Finding Liberty

by B. E. Baker

  I know gossip sucks and social media’s a plague, but sometimes I wish people could see themselves like everyone else sees them. If she could log in to someone else’s life, someone else’s account and look at herself from the outside, she’d never worry again. If Brekka saw herself through my eyes, she’d realize that she’s a supernova. If people blink and stammer around her, it’s not because she’s sitting in a wheelchair. It’s from the glare she casts. Dealing with her is a little much for most of us normal humans.

  Geo spends the next half hour talking about her wedding plans, which are taking longer for Geo to sort out than you’d think, since it’s kind of her forte.

  “I gave Trig a deadline,” she says. “I narrowed the wedding down to two venue options: Hawaii or Atlanta. He has to decide by next Friday so we can firm up our date and send out invitations.”

  “Won’t Hawaii be tricky with your mom?” I ask. “Or would she just miss the whole thing?”

  “There are a lot of impossible things that become doable when you have money,” Geo says. “It seems that’s one of them. She’ll need people around she knows, but we can swing it. Speaking of…”

  “I’ll be on Mom duty?”

  Geo’s nose scrunches up. “Would you mind terribly? The thing is, she knows you and she remembers you from before. Plus, you remember all our family stuff. So if she freaks out, other than me, you probably have the best hope of calming her down.”

  I bob my head. “Of course I’ll help her. Whatever you need. You know that.”

  She puts her hand over mine and it warms my heart she trusts me, but my pulse doesn’t race like it would have last year. My heart doesn’t pound either. In fact, I haven’t been a stitch nervous around Geo. I haven’t been antsy or eager or sad. All I’ve felt for the entire duration of lunch is the warm comfort of a friend.

  Paisley’s words niggle at me when I walk Geo out to her car. Did I only like Geo because she was broken? Did I just want to fix her? Now that she’s got Trig to heal her injuries and soothe her broken heart, is that why the attraction is gone? I shake my head. That can’t be it, can it? When I hug her goodbye, I don’t suffer pangs of remorse, or jealousy, or resentment for Trig. I’m genuinely happy for her.

  Is it because I believe Trig’s a good guy? Or I’ve accepted she’s happy? Have I moved on, or did I never love her to begin with? The transience of feelings when they aren’t fed bums me out a bit, but I guess it’s also a healing mechanism for the human body.

  “Oh, and by the way, I hear Brekka’s coming into town again today.” Geo tosses that bomb over her shoulder as I walk away from her car.

  I pivot on my foot. “Come again?”

  “Yeah, she’s coming out tonight. Twice in like four days. Got to be some kind of record for her, since she’s never flown out here in the entire time I’ve known Trig. Actually, her dad bought her a private jet the same time he got one for Trig, but she almost never uses it. She’s only traveled once since we met. I think she kind of hates it.”

  “Why is she coming?” My heart’s pounding so hard now that my pulse beats in my ears. “Did he say?”

  “He told me they’re doing sibling bonding tonight. That’s as far as we got.”

  “Well, you’re the world’s worst wingman.”

  “I’m not a man at all.”

  “That’s probably the reason. Any man would have known to ask.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake. You’re a lovesick mess, aren’t you?”

  “Who gives a crap about Pete?”

  She grins at me. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “You do that, because I hear your best friend contract is coming up for renewal. I’d hate to sign with Paisley, but I feel like she’d never let something that critical slip.”

  “Shaddup.” Geo slams her door loudly, effectively cutting off our conversation.

  I try to focus at work, but the third time I type Brekka’s name into a report by mistake, I throw my hands up in the air and pass the reports off to the GM at my flagship store. He can handle them for a few days, I’m sure.

  I make a beeline for my workshop, not even stopping to grab dinner. My shoulders are a little sore from this morning’s workout, but I forget about that as I work on Geo and Trig’s wedding gift. The table will be perfect for a breakfast room, or maybe even a game room.

  Now for the trickiest part. I left the edge raw, smoothing out only the roughest patches. Carefully, one painstaking letter at a time, I burn the words ‘fortiores una’ into the outer circumference, over and over. It’s Latin for ‘stronger as one.’ The fused ash plus the message might have been a little obvious, so I decided to bury the phrase in a dead language. Art’s really about hidden meaning that reminds someone of promises they’ve made, or realities they’ve uncovered. At least, to me it is.

