by Shirley Jump
He wanted to do something but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t rewind time, couldn’t correct yet another time when he had been too late—too damned late.
Damn.
He paced, he thought, he cursed. Then, shortly after dawn broke across Stone Gap and the sun began to fill his room with light, Colton had a plan. He had his phone out and was dialing before he realized how early it was.
Luke’s groggy voice came across the phone line. “If you weren’t my brother, I would have to kill you for waking me up this early.”
Colton chuckled. “I’m sorry. I forgot what time it was.”
“Then call me back when the little hand gets past the eight. You know which one is the little hand, right?”
“Don’t hang up, Luke. This can’t wait.”
Luke sighed. There was rustling in the background while Luke got out of bed and let out another tired sigh. “Okay, shoot.”
Colton explained about the fire, about what had happened to Ernie, then laid out his plan to his brother. After several days of seeing Luke and Mac, it was easier to think of them as his brothers. As part of his family. “I know Jack is due back from his honeymoon tomorrow morning, so I don’t know if we can count on him. And I don’t want to wait another day if I can help it.”
“He’s a Barlow. Of course you can count on him,” Luke said. “You can count on all of us.”
That sounded good to Colton’s ears. Really good. “Thanks, Luke. I appreciate it.”
“Did you tell Dad? Back in the day, he was pretty handy. Taught us everything we know.” There was the sound of running water then the glug-glug of a coffeepot starting up. “And I know he and Ernie go way back.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should call him or not.” Truth be told, Colton was feeling like a teenager who didn’t want to be rejected. Yes, his father had invited him to Sunday dinner, but he hadn’t talked to Colton otherwise. Colton kept holding off on reaching out. Okay, yeah, he was being a coward.
“You can’t know if he’ll say yes unless you do,” Luke said. “But a word to the wise...”
“Yeah?”
“Wait till after seven.” Luke chuckled. “I’ll see you down there in about an hour. Okay?”
Colton hung up with Luke then got busy making a list of supplies. He left the inn, walked downtown to grab a cup of coffee at the Good Eatin’ Café then drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for the clock to tick past seven. Once it did, Colton dialed his father’s number, but got the voice mail. He left a quick, short message then hung up.
“Can I give you a refill?” Viv, the gregarious owner of the Good Eatin’ Café, said as she approached his table with a fresh pot of coffee.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. That would be great.”
“Brownie points for you, young man. You called me ma’am.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “I saw you and Rachel Morris here the other night. She’s mighty lucky to have you. You two make a wonderful couple.”
Colton wasn’t so sure Rachel had him, nor was he sure she wanted him to be in her life after last night. Yes, she was grateful he had rescued her dad, but he should have been there sooner, gotten into the building faster. Then maybe Ernie wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed. And once he told Rachel what had happened to Willis and Foster...
That shining light in her eyes that saw him as a hero would definitely dim.
Viv let out a sigh as her gaze went out the window to the smoky, charred remains across the street. “Terrible thing what happened to Ernie’s store. That man has been through enough. What with his wife being so needy all those years, then her dying and then poor Rachel trying to fill his shoes. Now this? Goodness, that family has had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime.”
“I agree,” Colton said. “Ernie’s a real nice man. I got to know him pretty well this week.”
“He’s part of the same quality stock as most folks in this town. You’re included in that.” Viv pointed a finger at him. “You’re a Barlow, through and through.”
“Half Barlow.”
“The better half,” she said with a smile. “And you know, you may have come about being a Barlow in a little bit different way from Luke, Mac and Jack, but folks ’round here, they’ll see you as the same. Just give ’em time.”
“I’m not worried about what people think about me. I am what I am, and if they don’t like it...” He shrugged.
“That is a good attitude to have.” She patted his shoulder again. “Harry was right. You’re gonna fit in just fine in Stone Gap.”
He shouldn’t be surprised that the owner of the diner knew just about as much about him as he knew about himself. It was, after all, a very small town, and word spread faster than chicken pox here. “I haven’t decided if I’m staying yet.”
She glanced at the paper on the table before him, the list he’d bulleted while he was waiting. A smile crossed her face. “Oh, you have already. You just don’t know it.”
The owner of the café walked away, just as Luke and Mac came in through the door and sat across from him. Viv came back with coffees for both of them and promised hearty breakfasts in a jiffy.
“I think we’ve got about everything on your list,” Luke said. “The rest should be delivered at a reasonable hour of the morning.”
Mac laughed. “You still complaining about having to wake up before noon? You know, you’re about to be a married man, Luke. With a kid, at that. Those bachelor days of sleeping off a hangover are over.”
“For your information, I was up late reading to a five-year-old who got scared by the storm.” Luke gave Mac a so-there glare. “I have reformed my ways and have become a card-carrying family man.”
“There is hope for humanity.” Mac grinned then let out an oomph when Luke slugged him.
“So, did you call Dad?” Luke asked.
“Left him a voice mail.” Colton shrugged. “I don’t know if he’ll show up.”
“He’ll show.” Luke nodded. “Have faith.”
