The Carpenter & the Queen (13 page)

15

Claire mentally berated herself on the drive
to Paul’s. She should have been better prepared. She needed a
supply of bottled water, firewood close to the house, a kerosene
stove . . . the list was endless. She couldn’t even get down her
own steps or keep her cell phone charged.

Her hip and leg throbbed. Sitting in the car
didn’t help, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t believe she
had just accepted an invitation to stay at Paul’s house. She didn’t
know him that well although she wanted to. Garrett would think this
was a terrible idea, but what was she supposed to do? She and Sam
needed help. Paul had offered. It was that simple.

What should have been a ten minute drive
took forty minutes in the bad road conditions. As they pulled up to
Paul’s house, Claire studied the outside, trying to figure out what
she could discover about Paul from his place. It was a small single
story, built low to the ground like many of the houses in the area
and with little ornamentation outside. He had salted his sidewalk
and front steps, so she and Sam entered the house without
difficulty. They stopped in the living room, waiting for Paul as he
brought in their luggage.

A couch, armchair, ottoman, and coffee table
adorned the small living room. Claire noted the chess set on the
table, wondering if it was one Paul had made. Firewood sat next to
the fireplace opposite the couch, but no fire burned. A plain white
carpet lay in the middle of the wood floor. Nothing hung on the
paneled walls except a single framed photo. Claire walked closer to
study it.

“Is this your family?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Paul took off his boots, then walked
over and pointed out his two sisters, their husbands, and the
kids.

“No nephews,” Claire observed.

“I keep telling my sisters we need them. Not
enough guys around.” He smiled at Sam. “Want a tour?”

Looking embarrassed, Paul led them through
the two bedrooms, bathroom, dining area and kitchen. Claire noted
the Spartan nature of Paul’s bedroom with its serviceable mini
blinds, blue comforter on the bed, and single wooden side table.
She had seen barracks that looked homier. But despite the home’s
lack of personality, it was clean and uncluttered. Any hopes of the
house uncovering Paul’s enigmatic personality were dashed.

Until she saw the workshop.

From the moment he opened the door to the
garage, Paul’s face changed. His eyes grew brighter, his face
ruddier, and he moved with more animation. Claire took in the room
with awe. The smell of fresh wood permeated the room. Tools hung on
pegs on one wall. The back wall against the kitchen housed his
power tools, all gleaming darkly like gun barrels and army boots.
Shelves above the saws held cans of paint and wood stain, the
labels each bearing a thumbprint of the color inside just below the
lid. Shelves on the far wall held lengths of wood in varieties
Claire could not identify. In the center of the room sat a table,
which was really a door on saw horses. Chess pieces in various
stages of completion were lined up on the table. Claire’s gaze
rolled over them, unable to comprehend all the details, until
something caught her eye.

“Is this your Maid Marian piece?” she asked,
walking over to it.

Paul nodded.

“May I?”

He nodded again and she picked it up. The
piece was exquisite, about four inches high. Atop the round base
stood a carved figure. Claire noted the realistic curves on the
woman’s body—a stark contrast to the waifish shapes popular with
fantasy figures. The woman’s hands lay on the tip of a bow whose
other end rested at her feet. On her back she carried a quiver of
arrows. Claire smiled at the pretty face, painted delicately, and
the wavy blond hair. Paul’s obvious influence for the figure had
been the picture Claire showed him, although Claire remembered that
in the picture Marian was a brunette.

“This is beautiful,” Claire said. “I’ve
never seen anything like it.”

Paul looked a little embarrassed. “I’ve
still got to seal it.”

“You’re an artist, too,” Claire said. “You
should do more like this.”

He shrugged. “Took me a while, what with my
other orders and stuff.”

“It’s good.”

“What’s this thing?” Sam asked, pointing to
something in the corner.

“That’s a lathe.” Paul joined Sam at the
tool and began describing how he made his chess pieces on it.

Claire had never heard Paul put so many
sentences together at once without prompting. So, the man could
talk when he wanted to. She let her eyes wander around the
room.

