Claire gave him a piercing glance. “Makes sense.”
He was studying the board, determining his next move, when Claire spoke.
“What happened to your wife, Paul?”
Shoving the ottoman off to the side, he slid himself onto the floor, his leg under the table. With Claire reclined on the couch, he was more at her eye level now.
“We were in trouble from day one,” he began. “One night, after a fight, I went driving. That’s when I got into the accident and busted my leg. She was willing to patch things up then, but it was too late for me.” He shook his head. “We’d stopped talking so long before that I didn’t know how to start. Got the divorce papers the day I was discharged from the hospital.”
“I’m sorry.”
He paused for a moment, calculating the distance between his head and hers. No more than two feet separated them.
“How did your husband die?”
“Brain aneurysm.” Claire’s voice grew quiet as she continued. “He’d been out on temporary duty for two weeks and just dropped dead. That was it.”
“That’s awful.”
She smiled sadly. “But life goes on, doesn’t it? Somehow, we all make it work. But it’s lonely sometimes.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Their eyes met. Paul started to lean closer, aware how slow his pace was but incapable of doing anything faster. He felt the electricity between them and wanted nothing more than to kiss Claire and kiss her for a very long time. Their lips were only inches from parting--
Claire’s cell phone rang.
They both jumped, and Paul backed away, the moment lost.
Claire glanced at the caller ID, smiled apologetically, then answered it.
“Hi, Francine. . . . Oh, that’s good news. Thanks. . . . Yes, yes. See you tomorrow, then.”
When she hung up, she was smiling. “Francine said the electricity’s back on, so we’re opening the library tomorrow.”
“That’s good.”
All Paul could think about was the kiss. They had been so close. His entire body was tense, although he tried to look relaxed and hear what Claire was saying.
“I’m going to call my place and see if the answering machine picks up.” She dialed her number and grinned as she listened to the phone. “My electricity’s back, too.”
“Good news.”
But it wasn’t. Now she would want to go home.
“I hate to impose now that my place is livable.”
“It’ll still be cold,” Paul said. “You could let the furnace warm up overnight then go back tomorrow.”
Claire glanced at her watch. “That’s a good idea. Plus, it’s late. I feel like we’ve already inconvenienced you.”
“It’s no trouble,” Paul assured her. “Really.”
No, it wasn’t any trouble, but it was disappointing she couldn’t stay longer.
After making arrangements for returning Claire and Sam to their place in the morning, Paul turned off the generator since his electricity was back on as well, and went to bed. He kept thinking of Claire in the next room. It was strange to have someone else in the house with him. But he liked it. As he struggled to go to sleep, he admitted to himself he didn’t want morning to come when he would be alone again.
16
April 2005
Just two weeks after the ice storm, the last part of Claire’s shelving unit was complete, although Paul hadn’t told her yet. He was making a gift for her, and he wanted to be able to deliver both at the same time. That way, if his present didn’t go over as he hoped it would, he would never have to see her again.
Still, Paul wouldn’t be rid of her so easily. Everything in the house reminded him of the night she and Sam had spent there. When he sat in his chair, he imagined her lying on the couch. When he worked at his desk, he remembered she had slept in that room. When he turned wood on the lathe, he saw her smelling the block of maple.
Paul could get used to sharing his life with someone again. He wanted to share life with Claire and Sam. Of course, they had only known each other a few months, and he and Claire weren’t really dating. But it was time for that to change. Paul’s moment had come.
He thought about calling her to set up a delivery time but decided he needed to see her. That afternoon, after stopping at the post office, he dropped into the library. Francine greeted him and gestured toward the reference room. Claire was dusting the encyclopedia shelves and rearranging the encyclopedias.
“Hey.”
Claire turned around.
“Hey yourself. I hadn’t heard from you in a while. How are you?”
“I’m good.” Paul jammed his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been busy with a special order.”
She nodded. “Have you heard back from your Maid Marian customer?”
“He was pleased. Wrote me a great email that I’m posting on the website. Always nice to have those endorsements, you know.”
“If you put carpentry on your website, I’d write you one.”
“And say how slow I am.”
“I’d say what good work you do. How everyone should hire you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not ready to make my carpentry public.”
“Afraid you’ll get too much business?”
Paul shrugged.
“You’re a better carpenter than you let on.”
“My sisters want me to get back into it. I don’t know. I think I just want to do a little every now and then.”
“For carefully chosen clients?”
“Yeah. Carefully chosen.” He cleared his throat. “So, I should have the shelves finished by tomorrow night. Then, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Oh. That’s great.”
Her enthusiasm seemed lost, as though she wasn’t sure how to direct it. Paul wondered if she was excited to have him out of the house, excited to have the project done, or both.
That night he stayed up late, finishing her gift. Although he was still unsure if he had done the right thing, Paul put his whole effort into the project. Regardless of the outcome, he wanted to say that he had done his best.