That was the one thing Colton had lost a while ago. Faith. Especially in himself. In his future. Every time he thought he might be finding his way again, something like last night happened. A too-close call that reminded him of what he had lost.
The three of them ate breakfast, with Colton getting an extra order of bacon and toast after all, then paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Viv, and headed across the street. The acrid smell of burned wood still hung in the air, and steam rose from what remained of the still-warm eastern wall of the shop. Half of it had crumbled in the fire, leaving the inside of the store exposed to the elements.
“Okay,” Luke said, “let’s get this party started.” He reached in the back of his truck, pulling out sledgehammers, shovels and crowbars for the three of them. They set to work, dismantling the burned half of the building and stacking the debris to the side. By nine o’clock, the Dumpster had arrived, along with a delivery of fresh lumber, and most of the damaged parts had been pulled away.
A second pickup pulled into the lot and Bobby Barlow got out of the driver’s side. He lumbered over, still limping a bit from his knee-replacement surgery a few weeks earlier. Colton found himself smiling, as if he was five years old again and his father had shown up at the father-son baseball game at school.
“Mornin’,” Bobby said to his three sons. “Where do you need me?”
Luke waved at Colton. “Colton’s in charge, so ask him.”
Bobby turned to his oldest son. He looked a little uncomfortable, as if he’d rather ask anyone else on site what to do. But the other three Barlows were staring at Colton expectantly, so he cleared his throat and waved at the shop.
“We got most of the demo done,” he said. “Luke and Mac are going to work on reconstructing the exterior wall. I was thinking you and I could rebuild the front counter.”
“Sounds good. I’ve built a few cabinets over the years. Let’s get started.” Bobby unclipped a tape measure from his belt and walked into the empty store. He turned to Colton as he moved about the space. “You ever build a cabinet before?”
“Nope. Installed them, but never built one.”
“It’s not tough. Basically a big box. For one this long, though, you need to be sure you have enough interior support for the weight of the countertop. Now, are we making it the same as before?”
“I think that’s the easiest option. That way, not too much changes inside the store.”
“Ernie would like that. He hasn’t changed a thing in this place for thirty years, and I don’t expect him to go all crazy now. If it’s the same, it’s familiar, and that’s going to make him more inclined to come back here.”
“Then let’s keep it the same,” Colton said. Bobby called out some measurements, and Colton scribbled them onto a small pad of paper. Then they turned to the pile of fresh lumber sitting in the parking lot. Luke and Mac had set up a table saw on a couple of sawhorses repurposed into a worktable.
“Measure twice, cut once,” Bobby said. He lifted one of the boards onto the table and stretched the tape measure along the side, marking where he was going to cut. “You want to cut?”
“Sure.”
“Before you start,” Bobby said, “make sure you adjust the blade height so the top of the blade is just above the board. It makes it more efficient.”
Colton checked the blade, measuring it against the two-by-twelve, then brought down the blade guard. “Check.”
“Be sure to keep your fingers far from the guard. I know it’s there to protect you, but nothing’s infallible. I like to keep my little finger against the fence when cutting something as wide as this. Helps guide the board and keep it all in place.”
“Thanks.” Colton did as his father instructed, feeding the board through the blade a little at a time. Bobby stood at the other end, helping guide the long piece of wood. They ripped several boards, one after another, working in concert. The plywood backer and top were cut next, then stacked to the side.
From time to time, Luke or Mac would glance over at them, but neither stepped in. The other two Barlows just kept to their own project, leaving Colton and Bobby alone. Other townspeople filtered into the space, lending a helping hand wherever it was needed, whether it was rebuilding the walls, or removing the damaged inventory or cleaning what could be salvaged. Before the little hand got past ten, almost two dozen people had shown up to help. Luke and Mac kept the extra helpers busy while Colton and Bobby worked on the counter.
Once the wood was cut, Colton and Bobby got to work assembling the counter base. “Let’s drill the holes for the shelves now,” Bobby said. “Easier to do it before assembly than to climb in there afterward. And that gives Ernie an option to move the shelves if he doesn’t like the way we do it.”
“All right. Let’s make a template first,” Colton said. “That way, they’re all even.”
“Good idea.” Bobby nodded his approval, and Colton felt like a little kid who just got an A on a paper.
Colton tore off a piece of paper then measured out the right spacing for the holes. He held the paper against the board, and Bobby drilled the holes. When they were done, Bobby routed a groove a few inches above the bottom then held the first shelf steady while Colton screwed it in place.
“This bottom one should be set permanently in place,” Bobby said. “Gives the whole cabinet more structural integrity. And by routing a groove for the shelf to fit into, we create an additional layer of support.”
Colton helped his father repeat the process with the other side. As they worked together, filling in the center supports and creating the additional shelves, Colton began to anticipate Bobby’s requests. They talked less and worked together more, developing a natural rhythm. The work filled the gaps in that awkward space between small talk and conversation.
A little while later Colton handed his father the last screw, and Bobby sank it into the plywood top. The laminate countertop would be delivered later, but for now the counter space was done. The two of them stepped back and assessed their handiwork.