Paul really did do beautiful work. She
wandered over to the shelves of wood and pulled a block down.
Holding it under her nose and closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply,
enjoying the sharp scent. Claire knew very little about carpentry,
but she understood care in craft. Paul obviously took pride in his
work. Hiring him had been the right decision.

“Mom?”

She opened her eyes to see Paul and Sam
staring at her.

“I’m sorry.” Self-consciously she replaced
the wood on the shelf. “I don’t mean to touch everything. I just
can’t help it sometimes. My brother Garrett used to complain that
he couldn’t take me anywhere without tying my hands behind my
back.”

“It’s okay,” Paul said, although his voice
sounded strange. She worried she had offended him.

“This looks like a magic wand,” Sam
declared, pointing to a dowel Paul had been turning to create a
series of pawns.

“I guess it does,” Paul agreed.

“Can I make one?”

Paul looked to Claire for permission. She
nodded.

“After lunch, then,” Paul said.

They warmed up two cans of soup Paul had in
the cupboard. Claire set the table and made grilled cheese
sandwiches, smiling, but inwardly wanting to lie down somewhere and
cry again. She had taken some pain medication, but the throbbing
ache remained. Paul seemed to be watching her closely during the
meal. After they ate, he made a suggestion.

“Sam and I need a couple hours to make his
magic wand. Why don’t you take a nap or something . . . if you
want.”

Claire nodded, hoping her relief wasn’t too
evident. “I’ll do that.

When the dishes were cleaned, she made
herself an ice bag and went into the spare room to lie down. She
eased herself onto the open futon to lie on her stomach with the
ice bag perched on her butt. Propping herself up on her elbows, she
reached for her cell phone, now fully charged, and checked her
messages. Six from Garrett, one from Francine. She sighed and
dialed Garrett’s number first.

“It’s about time!” Garrett said when he
picked up. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”

“I know. Sorry. My phone was dead and I
didn’t have electricity.”

“I heard the storm was bad your way. Are you
guys warm enough?”

“Actually, we’re staying with a friend.
We’re using a spare bedroom.”

“Are you at Francine’s?”

“No.” She felt obligated to tell him where
she was, even though she didn’t want to. “I’m at Paul’s. You know,
the carpenter who’s working on my house.”

“Oh.”

She heard the concern and doubt in Garrett’s
voice.

“He came over to check on us and invited us
to stay until the electricity’s back on. He’s got a generator—and
water. The water was out at my place.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause.

“We’re fine, Garrett. If we were still in
Troy, you know you would have been the first one I called.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“Well,” Garrett said slowly, “it’s good you
have people close by who can help you.”

“I still need you, Garrett. Just not in the
same way.”

There was a long pause. “Give me a little
time to get used to it, okay?”

Claire smiled. “Okay.”

Francine, when Claire called her, was more
excited about the turn of events.

“You’re at his house?” Francine shrieked.
“You go, girl!”

“It’s not like that.”

“I was going to offer you a place with me,”
Francine said, “but since you’ve been whisked off by Prince
Charming, I’ll leave you alone.”

Claire sighed when she hung up. Garrett had
trouble with her asking for help from anyone besides family.
Francine was ready for Claire to take advantage of the close
bedrooms. Meanwhile, Claire was no closer to figuring out how Paul
felt about her.

But over-thinking any attraction was a
woman’s curse. She readjusted the ice pack and tried to get some
sleep.

* * * * *

Paul stood behind Sam and guided his hands
with the skew chisel as they produced a series of knobs to adorn
the handle of Sam’s wand. The boy was a fast learner and seemed to
be enjoying himself. Paul was, too. While he loved his nieces, he
had to admit that turning wood with Sam was a lot more fun than
some of the things his nieces had talked him into over the years.
He still couldn’t see a Barbie doll without cringing.

“I think I’m done,” Sam shouted over the hum
of the lathe.

Paul switched off the machine and hung the
chisel back on its hook. “We need to sand it now, and then you can
stain it.”

