling with his daughter-in-law had been worth it. But the paintings were truly bad, the worst she’d ever done.
As she started to reassemble the chainsaw, she tried to come up with ideas for Kim’s ad campaign. The familiarity of washers and screwdrivers and even the motor relaxed her, and she soon fell into a routine.
“I use my orchids,” she heard and wasn’t surprised to see Tristan standing at the end of the table. He had on sweatpants and nothing else. They hung very, very low on his hips.
“Use your orchids for what?” she managed to say.
“When I want to calm myself down, I go to them.” He sat down across the table from her.
