Big Stick

by Kelly Jamieson

  “I get it. So you started your own business and had a baby at the same time.”

  Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Pretty much. Actually, our business was a couple of years old before I had Zyana. Things were going well, and I knew I had the flexibility of being self-employed. But also the uncertainty.” She hitched a shoulder. “I know some people thought I was crazy, but it was what I wanted. I considered all the angles, all the pros and cons, believe me, but I was afraid if I waited for the time to be perfect it might never happen.” She dropped her gaze to her wineglass. “I’d been in a few relationships that didn’t work out. I could’ve focused on the business and maybe on finding a husband, but what if time passed and it never happened? I decided to go for it, knowing it would be challenging, but I’d make the best of it.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Days like this don’t happen very often, luckily,” she added with a smile. Her smile wobbled a bit as she added, “I hope this move to Chicago is the right thing.”

  “Did you come here because of Kendra?”

  “Yes. We could have tried to work the business from two different cities. These days it’s easier to do that. It was actually more personal than business—she’s my best friend and she’s supported me since I made the decision to have a baby. She was there for the delivery and the sleepless nights and the potty-training successes. Zyana loves her too, and I couldn’t imagine not having her in our lives. So we moved here. It’s a bit of upheaval right now, but it’s an adventure. Life without adventure is boring.”

  “Hmm.”

  Man, it was hard to get a read on him. She had no idea if he thought she was crazy and impulsive and reckless in her decision making after telling him these things; she wouldn’t blame him if he did think that. And sometimes she was impulsive, yes, but when it came to her daughter and Kendra—the people she loved most in the world—she only wanted to make the best decisions. She’d had her doubts for sure, but telling this to Nick was an affirmation for herself that she was doing the right thing.

  “Well. I should get going.” He held up his empty glass. “Thanks for the wine.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ve said it a bunch, but thank you.” She stood too and followed him toward the door. He grabbed the jacket he’d left on a stool. “I’ll bring your bedding back tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. No rush.”

  She locked the door behind him as he left. A light triggered by motion came on to illuminate his way across the yard to his house. She watched his big shape, the easy athletic grace of his stride.

  He was…interesting.

  He’d never really answered her question about how he saw his life in ten years, although he’d alluded to some kind of post-hockey plan. Apparently that didn’t include a wife or family, and that made her heart squeeze a little. But just because family was important to her, didn’t mean it was important to everyone.

  Except she knew connections were important. She’d heard that from Kendra, who’d been a therapist before they’d started Femme Products, about how humans were social creatures and relationships were important for well-being. Relating with other human beings was how people grew and evolved, how they expanded their lives and gave them meaning.

  She carried her wineglass over to the dishwasher and set it inside. She turned and surveyed the small house. It was tidier now, still a bit disorganized, but it was beautiful. She was so lucky to live here. She knew Nick wasn’t entirely happy about it and she hadn’t been either, at first, but nonetheless she was grateful for this solution to her problem.

  She was grateful for having Kendra and now Max in her life, along with Zyana, of course, and the people who worked for Femme Products who’d elected to accompany them to Chicago. There’d been a couple who’d decided to stay in New York, and she couldn’t fault them for that. She had other friends in New York too, and she would miss them, but it was easy to keep in touch these days with social media, and she’d make new friends here in Chicago. Zyana would start school and make friends, and they’d have a full and meaningful life.

  She turned out the lights and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

  Apparently Nick felt his life was full and meaningful enough, and why wouldn’t he? He was a professional athlete making lots of money, judging by this house. She’d seen the camaraderie between the hockey players. Although at the party Nick had been more reserved than some of the guys, she’d seen him interacting with his teammates, the fellowship and jokes and trash talk that was underlain with obvious respect. He was no doubt a busy man, flying around North America playing games for millions of people, when you counted TV viewers. He probably had people asking for his autograph at the grocery store.

  With face washed, teeth brushed, and clad in her warmest flannel pajamas, Jodie slid between the sheets of her bed and drew the duvet around her. She liked sleeping in a cool room, but sometimes she wished for a warm body there to heat her up. She’d given up on the idea of having a typical family with mom and dad and kids; if it hadn’t worked out for her with past relationships, it wasn’t likely going to now, with an actual child already present. But still, she liked men and she liked companionship and she liked sex. She dated from time to time, but she was careful about sleepovers with Zyana, and she missed that.

  She breathed in the scent of the bedding, an unfamiliar but pleasant scent, different than the laundry detergent and fabric softener she used herself. This was Nick’s bedding.

  It had been kind of him to go and get the sheets and pillows for them without even hesitating. He was a grouchy bear, but he wasn’t all bad.

  * * *

  —

  It was a day off and Nick had plans.

  Okay, not exciting plans, but to him it was fun. He was spending the day in his house and his garage, working on projects. All alone, with nobody to bug him.

  Project number one: refinishing furniture. He’d been working on a cedar chest and he also had an antique oak sideboard he’d picked up at an estate sale a few weeks back. It was going to look great in the dining room once he’d finished the wainscoting and new trim there.