The next evening, he drove to her house, the shelves in the back of the truck and a package wrapped in brown paper on the front seat next to him. After parking in her driveway, he pulled out the first section of the shelves to carry to the front porch and rang the doorbell.
When she opened the door, she had a paintbrush in her hand. “Come on in, Paul. I’m doing the trim work in my bedroom.”
He followed her in to the living room and set down the unit. “Where’s Sam?”
“Playing on the computer upstairs. He just bought a new game with his own money.”
Claire excused herself to continue her painting. This was their normal routine, but tonight Paul felt like she was avoiding him. He had imagined the scene quite differently. He had even hoped Sam would be tagging at his heels, wanting to help hang the shelves. But perhaps the familiarity he had imagined between himself and the boy was only in his imagination—a one-time deal due to Sam’s presence at Paul’s house. As for Claire, she treated Paul like business at usual, but Paul knew tonight was the night that was going to change everything.
An hour later he had the shelves up. His excuses for trips to Claire’s were over. From this moment on, if he ever came here again, it would have to be because he had declared his intentions, something that had never come easily for him. However, he hoped that the package in truck would speak for him. Linda would never have understood what he was about to do, but he felt sure Claire would. At least, fairly sure.
Paul rapped his knuckles softly on the doorframe of Claire’s bedroom. She had the windows open and was painting the trim work around them. Looking up, she tucked her hair behind her ear with a paint-spattered hand.
“I’m finished with the shelves. Come take a look.”
She moved to stand. Paul limped a few steps in and gave her an arm up.
“How’s the hip?” he asked.
“It’s
turned some really ugly shades of purple and green. Aches sometimes, but I imagine that will go away after awhile. I’ve got to get some new gutters so the run-off doesn’t fall on the steps anymore.”
“I guess you never run out of projects.”
“Maybe not. Although I’d like to think a time will come when I can stop trying so hard and just enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
“Do you think that time ever comes . . . when we get to stop trying?”
“I don’t know.” Claire’s face was thoughtful. “I guess we always should be trying. But maybe it comes easier with time.”
He hoped so.
When they entered the living room, Claire surveyed the shelves, her hands clasped at her chest.
“Beautiful,” she exclaimed. “Exactly what I wanted.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Let me get my checkbook, and we’ll square up.”
“Take a hundred off what I quoted you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Expenses were less than I budgeted.”
“Do you always do this? Sell yourself short?”
He hadn’t expected this response. Most people were delighted to get a deal. He rubbed the top of his buzz cut and shifted his weight between his feet. He had no idea how to respond.
Claire sighed. “Let me run upstairs.”
“Sure.” Paul felt more confident now that she was back on the script he had imagined. “While you’re doing that, there’s something I need to get from the truck.”
He limped outside and pulled out the package wrapped in brown paper. Now that the moment for his boldest move had come, he wondered if he had made the right decision. But he had gone to all that trouble. Better to give it to her, even if it did scare her off. At least he would have done something, even if a relationship with Claire didn’t work out.
When he came inside, Claire was just signing the check. She tore it out and handed it to him. He could tell she tried not to look at the package in his hands.
“I was thinking about what you said when you were at my place,” Paul began, feeling a catch in his throat, “about wanting a castle. I can’t make you a real one, but maybe something like this will do.”
He held out the package to her. She gave him a questioning look but accepted the gift with a smile. Paul silently thanked her for not making him feel more foolish than he did.
When Claire opened the box, she gasped. Inside was a wooden castle twelve inches high, eight inches deep and ten inches wide. Paul had modeled it loosely on pictures of Burg Eltz he downloaded from the Internet. The walls, lined with rows of tiny windows, went straight up to steeply sloped roofs accented with conical towers painted blue gray. Just below he had painted in red and white a wattle-and-daub design.
On the side of the castle, meant to be the front, sat the gatehouse with its stone arch and sloping roof. Paul motioned for her to set the castle on the shelf. When she did, he pressed the release on the door of the gatehouse which allowed the door to separate at the right and the entire castle to open up on a hinge at the back. Inside each half of the castle held four rooms with painted stones and tapestries on the wall.
At the apex of the two halves stood another tower with a conical roof. This hadn’t been visible in Claire’s painting, but Paul had found it in the Internet photos. With the sides parted, the interior of the tower was exposed, revealing a painted balcony that overlooked the rest of the castle and the living room before it.
Paul tried to look at his gift through Claire’s eyes as she ran her finger along the thin floor boards and studied the painted details. He had worked on the castle for so many hours that it floated before him whenever he closed his eyes. While he could never put into words what he wanted to tell her, he had shown her. He prayed she understood.
But she wasn’t saying or doing anything in response to what he thought was a very clear message. She only stared.
Maybe he should leave.
“I don’t know what to say.” Claire’s voice trembled slightly, her eyes never leaving the gift. “This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever given me.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
There were several long seconds of silence. Paul chewed his lip. He hadn’t planned what to do after this. Maybe he should just go.
