by Sherry Lewis
Why did he come out here? Was it just a space to think? A need to feel closer to Peter? His brother’s tools still hung in their designated spots on the walls, and a half-finished bookshelf stood in one corner as if someone expected Peter to come back and finish it. The scent of sawdust, once nearly overpowering, was now a faint memory.
Peter would have been just thirty now. He should have been here, working with his tools, singing along to the radio, frowning as he focused on a particularly tricky cut.
Gabe steeled himself against the thumping of his heart and tried to ignore the burning moisture in his eyes. He’d spent countless hours here with Peter, teasing his younger brother about his love of wood while secretly admiring his undeniable talent. Even as a teenager, Peter had been gifted. As a young man of twenty—the age he’d been last time Gabe saw him—the world could have been his for a song. But Peter had never been interested in leaving the valley.
What Gabe wouldn’t give for just five minutes to tell Peter how he’d really felt.
His father turned slightly, realized Gabe was standing there, and looked away again. “Come to gloat?”
The question hit Gabe like a well-aimed spear. Shaking his head, he leaned against the workbench and ignored the memories living in every corner. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about Peter’s accident, so he focused on his other purpose. “Actually, I came to ask for some advice.”
His father glanced at him and followed it with a laugh of disbelief. “You want advice from me?”
Okay, so it had been a while. Gabe smiled anyway and crossed one foot over the other. “I came back to make things different, Dad, not to stir things up again.”
“You’re not stirring up anything,” his father said with an emphatic push of the broom. “They’ve been stirred since you walked out on us. Nothin’s changed while you’ve been wherever the hell you’ve been, taking care of folks more important to you than your own mother and brother.”
The old man knew how to dish out the guilt, that was for sure. Always had. But, of course, he’d learned from the master. Though it would be hard to convince someone who hadn’t known him, old Calvin King had been even more harsh and less forgiving than his son.
“Nobody was ever more important than my family,” Gabe said.
That only earned another harsh laugh from his father. “Actions speak louder than words, boy. If Helene and Peter had meant a damn thing to you, you’d have been here.” He stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom handle while his expression turned from merely angry to hostile. “You’d have known your mother would rather have you here for Christmas than any of those fancy presents you sent. You’d have given a damn about your brother’s wedding. And at the very least, you’d have interrupted your precious life to be here for his funeral.”
Gabe had no excuses for the first two complaints, so he ignored them and zeroed in on the one he could answer. “I told you yesterday, I didn’t know about the accident until two weeks ago. I came back as soon as I could after I got Mom’s letter.”
“You think that’s an excuse?” his father thundered. “That you were off in some godforsaken place taking care of people who probably didn’t even want you, while your mother was here suffering and your brother lay in a cold, dark grave? That doesn’t make it all right, boy. Not even close.”
Gabe recoiled from the force of his father’s anger. Though he wanted to believe that Monty hadn’t meant what he said all those years ago, the fact remained that he had ordered Gabe out of the house and warned him never to come back. Monty had always loved control, and he’d had no tolerance for anyone or anything that stepped outside the clearly defined box of what he found acceptable. Gabe’s refusal to stay locked in Libby, letting the old man pull his strings, had driven Monty around the bend.
It had taken years for Gabe to make himself get over that. He wasn’t sure he’d completely succeeded, even now.
“I’m not saying I haven’t made mistakes,” he said. “But I can’t undo those. The only thing I can do is to change the future, and that’s what I’m trying to do. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance.”
His father wheeled away and began working the broom again, but the shoulders that had seemed stooped and old just minutes before were now rigid with aggravation.
Gabe concentrated on the rhythm of the broom as his father worked from one side of the room to the other. He waited, as patiently as he could, for his father to speak again. The ball was in his court. Gabe was ready to make amends, but he wouldn’t beg.
When he reached the opposite corner, Monty stopped sweeping. He didn’t actually look at Gabe, but said, “You said you wanted advice. What about?”
It was just one small victory, but Gabe would take it. “I’ve decided to stick around for a while, but I don’t want to hang out all day doing nothing, so I might as well get a job. I figure if anybody knows who’s hiring in Lincoln County, it’s you.” It was a huge concession after the arguments they’d had over Gabe’s career choices, and he hoped like hell his father would realize it.
Monty’s brows knit. “You want my advice about where to work?”
“While I’m here.”
“And just how long will that be?”
“At least six months, through the end of February.”
His father swept a few more inches of concrete, frowning as if the floor had done something to offend him. “You expect somebody to give you a temporary job?”
“Why not? There are plenty of them available around here.”
“In the summer months. Tourist season’s almost over.”
“And ski season is just around the corner.”
Monty made eye contact without warning. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You think you can make enough to live on with a temp job?”
Gabe shrugged. He didn’t expect or need to earn a fortune. Just enough to help with expenses and maybe enough to put a little aside. “I don’t need much. I’ll be all right if I can find the right job.”
His father stopped sweeping again and leaned the broom against the silent bandsaw. “You want a decent job, come by the mill. I’ll see what I can do.”