  Project number two: the wainscoting in the living/dining room.

  He made coffee in the kitchen, which he’d had professionally remodeled along with the coach house. He was pretty good with wood and tools and nails and screws, but kitchen cabinets, granite countertops, and plumbing were beyond him. So the kitchen looked great, thanks to the pros.

  Okay. First, the sideboard. Taking a thermal mug of coffee, he let himself out into the cool morning air and headed to the garage behind the coach house. He eyed the small house. Were Jodie and Zyana awake? It was still early, but he’d bet that two-year-olds didn’t sleep in. But that was none of his business. They were just tenants, and he had shit to do.

  The big garage had been a selling point for the house, room for his car but also room to work on refinishing the furniture he liked to hunt down and collect. He turned on the space heater and the big light, synched his phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the garage and started some music, then gathered materials he’d need to get started. He’d have to leave the door open for ventilation while using the Circa stripper, so good thing he wore a fleece-lined plaid shirt over his old jeans and T-shirt. Brush in hand, he began stroking the stripper onto the surface of the sideboard, keeping it wet as he brushed on a generous coat. The piece was too big to do all at once, so he worked in sections. When the old finish began to blister and bubble, he picked up his scraper and drew it over the surface, removing the dark goo, wiping down the piece as he went.

  It was a way to let his mind go, to think about whatever he wanted, to relax. He liked the creative aspects of it—revealing the gorgeous wood grain, sanding it, and then making it shine—but also the mindlessness of it. It was a way to distract from the pressure of playing on a different line, playing more minutes, trying to step
up and do what he could for the team, while feeling guilty that he was still playing and Aleks…wasn’t.

  He thought about Aleks a lot lately, because in a couple of weeks, it would be the third anniversary of the day he’d died.

  It still filled him with a dark heaviness. Each year it got a little easier, but in a weird way, he didn’t want it to get easier. He wanted to be miserable. He deserved to be miserable. So he let that darkness seep into his soul and bring him down.

  Today, weirdly, his thoughts about Aleks drifted off into thoughts of Jodie. Remembering all the crazy things she’d said last night, asking him about what he thought his life would look like in ten years. Jesus. Who wanted to think that far ahead?

  Having a conversation with you is like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.

  Her directness made him feel like a dipshit. But having conversations wasn’t something he was very good at.

  She was an engineer. Jesus.

  She was also a good mom. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about Zyana, how she’d wanted Zyana to know she loved her even when she’d thrown a tantrum…But man, talk about crazy, having a kid all on her own, then picking up and moving to a new city…she was either stupid or brave.

  And much as she liked to yammer on and on, he couldn’t honestly say she was stupid.

  She was also sexy as fuck.

  He sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking that.

  When he’d finally stripped the old finish off the sideboard with the Circa, he used some steel wool to get rid of any residual finish. He surveyed it as he wiped his hands on a rag. It would need to dry now before he started sanding.

  He turned to the cedar chest. He wasn’t touching the cedar lining; it was in perfect shape. But the outside of the chest had needed refinishing. He ran his hand over the smooth, bare maple. The chest was a simple style, but the curved feet, handles, and the rosettes on the front needed extra attention, and he wanted to sand the beveled edges of the top a bit more. He touched the big brass keyhole. He wished he had the key; that would be really cool.

  He grabbed his sander, plugged it in, and got to work.

  He’d been at it for a few minutes, engrossed in his task, not hearing anything over the whine of the power tool, when something touched his shoulder.

  “Jesus fuck!” he shouted. The sander slipped and grazed the wood.

  He jerked around and glared at Jodie. And Zyana.

  “Sorry!” She backed off, holding up a hand. “I was calling to you, but you didn’t hear me.”

  He turned off the sander. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. We heard the noise out here and wondered what it was.” Her gaze moved over the wooden chest. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m baking cookies. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be snarly. We were just curious.”

  He rubbed his jaw. Hadn’t shaved that morning and it was rough. Her gaze followed his hand, taking in the stubble. “You scared the shit out of me.” He winced and glanced at Zyana. “Uh, sorry. Need to watch my language.”

  But fuck, it was his house. His garage. Why the hell should he have to walk on eggshells? Couldn’t swear, couldn’t walk around naked—not that he’d do that out here—couldn’t even sand a goddamn chest without being interrupted.

  He touched the wood where the sander had scraped it. “Shit,” he muttered. But he could fix that.

  “Okay, never mind,” she said brightly, though her smile was brittle. “We’re interrupting your work. Sorry again! Come on, Zee, let’s go back. We actually were going to bake cookies,” she added. “Stop by for one when you’re done.”

  As if he’d do that.

  He watched Jodie stroll and Zyana skip toward the door.

  Chapter 7

  Jodie gritted her teeth as she walked away from Nick, Zyana bouncing along beside her.

  Why had she come out here?

  Maybe Nick staying last night for a glass of wine and having a conversation (limited as it had been) had made her think he was actually a sociable human being.

