by Sarah Title
He remembered all of his time in Willow Springs.
Hell, that was why he came back. It was one of the best places he and Red had lived, where the kids were more curious than cruel to the big, gangly new kid. Where he actually lived with his dad, not that he saw him much. But by that time, Walker was getting old enough to be sick of Red’s informal relationship with the truth, so that worked out just fine. Walker cooked rice and beans, like Mrs. Garcia had taught him. He mostly did his homework, and went out for basketball.
And he made the team. He did, Jake didn’t. Walker had thought that was unfair, that he had only made it because of his “wingspan,” as the coach called it.
But it didn’t matter, because a few weeks later, he and Red were on the road. Walker always wondered if Jake got his spot on the team.
He could ask him. They were sitting around, talking like guys.
“Is this the destroyer?”
“Dammit, Booger!” Walker tried to keep hold of the dog’s collar as his giant paws made a lunge for Jake.
“It’s okay,” Jake said. Then, oof. “He’s gonna be big. Look at these feet.”
“And he’s got an appetite.”
“You’re a real tough guy, you know that?” And now Jake was on the floor, roughhousing with the dog.
Finally, Jake stood up and stretched a hand toward Walker.
“So. Welcome back.”
“Uh. Thanks.”
“Been a while, huh?”
Yup, thought Walker. It’s been a while since my dad faked some Civil War-era paintings and we had to skip town.
“Sorry I haven’t come by sooner. Grace thinks I should’ve shown up with a gift basket.”
“Grace?”
“Fiancée. Wife, soon, but she doesn’t want to plan a wedding so we both keep putting it off.”
“Why don’t you elope?”
“Her sister and my sister have threatened bodily harm if we do.”
“Hmm.” Walker couldn’t even imagine what life would’ve been like with siblings. Everyone he knew talked like sisters and brothers were the worst thing in the world, but in a way that made it clear to Walker they were actually the best. But to have another kid grow up like Walker? Would a sister have made watching late-night motel TV more fun than it was?
“So what have you been up to? Grace tells me you’re a big-time artist now.”
“Not big-time.”
“Well, you got you a palace here,” Jake said, and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “And I got you a door. Just pretend there’s a bow on it, for Grace’s sake.”
“Yeah, okay. Dog proof?”
“Normally I’d say yes, but your dog seems to be a door-eating savant.”
“Not my dog.”
Walker saw Jake’s eyebrow raise as Booger ran insane circles around the two of them.
“Forget it. Let’s get this door.”
And now there’s another guy! He smells like a cat, which isn’t great, but he’s a lot of fun and he’s really impressed with how fast I can run around in circles. Hey, wait. Where are you going? Oh, whew, he’s back. What’s that big thing he’s holding? Where are they going with that?
Oh, no . . .
Jake grunted as he tried to shove the door into place. “I’ve installed easier doors.”
It wasn’t helping that every time Booger scratched on the bedroom door, Walker had a little panic that he was going to break free. He didn’t think Jake’s housewarming generosity would extend to a second replacement door. And he definitely wanted this door replaced. This was a two-family house. Lindsey needed her space; he needed his. Sometimes they could share space, but that would be optional, with the option to close the door.
“I gotta be honest with you,” Jake said. “Grace put me up to this.”
“Grace sent you to fix the door?” How did she even know?
“No, Lindsey sent me for the door. Grace sent me to find out the dirt on you. She’s dying of curiosity. It killed her when she came over the other night and couldn’t get into your studio.”
Walker hadn’t actually met Grace, but he’d seen her at the gallery on campus. He’d been attempting to unobtrusively look at the exhibit of Appalachian landscape photography from the 1930s. She was in there with a class, talking about post-modernism. He recognized her laugh.
He wanted to tell Jake that if she’d waited around long enough, Lindsey could have snuck her in. Not that he really minded that anymore. Especially not since he started sneaking into her apartment to kidnap her dog.
No, the idea of Lindsey in his studio didn’t bother him as much as it should have. He was probably still high from last night. And this morning. “Not you?” he asked Jake. “You’re not curious?”
“I don’t really care what you do, man. As long as it’s not illegal.” Jake looked at him sharply. “It’s not illegal, is it?”
“No, it’s not . . . it’s hard to explain.” Hard to explain that he was a pretty famous artist but he was protective to the point of paranoia about his work because he used to help his dad make a living by faking art. And the only person he’d let into the garage was Myron. And now Lindsey. And, recently and regularly, the dog.
“Just don’t blow up the neighborhood,” Jake said, slapping him on the back. He gave the door a push. “This oughta hold. Feed the dog real food, okay?”
“Hey.” Walker threw his hands up. “Not my dog.”
Chapter 14
“So now you have a dog?”
Myron sat on the bench inside the wire fence of the dog park making faces at the slimy tennis ball that Booger kept dropping at his feet.
“It’s Lindsey’s dog,” Walker told him, picking up the ball and tossing it to the other end of the park. The dog took off like a shot after it, not letting a little thing like tripping over his own feet stop him from reaching his target.