Sam turned in the stool he was sitting on
and watched Paul search through his bin for the right grade of
sandpaper. Sam was wearing safety glasses over his own small
spectacles. Paul was glad he had an extra pair for the occasion.
The kid was pretty cute. Previously, Paul believed Sam didn’t like
him, but today he seemed to be enjoying Paul’s attention.

“Did you and your dad ever do stuff like
this?” Paul asked.

Sam shook his head. “He was gone a lot, I
think.”

“My dad was too when I was growing up.”

“Is your dad dead?”

“And my mom. It’s good you still have
yours.”

“Yeah.”

They sanded the wand on the lathe with Paul
all the while keeping watch that Sam didn’t rub off a finger by
accident.

A few minutes later, Paul helped Sam stain
the wand, then they set it up to dry on two blocks of wood.

“What else can we do?” Sam asked, his eyes
eager.

Paul rubbed his chin. “Well, I’ve been
planning on making a doll house for my nieces for Christmas. It’s a
little early, but we could get started on it.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “A doll house?”

“Not into those, huh?”

“It’s girl stuff.”

“I hear you,” Paul commiserated. “Dolls and
little pieces of furniture and pink all over the place.”

Sam laughed.

“Oh, that got you, did it? Do you laugh
every time someone says pink?”

Sam laughed harder.

“What about purple? Does that do it for you,
too?”

Sam let out a cackle that made Paul laugh,
too, because, for the life of him, Paul had no idea what the joke
was.

“What’s so funny?”

Claire stood in the doorway with her arms
crossed and a look of amusement on her face.

Sam pointed at Paul. “He said pink.”

Claire looked at Paul, who just shrugged,
and everyone laughed, although Sam was the only one of the three
who knew why.

“Come see my wand,” Sam ordered when he had
regained control. “We still have to paint poly--?” He looked to
Paul.

“Polyurethane,” Paul corrected.

“—To seal it,” Sam continued. “But this has
to dry first.”

“It looks great,” Claire complimented.
“Harry Potter worthy.”

“Get this.” Sam shook his head in disbelief.
“He,” Sam pointed a thumb at Paul, “wants to build a
dollhouse.”

“For my nieces,” Paul added, feeling
slightly embarrassed.

“I think that’s awesome,” Claire replied.
“Every little girl needs one.”

Looking at Sam, Paul jerked his head toward
Claire. “She would know.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Have you got a sketch worked up?” Claire
asked.

“Just something basic. Maybe you could help
me.”

“She’d just draw you a castle,” Sam said,
his voice full of world weariness. “Everything is castles.”

“That’s enough attitude from you, young
man.”

Claire’s voice held just enough authority
that made Sam cow his head and mutter an apology. She looked back
at Paul, a little embarrassed.

“I was into castles like some kids were into
dinosaurs. I had a regular dollhouse, but I always pretended it was
a castle. Guess it’s something I never outgrew.”

Paul looked at Claire
in admiration. Her hair pulled back in a barrette, she had more
color in her cheeks than earlier. She smiled back at him with shy
nervousness. Paul cleared his throat.

“Would you like to see the top of your
unit?”

“Sure.”

He pointed to where the shells for the
shelves sat on the floor behind her.

“I haven’t marked the measurements for the
shelves yet,” he said. “Do you know how high you want them?”

Claire held one hand above the other in what
Paul calculated was about fourteen inches.

“Or something like that,” Claire said.
“Whatever you think looks good.”

“What are you going to put up there?”

“Souvenirs mostly. Sam’s little soldiers and
stuff like that.”

“They’ll get lost in a big unit like this.
Have you thought about a separate display?”

“It’s a good idea,” Claire conceded. “I
don’t have anything like that. I’ll have to work on it.”

“I might be able to make something. No extra
charge.” An idea was already forming in his head, although it would
require a lot of work.

* * * * *

After supper, Sam wanted to play Go-Fish.
Paul agreed to join, although he was so distracted by having Claire
sit across the table from him that he lost badly.

“You only have one pair,” Sam commented to
Paul as he gathered up the cards to reshuffle. Sam’s tone indicated
Paul should feel some kind of shame.