“I’ll get out of your way now.”
“Paul?”
She looked into his eyes for a long time, then put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Startled at first, Paul stood still, his hands held midair. He hadn’t kissed a woman—really kissed a woman—in so long he wasn’t sure he remembered how, although it only took a second or two for him to respond and understand what she was trying to tell him.
He put his arms around her and kissed her back, forgetting Linda and any other woman he had known. Claire was all he would ever want.
When they pulled back from the kiss, they touched foreheads and laughed softly. Paul marveled at how more than two months of self-doubt and fear could dissolve so quickly. When he looked at Claire, she was the only woman on the planet. He would take care of this woman and her son. He would marry her someday, and none of them would ever have to be part of a broken set again.
Paul caught a movement in his peripheral vision. He and Claire, arms still around each other, turned to look at Sam, who had just come down the stairs.
“Hi, Sammy.” Claire pulled away from Paul. “How’s your game?”
Sam’s gaze held suspicion. “Fine.”
“Are you getting hungry? I think I’ll make supper.”
She slipped her paint-speckled hand into Paul’s calloused one and squeezed. “You’ll stay for supper?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah.”
“I’ll get started. Why don’t you sit down. Looks like your leg’s been bothering you today.”
Paul dusted the back of his jeans to make sure he wouldn’t get the furniture dirty, then settled on the sofa, resting his aching leg on the coffee table. Smiling, he listened to Claire set a pan on the stove and rummage through the cupboards. Someday, this might be their everyday experience.
He glanced at Sam who still stood staring at him from the doorway to the stairs.
“Wanna show me your game?” Paul asked.
“No.”
Sam studied Paul for a few seconds more then disappeared into his bedroom.
Paul sighed. He had always thought he would win Sam over first, but as life would have it, now that he and Claire were communicating, he and Sam were not. But there was time. Nothing had been done hastily so far, and nothing would be after this. Paul hadn’t won yet, but he was closer to victory than he had ever been.
Sam suddenly appeared beside him and set a boxed chess set on the coffee table. “Will you play a game with me?”
“Sure.”
Paul opened the box, laid out the thin board on the couch beside him, and helped Sam set up the pieces.
“This is my dad’s game. He bought it.”
“Sure you want me to use it?”
“You’ll be careful?” Sam stared at Paul so intently that Paul understood how important his response was.
“Very careful,” Paul assured him.
“Then it’s okay.”
As they worked to set up the pieces, Claire re-entered, carrying her queen.
When Paul looked up, she smiled at him and held up the chess piece. Then, with ceremony, she placed the queen on the tower platform of her new doll house. He hadn’t told her that was what it was for, but somehow she knew.
Her hands on her hips, Claire surveyed the castle and the queen for a few seconds. Then, turning to look at Paul, she blushed, smiled, and wandered back toward the kitchen.
When she was gone, Paul studied Sam and the game board. A new strategy had just come to him.
“Do you know what the most important piece is?”
Sam’s brows furrowed in thought as he searched the box then pulled out a piece to show Paul. “The king?”
&nb
sp; “Well, yeah,” Paul admitted. “But there’s a piece even more powerful than the king, and it’s one you want to keep as long as possible.” He pointed to Sam’s queen. “You can sacrifice all the other pieces before you sacrifice this one.”
“Does the king get lonely without her?”
Paul smiled and roughed Sam’s hair. “Absolutely. He absolutely does.”
Epilogue
Satisfied the chicken and potatoes were proceeding on schedule, Claire leaned against the doorframe by the stove and closed her eyes. The chess queen Will had given her now ruled over the most beautiful little castle she had ever seen. The resin figure with her painted features and folded hands stood in a conical tower, overlooking her kingdom below.
Claire gasped as another image came to mind—the cold, disfigured woman in her drawing upstairs. She knew what to do now—how to fix it.
Dashing up the stairs, she pushed open her office door. Center stage sat her funeral scene, but the sight of it didn’t bring the same wrenching emotion it had while she was painting it. She was ready to paint something new.
In a few steps she was at the wall where she yanked down her drawing, pulling paint off with it. Uncapping her marker, Claire drew lines to connect the planned and unintentional ones on the page. Five minutes later, smiling in satisfaction, she recapped her marker. Her plan was complete.
At the easel, she removed the funeral painting and replaced it with a blank canvas, leaning the completed one against the wall. Then, with a binder clip, she attached the drawing to the top right corner of the blank canvas.
She stepped back to survey the blank canvas and imagine how it would look when completed. Although the drawing was only black and white, she could see the paint colors and how the piece would look finished.
An azure blue sky above would accent the horizon line of wooded hills, golden green with spring growth. At the bottom and sides, the rest of the castle was visible, including a red and white wattle-and-daub detail. In the middle, on the balcony of the sandstone tower with blue-gray roof, the woman, now clad in a blue summer gown, let her blond hair twist in the breeze while flower petals blew past.
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