  Three rounds of the words complete the perimeter, and I step back to make sure I won’t need to cut the entire thing down another level to erase a catastrophic error in judgment.

  The burned letters stand out beautifully, and the gothic font perfectly matches the overall look. I’m sure I’m smiling like a halfwit, but I think that when I’m done, this may be my most stunning piece ever. My hand’s hovering over the tabletop when a loud crash yanks my head toward the entrance to my shop. I very nearly drag the tip of my wood burner across the pristine surface.

  Once my adrenaline spike calms, I realize it’s only my dad. I should have known. He’s almost the only person who ever comes in here. “I’m going to make you a collar covered in bells, Dad. You won’t be allowed in here without it. One of these days you’re going to scare me to death, or I’m going to kill you for ruining something critical.”

  “What’s critical about furniture? You can buff out any problems, or glue broken bits back together.”

  I don’t bother correcting him. “Come over and take a look.”

  Dad peers at the table from the left, and then from the right. “What do those letters even mean?”

  “Stronger together,” I say. “Or maybe stronger as one.”

  “This is for Geo and her new boyfriend?”

  “It’s a wedding gift for Geo and Trig, yes.”

  “You think they are? Stronger together?” he asks. “Or you’re just saying that?”

  Patience, Rob, patience. “I really think it’s true. But what do you think about the design?”

  Dad frowns. “The table’s not symmetrical. You noticed that, right?”

  “Actually, it’s exactly the same on this side,” I point, “and on this side. That’s kind of the definition of symmetrical.”

  “What I mean is, it’s not a square or an oval, or even a circle. It’s not a very normal table, honestly.”

  Which means he hates it and can’t think of anything nice to say. “It’s unique Dad, like their love.” I mentally strike through my notion of making Mom and Dad a table like this with another slice of the trunk for Christmas.

  “Well, I think it’s different than anything else they’ll get from their rich friends, that’s for sure. Definitely no wonky shaped tables on the registry at Nordstrom’s!” Dad whaps me on the back.

  He’s right, of course. Which is precisely why I took the time to make them this. It’s not something they can run right out and buy. I hope they’ll appreciate that. Trig called yesterday to commission me to make Geo a jewelry box with a tiny inscription on the inside. He said Brekka mentioned I make wooden stuff.

  He wants a simple wooden box that says, I’ll shower you with jewels until this box can’t hold them, because you’re the most precious gem in my life.

  It’s a little cheesy, but it’s cute. I worked on the main components for that piece half of last night to give me something to do, but I’m not going to complete the details until I’ve decided what to use for lining materials. I may need to subcontract that part. None of my furniture is upholstered in any way. It’s all wood and iron.

  “I heard you had a surprisingly good day at auction, especially for
a Tuesday.”

  I bob my head. “I found several big block trucks way below the typical reserve.”

  “I heard you had great hammer prices all day.”

  I nod. “It went great, Dad.”

  “I sure am glad to hear that,” he says. “I really miss going to auction.”

  It shows. I wish he could still go, but the last few times, he paid far above market rate on a few cars. We took a straight up loss on a dozen of the vehicles he bought.

  “You know who might be decent at auction?” I ask.

  “If you say Mel, I’ll never listen to another word you say.”

  One of our veteran salesmen, Mel, could sell bark to a tree, but he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box. He’s more like the crayon with the paper pushed down erratically. “No, I was thinking about Jennifer. She’s smart and level headed.”

  “Don’t you mean her husband Jarod?”

  I love my dad, but sometimes he’s a little misogynistic. I think it’s unintentional. I hope so, anyway. “No, I didn’t mean Jarod. I meant Jennifer. She’s smart as a whip, and she bargains like a leprechaun.”

  “Do leprechauns bargain well?” Dad asks. “I thought they chased pots of gold around.”

  “Don’t you remember Darby O’Gill— you know what, never mind. Yes, they bargain well. My point is that she’d probably be great at running the dealership.”

  Dad collapses onto an oak captain’s chair. “This is like basketball all over again.”

  “Dad, running a family business is nothing like basketball.”

  “You wanted to quit,” he says, “and I wouldn’t let you. I was the horrible monster who made you keep going to practice every day and games every week.”

  I’m sick of this story. “You wouldn’t let me quit. I stayed in for you, and then we won the championships.” I hold up my arms in the air and wave them around. “Yay,” I yell with lukewarm enthusiasm.