That offer was the last thing Gabe had expected. He couldn’t have disguised his surprise if he’d wanted to.
“What’s the matter?” his father snapped. “An honest job with your old man’s still not good enough for you?”
“I didn’t say that.” Gabe pushed away from the workbench. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think you’d want me there.”
“Wanting you there was never the problem.”
Gabe couldn’t exactly argue with that. “It’s been a while since I worked with the equipment,” he said. “I’m pretty rusty.”
“I said come by. Do it or don’t.”
Though he couldn’t imagine how he and the old man would work together on a daily basis, he forced a nod and a smile. “All right, then. First thing in the morning?”
His father gave a brisk dip of the head, picked up the broom and hung it back on its nail. “All right, then.” With one last glance in Gabe’s direction, he walked out the door into the gathering twilight.
Gabe watched through the window, wondering when Monty’s stride had shortened and his gait had become uneven. Gabe and Peter had called him “the old man” for years, but it had never been true before. With a twinge, he realized that his parents wouldn’t be around forever. Like it or not, he had to stay in Libby until he’d mended all his relationships. He couldn’t risk losing another loved one with things left unsaid.
GRINDING HIS TEETH in frustration, Gabe drove through the gates at Triple Crown Lumber just as the sun crested the mountains the next morning. With a look at his watch and a muttered curse to make himself feel better, he parked between a mud-splattered pickup truck and a rust-spotted Suburban, then headed across the parking lot toward the cavernous metal building that housed the sawmill’s business offices.
&nb
sp; Somehow he’d managed to screw up already, even though he’d set his alarm clock for five o’clock and checked it twice before finally drifting off to sleep. He’d bounded out of bed and stumbled into the shower before his eyes were fully open, then clambered downstairs for breakfast before the sane residents of Libby had even stirred from their pillows. But despite all his precautions, his father had been gone before Gabe poured his first cup of coffee.
Now he was scrambling to catch up.
He drained the last of his coffee, shook the remaining drops onto the ground as he walked, and steeled himself for the stern look of disapproval he knew was coming as he opened the metal door.
Inside, a short woman with chin-length salt-and-pepper hair glanced up from her desk and smiled when she saw him. Joan Halverson had been his father’s right hand almost as long as Gabe could remember. He figured she must be close to sixty now, plumper than he remembered, but still as warm and welcoming as ever.
When things had been at their worst in his family, Joan had been a voice of reason. A haven in the storm. A confidante, not only for Gabe but for Monty and even Helene. She’d never betrayed a confidence, even when the tempest was raging. It did his heart good to know she still had a smile for him.
Perching on the corner of her desk, he tossed off a greeting as if he was still young and cocky and sure of himself. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Just like old times, she swatted at him with a file folder. “Plunk your behind somewhere else, Gabriel. I’m right in the middle of something here.”
“Aw, come on now. You know you’ve missed me.” Absently, he picked up a stack of order forms and fanned through them.
She bolted from her chair and tried to grab them away. “If you mess those up, I’ll whomp you good. It took me half the day yesterday to get them in order.”
With a grin, Gabe returned them to the plastic tray where he’d found them. “You know I’d never do anything to make your life harder. I’m just happy to see that you haven’t changed.”
She pushed at the air between them, but he could tell that she was pleased. “I’m still as ornery as ever,” she said, rolling her chair back from her desk and making herself comfortable. “Just ask your dad if you don’t believe me.”
Gabe shook his head and held up a hand in protest. “Not on your life.”
He’d meant it to sound lighthearted, but there was too much history stored in these walls, and Joan had witnessed it all. Her smile faded and a cloud passed over her eyes. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I have.”
“Keeping busy?”
“You could say that. I’ve been working with a native tribe in Ecuador. There are only twenty-four of them left in the world and their culture needs to be preserved.”
“And you’re the man to do it, I suppose.”
“Letting them die out would be globally irresponsible.”
Joan’s smile didn’t make it to her eyes. “I’m sure it’s important work, Gabe. You always were determined to save the world.”
Gabe’s smile slipped. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No, but sometimes you have to look closer to home. Your family has been in crisis for the past two years. They’ve needed you.”
The reminder wiped away his grin. “I’m here now. I came as soon as I got Mom’s letter.”
Joan studied his face for a long moment, then shrugged away his answer and stood. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I’m just worried about your mom and dad. Things have been rough around here, and they’ve been good to me over the years. They deserve better.”
“I thought Peter was here with them.”
“They had two sons, Gabe, not just one.”
Before Gabe could defend himself, the door to his father’s office opened. Monty burst into the room wearing a hard hat and steel-toed boots, and carrying the clipboard he took with him everywhere on the job. The mood was shattered, the time for confidences gone.
It didn’t matter that Gabe was a grown man with a successful career of his own, seeing his father in that getup brought him to his feet like a soldier facing inspection.
Monty tossed a file into Joan’s in-basket and skewered Gabe with a glance. “You’re here, are you?”
