cleanings involved
polishing the unique coffee table in the Fayes' living room. I had admired its
beautiful stained wood, beveled edges and sculptured legs. I wondered if it had
been crafted in here.
“There you are.” Toby’s voice made me jump. As he stood in
the doorway, the sunlight shone over his back, outlining his shoulders, making
him glow. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking,” I said.
“That could be dangerous.”
“Ha, ha. Funny,” I rolled my eyes. “But really, I want to
plant a garden for your mom. All the yard tools I’d need are in here. In fact,
there are so many tools in here.”
“Don’t remind me. Julia’s been pestering me with a list of
projects.” He stayed in the doorway as if some force prevented him from coming
inside.
I looked at the pegboard. “Are you a carpenter?”
His gaze followed mine. “The old man was.”
“The coffee table in the den?”
“He made it.”
“It’s really nice.”
“The one thing he was good at.”
“What’s this?” I asked, picking up an odd-looking device. It
was about a foot long and narrow. It resembled a miniature sleigh, but with a
knob on one end and a handle on the other.
“It’s a wood planer. It smoothes out wood,” Toby said, and
taking it from me, he turned it over to show me the flat-bladed bottom before
he placed it back in its place, reverently. “My old man is probably rolling
over in his grave. He never liked us touching his stuff.”
Knowing it was an area to tread lightly, I just bit my lip
and nodded.
“So,” I said, moving forward and stepping past him out into
the yard, “I was thinking to start there, close to the deck so she can see them
from the lounge chair.” I pointed and looked up at him. “I’ll do it on my own
time. What do you think?”
“I think that you are way too good to be true. And if you
keep this up, Julia’s going to replace my picture on her night table with
yours.”
“So why don’t you help me? Then maybe she’ll just put my
picture next to yours?”
“Yeah, all right. But I know you really just want to use me
as your grunt for the heavy lifting.” His comment made me laugh. I was looking
forward to getting started.
On Tuesday, Toby and I met at the home garden center during
his lunch break. He followed me around the center, lifting the heavy bags of
topsoil and peat moss as I pointed to them. We planned that I would head to his
house after my classes and a quick stop home to change, and Toby would join me
when he got home from work.
It was a beautiful spring day, a perfect day to start the
garden. Wearing old jeans and sneakers and my hair up in a ponytail, I went
over to the Fayes’, prepared to get dirty.
Marie, the church friend that I’d met the previous day, was
at the back door when I walked around the house to the backyard. She must have
taken a double shift tending to Mrs. Faye this week. We waved at each other.
Toby had the bags of topsoil and peat moss stacked near the
deck. He also laid out a few different shovels near the bags. The dry yard needed
rejuvenating if any of the flowers were to survive. I went right to work,
sectioning off a patch of lawn to begin pulling up the dead grass. It was
sweaty work, but I felt happy as I dug into the earth.
The back door opened, and Marie waddled out, bottled water
in hand, looking somewhat arthritic. “I brought you some cold water.”
Although breathless from her short walk, she smiled. Her
short silver coif was shellacked into perfect curls, reminding me of my
grandmother.
I leaned on my tall shovel handle and accepted the water
from her. “Thank you,” I said. “How is Mrs. Faye doing?”
“She’s finally feeling better after her last round of chemo.
But then she’ll have to start radiation.”
Though Mrs. Faye never complained about her treatments, I could
see her strength waver after she received them. Right now, she was on the
upward swing; each day was better than the day before.
“The cure for
polishing the unique coffee table in the Fayes' living room. I had admired its
beautiful stained wood, beveled edges and sculptured legs. I wondered if it had
been crafted in here.
“There you are.” Toby’s voice made me jump. As he stood in
the doorway, the sunlight shone over his back, outlining his shoulders, making
him glow. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking,” I said.
“That could be dangerous.”
“Ha, ha. Funny,” I rolled my eyes. “But really, I want to
plant a garden for your mom. All the yard tools I’d need are in here. In fact,
there are so many tools in here.”
“Don’t remind me. Julia’s been pestering me with a list of
projects.” He stayed in the doorway as if some force prevented him from coming
inside.
I looked at the pegboard. “Are you a carpenter?”
His gaze followed mine. “The old man was.”
“The coffee table in the den?”
“He made it.”
“It’s really nice.”
“The one thing he was good at.”
“What’s this?” I asked, picking up an odd-looking device. It
was about a foot long and narrow. It resembled a miniature sleigh, but with a
knob on one end and a handle on the other.
“It’s a wood planer. It smoothes out wood,” Toby said, and
taking it from me, he turned it over to show me the flat-bladed bottom before
he placed it back in its place, reverently. “My old man is probably rolling
over in his grave. He never liked us touching his stuff.”
Knowing it was an area to tread lightly, I just bit my lip
and nodded.
“So,” I said, moving forward and stepping past him out into
the yard, “I was thinking to start there, close to the deck so she can see them
from the lounge chair.” I pointed and looked up at him. “I’ll do it on my own
time. What do you think?”
“I think that you are way too good to be true. And if you
keep this up, Julia’s going to replace my picture on her night table with
yours.”
“So why don’t you help me? Then maybe she’ll just put my
picture next to yours?”
“Yeah, all right. But I know you really just want to use me
as your grunt for the heavy lifting.” His comment made me laugh. I was looking
forward to getting started.
On Tuesday, Toby and I met at the home garden center during
his lunch break. He followed me around the center, lifting the heavy bags of
topsoil and peat moss as I pointed to them. We planned that I would head to his
house after my classes and a quick stop home to change, and Toby would join me
when he got home from work.
It was a beautiful spring day, a perfect day to start the
garden. Wearing old jeans and sneakers and my hair up in a ponytail, I went
over to the Fayes’, prepared to get dirty.
Marie, the church friend that I’d met the previous day, was
at the back door when I walked around the house to the backyard. She must have
taken a double shift tending to Mrs. Faye this week. We waved at each other.
Toby had the bags of topsoil and peat moss stacked near the
deck. He also laid out a few different shovels near the bags. The dry yard needed
rejuvenating if any of the flowers were to survive. I went right to work,
sectioning off a patch of lawn to begin pulling up the dead grass. It was
sweaty work, but I felt happy as I dug into the earth.
The back door opened, and Marie waddled out, bottled water
in hand, looking somewhat arthritic. “I brought you some cold water.”
Although breathless from her short walk, she smiled. Her
short silver coif was shellacked into perfect curls, reminding me of my
grandmother.
I leaned on my tall shovel handle and accepted the water
from her. “Thank you,” I said. “How is Mrs. Faye doing?”
“She’s finally feeling better after her last round of chemo.
But then she’ll have to start radiation.”
Though Mrs. Faye never complained about her treatments, I could
see her strength waver after she received them. Right now, she was on the
upward swing; each day was better than the day before.
“The cure for
Similar Books