  “Your team won, thanks entirely to you!” my dad shouts. “You were epic! You destroyed those other boys. What was that team’s name? The Challengers.”

  Except I hated it, every day, every week, every year. If I could go back again, I’d still choose to quit. Even knowing that we’d win. I can’t get that time back again.

  “Son, you don’t think you love running the car dealerships, but you’re a natural at it. If you quit, how will you pay the bills? People don’t buy tables with words carved into them. They want shiny, plastic, new furniture these days, not solid wooden things crafted by hand in America. People buy foreign crap, or solid teak wood from India because it’s cheap.”

  I don’t bother correcting him. “There’s no championship in car sales, Dad.”

  “What does that even mean?” he asks.

  It means there’s no end. I’ll be going to practice and enduring games until I die. “Nothing. You’re right.”

  “Of course I am. You’d be a handyman within six months, and then you’d have to move in with your mom and me. You’d have to donate all this stuff to Goodwill, and that would be depressing. Better to stick with what you’re good at and get a trophy than to quit over a pipe dream.”

  I head over to Mom and Dad’s house after I’ve put my tools away. Mom makes beef stew, and Beth has a new piece to play for me. She’s the most exquisite pianist I’ve ever heard. By the time I’m ready to head home, I’m not even annoyed at my dad. He’s a good man who loves his family. He worked hard his entire life and provided well for us. I glance around our house, from Beth’s baby grand in the entry hall, to my mom’s Bernina sewing machine in its own room. The things my family loves surround us. And if I’d loved it when I was a kid, Dad would have given me an entire garage space for my woodworking tools. He’s that kind of person, and I shouldn’t resent that. I should emulate it.

  When I get home, I brush my teeth and I’m drifting off when I hear a tiny bing on my phone. I almost ignore it, but who would text me this late?

  One glance at Brekka’s name and I bolt upright in bed. Drowsiness gone.

  I’M IN ATLANTA.

  I HEARD THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE. Because you didn’t tell me yourself. I didn’t call or anything because I don’t want to cross the line from eager to creepy.

  Minutes army crawl by, their heads down, their beady little eyes staring at me accusingly. I should say something. I want to text her back and give her more to work with. But what can I say that isn’t pathetic? I can’t think of anything. If I get too excited, I’ll be Yosemite Samming her again. If I leave things as they are, she might assume I hate her, because it sounds like that. I need to find some neutral ground. Maybe a white flag about something that made me cranky before will open a window.

  LET’S SAY SOMEONE WANTED TO OPEN A FURNITURE BOUTIQUE. WHAT WOULD YOU TELL THEM TO DO?

  I stare at my phone like an addict waiting to hear back from his dealer.

  Eventually my focused attention pays off. IF THE SOMEONE IS A HUMAN PERSON AND NOT A CYBORG, HE OR SHE COULDN’T MAKE LIMITLESS QUANTITIES. THAT MEANS HE OR SHE WOULD NEED TO CREATE A HIGH DEMAND. LIMITED GOODS MEANS YOU CAN FORCE HIGHER PRICES.

  HOW WOULD I CREATE THAT KIND OF DEMAND?

  WAIT. A HYPOTHETICAL PERSON, OR YOU?

  SURE, I text. LET’S DROP THE PRETENSE.

  THEN A FRENZY IS WHAT YOU NEED TO CREATE.

  HOW?

  FIRST, IDENTIFY WHAT MAKES YOUR PRODUCT UNIQUE. IF IT TRULY IS ONE OF A KIND, YOU CONTROL SUPPLY. A LA, DEBEERS.

  Debeers? I google it. Apparently diamond companies created the frantic demand for the clear stones by creating an image and controlling production lines. Diabolical.

  AND THEN?

  YOU CREATE THE MARKET FOR IT.

  HOW?

  THAT’S MY SPECIALTY.

  I grin. SO I PROBABLY NEED TO MEET WITH YOU. MAYBE SEVERAL TIMES TO GET THIS KIND OF INFORMATION.

  ABSOLUTELY.

  YOU FREE TOMORROW?

  I MIGHT BE ABLE TO CLEAR MY BUSY SCHEDULE OF SITTING AROUND TRIG’S HOUSE IN MY PAJAMAS.

  PAJAMAS ARE ENCOURAGED, I text.

  Laughing emoji. MAYBE YOU CAN TAKE ME SOMEWHERE.