“I said I would be.”
“So you did.” Monty turned his attention back to Joan. “Try to get Archibald on the phone. I’ll be back in half an hour. And I want that letter to Senator Gibson to go out today. We can’t let that wait.” Ignoring Gabe, he crossed the office and stepped through the door.
Gabe put himself in gear and followed. “It was too late last night to pick up safety equipment,” he said to his father’s back. “But I can get it today and be ready to start tomorrow.”
Monty glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t respond until he’d thoroughly checked the two logging trucks waiting near the gate. Gabe stood by, watching, remembering. He wasn’t sure what his dad expected of him, but he was ready for anything.
After making the necessary notations on an inspection form, Monty flipped the page and motioned for the drivers to get started. “You won’t need safety equipment,” he said as he set off toward a nearby building. “You won’t be doing anything dangerous.”
It took half a second for Gabe to realize that Monty was speaking to him. Another to process what he’d said. “What does that mean? You want me to work in the office?” Just kill me now and be done with it.
Monty climbed a set of metal steps, stuffed foam plugs into his ears and handed a set to Gabe before opening the door. “You don’t turn your back on the family business for ten years and walk into a cushy office job,” he shouted over the roar of equipment inside. “Life doesn’t work that way.”
Feeling a little lost, Gabe trailed his father through the door and along a narrow concrete walkway overlooking the massive planer on the floor below. The smell of sawdust was thick inside, and the air slightly hazy with it. His father had something up his sleeve, probably expected Gabe to fold when he delivered the punch line.
Well, Gabe had news for him. He wasn’t going to fold. Not this time. While his father engaged in a pantomime conversation with the crew-lead, Gabe watched the men working. He admired the economy of movement, the confidence and courage required to work around equipment that could take a man’s life in a heartbeat.
So many of these men had been born with logging in their veins. Why hadn’t he? It sure would have made life a lot easier.
He spotted a couple of guys he knew and grinned in response to their nodded hellos. He lifted a hand to wave at his cousin Roger on the crew, and earned only a reluctant dip of the head in greeting. One of the crew shouted something at a man wearing a bright yellow hard hat and a red plaid shirt at the end of the line. Even after the guy looked up, it took a second for Gabe to recognize Carlos Pino, his longtime friend, in the brawny lumberjack.
With a shout of displeasure, Monty jerked his head toward the door as a signal for Gabe to follow him, then plunged out into the sunlight. “Don’t distract the men,” he shouted as the door clanged shut behind them. “People can get killed that way.”
Old habit brought a protest to Gabe’s lips, but he swallowed it. Whether or not he’d intended to, he had distracted the crew. “It won’t happen again,” he promised.
The flash of surprise in his father’s eyes was almost good enough to make him smile, but grinning right now might just ruin everything. He descended the steps first so he could take a second to disguise his reaction. “Where to next?” he asked when he trusted himself to look at his father again.
His dad came down the steps more slowly, the clipboard tucked under one arm, his hard hat pushed back on his head. “The Ben Franklin.”
“Pardon me?”
“Head over there now. Buy yourself a heavy-duty flashlight, a pair of gray slacks and a white shirt—button-down collar.” Monty tucked his pen into his shirt pocket. “You’ll also need some steel-toed boots and a supply of pens.”
>
Uncomprehending, Gabe could only stare.
“Report back here at ten-thirty tonight. I’ll have Slim show you the ropes and work with you for the first few nights. Once he thinks you can be trusted, you’ll be on your own.”
Monty had put a little distance between them, so Gabe was forced to follow him again. “Doing what?”
“The only job around here I think you’re capable of doing.” With a cool smile, Monty readjusted his hat. “I’ve been needing a night watchman for weeks. Now I’ve got one.”
“Night watchman?” The words popped out before Gabe could stop them.
“You want the job, or don’t you?”
There weren’t even words to describe how much he didn’t want it, but he was determined not to let his father push him away. Clenching his teeth, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay, then. Be back here at ten-thirty.”
“All right, I will.”
“Have everything you need with you. If you can’t find something, let Slim know. Joan can give you his number.”
“I’ll have what I need,” Gabe vowed.
Monty regarded him for a long moment, and, in his expression, skepticism fought with something else for the upper hand. When he finally walked away, Gabe told himself to be grateful. Not only did he have a job, he’d spent fifteen whole minutes with his father and they hadn’t had an argument.
He just hoped his luck would hold.
HOLDING A STACK of paper still warm from the copy center, Siddah pushed open the door to her office. She’d only been working on the Whitman case for two days, but already she was running behind. The shopping trip she’d promised Bobby had been put off twice, and she had no idea when she’d actually find time to take him.
Organizing police reports, taking messages from opposing counsel and scheduling hearings with the court had taken up most of her morning, and there were still a dozen things Chris needed before the end of the day. Thank goodness she’d found a solution to her day-care problem. Janie Toone, a neighbor down the street who ran a day-care center, had a week-long opening while one of her regular kids was on vacation. It was only temporary, but it was something.