“Sure don’t look like Lindsey’s dog.”
“She can’t exactly bring the dog to work.”
“Why not? He doesn’t slobber near as much as Eugene does.”
“Ha ha.” Walker tossed the ball again.
Booger went nuts after it.
“So what’s really bothering you?”
“Nothing. It’s a nice day. I thought you’d like to get out, that’s all.”
“It’s a nice day at Shady Grove and I don’t step in dog poop there.”
“I told you, that’s just mud.”
“And you’ve got that assy face again.”
Walker tossed the ball one more time, but Booger was too involved in something under the doggy slide. Walker sat down next to Myron.
“My dad called. This morning, after . . .” Walker wasn’t sure he wanted to explain about the door and Jake. It was complicated. Never mind last night, and the complications he had created with Lindsey.
“Ah. What’s he want?”
“Nothing, he said. Just wanted to tell me he’s getting out.”
“Oh yeah? He’s a free man after ten years and he wants nothing from you?”
“He wants to come visit, see what I’m working on.”
“Huh.”
“I didn’t tell him where I am, and I didn’t invite him. But he’s Red, so I’m kind of expecting him to show up any minute.”
“I’d be interested in seeing him again.”
Walker gave Myron an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What’s he gonna do, swindle me out of my money? No problem. I ain’t got any.”
“I just think . . . the further he stays away, the better.”
“Well, if he bothers you, you can sic your dog on him.”
“Not my dog,” Walker said. Booger rolled in the mud, then chased his tail.
Chapter 15
This day needed to be over.
Without her ending up in a car wreck.
Lindsey rolled down the windows, but the hot summer night air was doing nothing to help keep her awake. Just one more block . . .
Fortunate
ly, the residual anxiety of the Worst Wednesday Ever kept her from drifting off the road. It had started rough. Ned Grubb apparently hadn’t paid the bill for the institutional catering company they used, so Glen, their cook, had to run to the grocery store and get creative with eggs and canned fruit, and still her credit card would probably never recover. Then Eugene spent the morning flirting instead of eating and his blood sugar dropped, and nothing ruined a sunny day at a nursing home faster than someone being taken away in an ambulance. The fact that he was fine did not reduce the amount of paperwork she had to do.
Then Lindsey spent hours on the phone, first trying to reach Eugene’s daughter, then trying to calm her down enough that she could safely drive to see her father. Then Evan called and said he had strep, and there was no way Lindsey was letting any of those germs near Shady Grove, so she ended up working a double, which meant she also had to stay for the Willow Springs Middle School Chorus on their annual “sing to the old people concert,” as Evan called it. Not that Lindsey didn’t love a good show tunes medley. She just . . . she was tired. Tired and strangely wired.
Lindsey sat in the driveway, not ready to face more of real life.
Real life meant a dog that needed to be walked, although she’d managed a moment to text Walker to ask him to feed him. She also had to feed herself, and Willow Springs was sorely lacking in takeout options. What she really wanted was a glass of wine and someone to take her mind off her Wednesday from Hell. She let herself in and saw the light on in the garage.
Walker glanced up toward the corner. She was still there. But now she’d found a stool and was perched, elbows on the drafting table, sipping a glass of wine. Still watching him.
“Am I making you self-conscious?”
“No,” he said, suddenly very aware of how dirty his shirt was. “I’m still not used to an audience, that’s all. This is not meant to be a performance.”
“I don’t want you to perform. I just like watching you.” Booger got up from his bed in the corner (because, yes, Walker had put a dog bed in his studio) and sat at her feet. She idly leaned down to scratch behind his ears.
He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“In a just-friends way.”
Walker grunted noncommittally. A lot of things she said sounded worse than she meant. It was part of what made listening to her so much fun.
“I mean, how do you know where to bend the thing or stick the thing to the thing?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You know,” she said, waving her hands vaguely tree-ward.
“I took some metalworking classes.” Well, he took some after-school lessons from Myron. Close enough. He flicked his torch. “They don’t let just anyone use these, you know.” Actually, that wasn’t true. But he was not a total dumbass, so he did learn how to use it properly first.
“I don’t mean the technique. I mean, how do you know that moving this thing this way will make it look like this? Do you have a picture of it in your mind?”
“Yeah. And I have to sketch it out first. And I have to make sure it’s balanced.”
“Balanced? But this one is over here and that one is over there—” She must have been as tired as she looked. She was barely using words. He wouldn’t have any idea what she was talking about if she wasn’t pointing at the pieces of metal bark he was installing.
“I make sure the weight is balanced. Otherwise it’ll topple over.”
“And that’s a whole different kind of sculpture.” Booger put his paw on her lap, then climbed right up there. Without looking away from Walker’s work, she opened her arms and let the dog snuggle in.
He smiled. “Exactly.”
“So you sketch it, and then you just . . . make it?”