  She wants to go out? IF YOU NEED TO ESCAPE, SEND ME THE LAUGH EMOJI TWICE. I’LL KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN.

  Laugh emojis flood my screen.

  I’LL BE RIGHT OVER.

  SERIOUSLY THOUGH, IF TRIG TRIES TO MAKE ME PICK HIS VENUE FOR HIM ONE MORE TIME…

  GEO TOLD ME SHE GAVE HIM AN ULTIMATUM.

  I’D OBVIOUSLY FAR PREFER HE HAVE THE CEREMONY HERE IN ATLANTA, BUT I CANT FORCE THAT ON THEM. TRIG AND GEO NEED TO DO THEIR WEDDING WHEREVER THEY WANT.

  YOU’D PREFER ATLANTA TO HAWAII? SOMETHING IS WARPED IN YOUR PRETTY LITTLE BRAIN.

  WHEELCHAIRS AND SAND DON’T MIX. She sends me a gif with car tires deflating.

  Now I know exactly what we’re doing tomorrow. Brekka needs to see that she can still have fun. She needs to see that the world really is her oyster. It’s time she gets over all these hang-ups about going fun places, especially with me along to lend a hand.

  Life is better with Rob. That’s my theme for tomorrow. Let’s hope Brekka agrees.

  BY TOMORROW NIGHT, WE’LL HAVE PUT AN END TO THIS BACK AND FORTH BICKERING OVER THE VENUE.

  IF YOU CAN DO THAT, I’LL CALL YOU MIRACLE MAN.

  YOU SURE? IT’S KIND OF A TONGUE TWISTER. MAYBE YOU SHOULD PRACTICE TONIGHT A LITTLE BIT.

  MY TONGUE IS PRETTY DEFT.

  I almost can’t sleep thanks to her last text. But when I do drift off, they’re some of the best dreams I’ve ever had.

  11

  Brekka

  “How many bridesmaids do you plan to have?” I ask Geo.

  Geo wipes off her stunning, darkly veined granite counters while we talk. “You, Mary, Mary’s sister Trudy, and Paisley.”

  “Wait, is Trudy the one dating Paul?” I ignore a tiny twinge of jealousy. I may have had a secret crush on Paul for years.

  “Yeah, I didn’t know her very well, and she’s still really busy with her son Troy
and her job, but I’ve seen her at a lot of game nights. She’s actually quite bright and a genuinely kind person. She’s had a rough go of things, but it sure seems like that’s turning around.”

  “Is she good enough for Paul?” I ask.

  Geo lifts one eyebrow. “I think the question ought to be asked in the reverse, but yes. I think Paul has risen to the level that he’s now worthy of her.”

  “He’s that into her?” I ask.

  Geo grabs a broom and starts to sweep, even though the dark wood floor already looks spotless to me. “Something about her really turned that guy inside out. I’ve never seen a man put forth such dogged effort, or change in his general demeanor quite so much. I mean, with me and Trig, your brother sort of smoldered at me and I swooned. From what I hear, Mary had a few hang-ups, but once Luke realized how much he liked her, he shoved right past those. Trudy, on the other hand, gave Paul the cold shoulder for months. Her ex was a real piece of work, and she took a long time to believe he really liked her and was a decent guy, from what I can tell.”

  “I’ve always thought Paul was a really good person,” I say. “But now that you mention it, in years and years, I’ve never seen him put forth much effort for anyone.”

  “He went to kickboxing every day so he’d see her,” Geo says. “And he started going to church every Sunday and helping her entertain her toddler, Troy.”

  Wow, he’s really smitten. My jealous twinge shifts into something closer to yearning. I want someone to want me that badly. “So you’ve got four bridesmaids, and Trig has four groomsmen?”

  Geo plonks down into a chair next to me at the smooth, shiny wooden table.

  “Yeah, and four is a pretty standard number I guess. It’s strange to me, though. When I really think about it, I don’t have many close friends. I wouldn’t have asked Mary or her sister Trudy except Paisley loves them so much and they’re either dating or married to Trig’s old friends. For me, I’d probably just have asked Paisley, and you of course, but I only knew you through Trig. This wedding is exposing me for the social loser I am. Two friends: Rob and Paisley.”

  “Honestly, Trig doesn’t have so many friends either,” I say. “He’s too arrogant for that. I’d really just say Luke, and by extension Paul. Who else did he ask?”