  Wrong.

  She was just being friendly and neighborly. And curious, okay. She had no idea what that grinding noise was—it could have been…well, something could have been wrong. So they’d come to check it out.

  She had to admit to being taken aback at seeing him working on an antique piece of furniture. That was another shocker, like the crazy socks. He’d been engrossed in his task, his face relaxed but eyes intent, moving the sander over the wood, then stroking it with his fingertips in a way that was almost…loving.

  Like, she could almost imagine those rough fingertips stroking over her skin and how it would feel…

  “Wait.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, wanting to ignore the word Nick called. She slowly turned back to him.

  “You startled me,” he said again, slowly. “Sorry to be surly.”

  She took a couple of steps back toward him. “Did we make you damage that?” She nodded at the chest, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

  “It’s just a scratch. I can sand it out.” He stroked over the wood again with those long, lean fingers.

  She swallowed. “What is that?”

  “It’s a cedar chest.” He lifted the lid to show her the inside. “Lined with cedar to protect clothes from moths.”

  Zyana bounced over to peer inside.

  “That sounds very old-fashioned.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s an antique.” He closed the lid, careful of Zyana’s little hands.

  Jodie picked up on the veneration he felt for the piece of furniture in his voice and his touch with a ping in her chest, sensing that this was a man who appreciated beauty. “I see that. Where did you get it?”

  “At an antiques market. There are a bunch of good ones in the city.”

  “Huh. So you actually go looking for them?”

  “Sort of.” He shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t find anything, sometimes you do.”

  “Zyana, come away from there.” Zyana had wandered over to a tool bench with some scary-looking items.

  “Why?”

  “Because those are Nick’s things. Don’t touch, please.”

  Zyana flounced back to them. Jodie’s gaze fell on the sideboard behind Nick. “You’re working on that too?” She squinted at it, the wood rough and raw.

  “Yeah. I just finished stripping it. Zyana, don’t touch that!”

  She had reached for a metal container but froze at his harsh tone, turning frightened eyes toward Nick.

  “Sorry, kid,” he muttered. “But that’s dangerous stuff. Corrosive.” He rose and moved to pick up the container.

  “We’d better go.” Clearly this was no place for a child, with all kinds of trouble to get into. Her plan today was to childproof the house to keep Zyana safe, not have her cut her fingers off with a power saw or something. “Come on, Zee. Let’s go make those cookies. And we can play more with the boxes.”

  Nick eyed her with a raised eyebrow.

  “She loves cardboard boxes.” Jodie bent to pick up Zyana. She propped her on her hip and smiled. “Right, love bug?”

  “Wight.” She gave Nick a wary look.

  Jodie’s lips twitched. “Now we know nothing’s being destroyed here, we’ll leave you to your work.”

  He nodded, his usual taciturn self.

  “Say bye, Zee.”

  “Bye.” She waved over Jodie’s shoulder as they left. “He’s a mean man.”

  Cripes. Had he heard that? She was going to hope not. “No, he’s not. He’s a nice man. He’s letting us live in his house.”

  “He yelled at me.”

  “He just didn’t want you to get hurt. The stuff in that can could eat all your skin off.”

 
; Zyana’s eyes bugged out in horror. Oh hell. Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say.

  “And he let us use his bedding last night. Which reminds me, we have to wash it and return it to him.” She climbed the steps to the door of the coach house, fished her key out of her pocket, and opened the door. She set Zyana on her feet.

  Jodie glanced around. The place still looked like a tornado had ripped through it. It had been so pristine and pretty before they’d moved in. She let out a small sigh. “Okay. Chocolate chip cookies or peanut butter?”

  “Peanut butter!”

  When the cookies were in the oven and the bowls soaking in the sink, she said, “How about some music?”

  “Yes!” Zyana clapped and spun. “I will dance.”

  “Perfect.” She started a playlist of Zyana’s favorite songs on her phone. While Zyana twirled and jumped to Raffi, she organized, flattened empty boxes, and filled every electrical outlet with childproof plugs. She found her favorite candle—a mix of plum, grapefruit, and ginger that always made her smile—lit it, and set it up out of Zyana’s reach.

  She took the cookies out of the oven and was about to start on childproofing the kitchen, but with a smile she grabbed Zyana’s hands and twirled her around. Zyana’s giggles had warmth expanding fiercely in her chest. They danced together to “Body Boogie.”

  Zyana collapsed on the rug, on her back, arms and legs starfished in a dramatic pose.

  Jodie smiled. “Tired, sweet pea?”

  Zyana nodded.

  “I’m going to make lunch in a few minutes. Why don’t you color?” She set up Zyana at the coffee table with big papers and crayons and headed to the kitchen. She had a few childproofing things to attend to there, then she made grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. She and Zyana were sitting at the island when she heard a knock at the door.

  Huh. She slid off the stool. Through the window she saw Nick on the doorstep and she opened the door.

  “Hi.”

  He held up Ruby. “Someone might be missing this.”