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“But the sketch. Where does that come from? Do you just see it in your mind?”
“No.” He saw her make a frustrated face. “Sort of. There’s a tree I saw on a hike. It was dead, but it was huge. This huge, twisty tree had grown out of a rock, looking over the valley.” He couldn’t really explain it any better than that. He saw it, and now he was making it. And there was still that rush he got from creating, from shaping metal because he wanted to, because the metal wanted to, not because it had to look a certain way. But he didn’t know how to explain that, exactly. He stood up and wiped his hands on a rag. “What are you getting at? What do you really want to know?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just sort of fascinated by the fact that you can do this.” She waved tree-ward.
“Thanks?”
“I don’t mean it like that. I really meant it as a compliment. Don’t you find it fascinating that people have such different gifts? That there are people in the world who can see things that no one else sees, and then can recreate them so other people can see them.” She sipped her wine. “I am so tired. I’m not making any sense.” She looked into her wine glass. “This probably isn’t helping.”
Walker looked at her. He was starting to appreciate her Pollyanna way of seeing things. He had never thought about his art as a particular gift. He just liked putting big metal pieces together, and people liked to buy the result. He never really thought about his vision being an extraordinary thing. Especially since he was raised by an artist who had no vision of his own.
Not that Red would admit that.
He turned and looked at the half-finished tree. He could see what it would become, for the most part. There would always be pieces that surprised him. That was part of what drove his compulsive welding binges, to get to that point of discovery.
Like that part, there. That needed to go. He put his gloves on and picked up a set of pliers and started peeling off parts of the bark.
“Now what are you doing?”
He jumped. He’d forgotten she was there.
“Sorry. Can you not work while I talk to you?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Would that stop you from talking?”
“Sure, yeah.”
He turned back to the tree. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
She was silent for a minute.
Just for a minute.
“When you hear it.”
“What?”
“You’ll believe it when you hear it, not see it. Or don’t hear it, I guess. Because I won’t be talking.”
Walker didn’t say anything.
“Okay, yes, I see what just happened. Ha ha, she can’t stop talking. I’ll go.” She started to climb off the stool.
“No! No, you don’t have to go. I was just teasing you.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. Keep talking.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I swear I’m not. I like your talking. Just, don’t ask me so many questions.”
“Just talk.”
“Yeah.”
“Just talk to myself?”
“No, talk to me.”
“But don’t expect an answer?”
Walker didn’t answer.
“All I can think of are questions.”
Walker sighed.
“How did you start?” Which was a question. She was tired . . . he should cut her some slack.
“What, you want my bio?”
“No. I already googled your bio. No picture.”
“So?”
“It’s just a shame.”
Walker looked over at her. “Why?”
“No reason.” She blushed. He smiled.
“What else did you learn?”
“You’re an art school dropout and you’re inspired by nature. Why’d you drop out of school?”
Walker shrugged and went back to the tree. “Ran out of money.”
“Oh. But you bought a house.”
“Yeah, because I stopped running out of money.”
“But you didn’t go back to school? Why not? Too cool?”
“Not cool enough.”
“Hmm. And y
ou’d have to deal with people. That’s, like, your kryptonite.”
Walker felt his face heat up. He focused on the tree.
She didn’t say anything for a while, but he could feel that she was still there, watching him. It was kind of nice. She watched him like Myron did, just to watch. She didn’t seem anxious about the finished product, just curious. There was no judgment in her gaze, no concern that what came out wouldn’t be good enough.
Booger jumped off her lap and came over to sniff Walker’s hands, but gave up when no pets were forthcoming. Walker saw him go back over to Lindsey and put his head on her knee. Puppy dog eyes were her kryptonite, obviously, because she started scratching behind his ears.
“This is hard.”
Walker looked up at her, confused.
“Not talking,” she explained.
“You can talk. I told you.”
“I don’t know what to talk about.”
“All of the questions you want to ask me, answer them about yourself.”
“Do I work out?”
He looked at her, confused. Then he remembered that first week, and that workout DVD. “I already know the answer to that question.”
“Ha ha. Okay, where do I get my inspiration?”
“Sure.”
She didn’t say anything, and he looked over to see her nose wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t know if ‘inspiration’ is the right word for what I do. I just like making people feel better. I don’t mind blood. And I like old people. I don’t really know why. When I was little, my Brownie troop did a service project at a nursing home, and I just fell in love with the people. Maybe it’s because I don’t have grandparents . . .”
She trailed off, and Walker looked up to see her staring dreamily at the ceiling.
“No grandparents?”
“They all died before I was born. Just me and my parents. I have an aunt somewhere, but she and my dad had some fight over my grandmother’s will, so they don’t speak. I don’t even know if I have cousins. God, that’s kind of sad.”
Walker felt a small pang of jealousy. How lucky to feel wistful about not having contact with your family, instead of grateful.
She shrugged. “Geriatric nursing just seemed like a good fit. That’s not a very exciting inspiration, is it?”