The counter stood in the sun before them, eight feet long and smelling of freshly cut wood, a new beginning for Ernie Morris. But for Colton and Bobby Barlow, those few sheets of plywood were the start of something even more lasting. Something Colton had been searching for all his life, in those Christmases and birthdays and first days of school when he’d desperately wanted a father by his side.
Now he had him. Thirty years late, but that didn’t matter anymore.
“Not bad,” Bobby said, then reached out an arm and draped it across Colton’s shoulders. For a second the embrace felt stiff, awkward, as Colton stood there, unsure of how to read this whole morning, the last few days, Bobby’s distance.
“You know,” Bobby went on, his arm still on Colton’s shoulders, “there are some imperfections in this cabinet. Some would say it’s not good enough, because it doesn’t live up to the dream. But if you ask me, the knots in the wood and the nicks on the edge give it character. This piece is strong and solid and it’s gonna last. It’ll be here—” he met Colton’s gaze, the mirror image of his own blue eyes “—for as long as you need it to be. You can depend on it.”
Colton realized then that this was his father’s way of bonding. With tools and wood and sawdust. “That’s all I ask, Dad,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
Bobby nodded, his eyes watering. “Me, too.” A moment passed, Colton’s throat tight, his heart full. Then his father gave him a hearty pat on the back. “Okay. Let’s build something else...son.”
* * *
Her father was not cooperating.
“I don’t want to go home and rest,” Ernie said as they left the hospital and got into Rachel’s sedan. It was the same argument her father had given her since she came to pick him up that morning. The doctor had recommended he take it easy for a couple days, and that had set off a litany of protests from Ernie. “I don’t want to spend one more damned day sitting in that house.”
“But, Dad, you went through a lot last night and you should—”
“I should get back over to the store and see how bad the damage is. That’s what I should do.” Ernie put up a hand to cut off her objections. “I know I have spent a long time sitting at that kitchen table, having the longest pity party this side of the Mississippi. But I realized last night that I was just dragging you and the store and everyone around me down by doing that. I need to get back to work, Rachel.”
“But, Dad, I don’t...” She let out a long breath. “I don’t think there’s a shop to go back to. Harry said the damage was pretty extensive.”
She hadn’t wanted to tell her father that. She was afraid that if he knew the shop was gone, he would retreat to his cave again, and she’d never get him to leave. Maybe if she could keep him away until the insurance kicked in and everything was rebuilt...
“Then why are you taking the long way home?” her father asked. “You know we’re supposed to go straight down Main.”
“I just think it’s better if you wait—”
“Rachel Marie Morris, I am old enough to decide if I can handle seeing a little fire damage or not.” Her father so rarely used her middle name or got stern that Rachel almost had to laugh. “So don’t make my decisions for me, my darling daughter.” His voice had softened, tempering the lecture.
“Dad, it’s not a little fire damage. Harry said—”
“I heard Harry talking to you in the hall.” Ernie reached out and covered her hand with his own. “And I appreciate you trying to keep the truth from me. I know you do it out of love. But isn’t it about time this whole family stopped doing that with each other? And just faced the reality head-on?”
She braked at a stop
sign and hung her head. Her father was right. For decades, none of them had talked about her mother’s alcoholism. None of them had called her out on it. They’d made excuses and swept it under the rug, and when her mother got sick, her mother had played the same game, pretending the cirrhosis didn’t exist until it was too late. In the year since, they’d tiptoed around their grief, as if ignoring it would ease the pain. But she was afraid, so afraid, that if she opened that door, the floodgates would burst. She was barely keeping her life under control as it was. “Dad, I can’t do that. I can’t...”
“Let me down?” His hand tightened on hers. “Because if that’s what you think you did, let me tell you right now, you never did that.”
She shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes. “I did. For too many years. I left you to take care of Mom and I shouldn’t have. I just couldn’t...couldn’t see her like that.”
“First of all, I loved your mother, loved her more than life itself, but she was a stubborn woman, and there wasn’t anything you or I or God Himself could do to get her to listen. And second of all, I’m your father. It’s my job to take those burdens on my shoulders so you don’t have to. I’ve done a crappy job of it over the last year, and I’m sorry for that. I just got...lost.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“If it’s okay, then let’s go see the store.” He squeezed her hand again, and in his grip, she felt strength, determination. “Together.”
“All right.” She pressed on the gas pedal and made her way down Main Street toward the store. Maybe her father was more ready to see the damage than she expected. He was right; she shouldn’t have to keep protecting him. He was a grown man, and one who had handled worse before.
“I really am sorry, Rachel,” he said. “I left you to handle all this, and I never should have. And I’m sure as hell not leaving you to handle the rebuilding of the store. It’s going to take some time, I know that, but—”
Her father cut off midsentence. Rachel followed his line of sight and gasped. The store, which she was sure would be all in ruins, was a hive of activity. The Barlows were there, building and cleaning, along with several other townspeople who had pitched in to help. There was a full Dumpster of charred lumber, but the new exterior wall was going into place, and she could see Colton and his father working on some repairs inside the store.
