Page 54 of Dove
Even the prospect of having to clean.
Bear
Ibend down and twist the last screw into place, shaking the table a bit to make sure it's secure, and then stand up and stare down at it, my mind a million miles away.
This table is one of the first pieces I bought when I had enough money. I'd been working with Byron for a year, learning how to bend metal to my will and give it a new life as horse shoes, light poles, or frames for houses, and my hands were rough and calloused with the work. Byron had given me the job as a favor, at first, courtesy of Sammy's friendship with his son, but within months he'd realized that I had more talent than he expected, and I'd thought I had found my calling in life. I spent entire days in front of the forge, hammering and shaping horse shoes for the farrier, and weekends working with the frames we built for houses. Byron himself had become like a second father to me, teaching me how to heat metal until it shone like the flames I was using and then hammer it on the forge, using the heavier piece to bend steel into the form I needed.
And while we worked, we'd talked. About school–which was so easy I barely had a need for it–and my friends–mostly nonexistent, thanks to my inability to speak to other people.But mostly about Sammy. Even at sixteen, the girl had been my everything, and I'd barely gone anywhere without her. She was the most popular girl in school, then, everyone's pet, and though no one had been able to understand how the two of us fit together, the truth was, we'd been like two peas in a pod.
If that pod only held two peas, and those peas somehow managed to lay together like puzzle pieces.
And if one of the peas was the most muted color of brown ever, while the other was an insane lime green that could have served as a flashlight to anyone who needed it.
The corner of my mouth turns up at the thought, and I chuckle.
No, Sammy was never very good at fitting in, and I'd always loved that about the girl. I did enough fitting in for the both of us. Staying in the background so she could have the limelight.
Not when it came to Byron, though. The man had taken me under his wing and taught me how to be a man and an artisan. We spent hours discussing the state of the world and what my place was in it, and when I confessed to him one morning that I wasn't sure how Sammy and I inhabited the same world at all, he'd laughed gently and said that we didn't have to understand things like that.
Just had to accept that the universe put people together for a reason, even if we didn't understand it.
Two weeks later I'd started making artwork out of horse shoes, and then larger pieces of metal, and soon after that, Sammy had talked me into selling my first piece.
Byron bought it, then asked me to make another, and since then we'd been on a roller coaster of new pieces, clients, and orders that kept me so busy I'd had to stop working with Byron. But the man would always hold a special place in my heart.
He'd been a father figure when I didn't have one of my own.
That brings my thoughts back to Bear–the man who only plays father figure when he wants something–and my smile turns to a scowl. I still don't understand what happened between him and Sammy earlier, and though I went after the girl, intent on calming her down, she told me firmly to leave her alone when I found her.
So I did.
I've been unpacking our things ever since, moving them into the shop as I move the old stuff out, and already figuring out how we're going to get rid of the old boxes. I've opened a few of them and found a random assortment of blankets, pillows, clothes, and shoes–whose, I don't know–so I have a plan. We don't have a large population in this town, but we do have families that struggle, and they can always use more blankets. Shoes for their kids. If the clothes aren't good anymore, someone can turn them into rags.
Pillows can be used as bedding for animals.
I grew up so poor I rarely had more than one pair of shoes at a time, and I learned early on that everything, no matter how old or beat up, has a value.
Sometimes you just have to look to find it.
I leave the table I've just installed against the wall and take another box of blankets to the driveway, then pick up a box of blades and files to take back in, my mind moving through the layout of the place. I know Sammy had a plan but she doesn't always think of things the way I do, and her plan for my tools isn't going to work. I need them closer so I can grab whatever I want without having to leave the forge, which means changing the layout a little. If I put the forge in the corner, it'll eliminate some of the light but give me easier access to both walls.
Perfect.
Sammy'll hate it, of course, because it's not the version she has in her head.
But she's not in charge of the artwork. She's in charge of the money and the clients and contracts. She knows some of what I do but doesn't have the patience for it herself–shocking–and when it comes to the layout of the shop, I'm going to pull rank.
Though I'm looking forward the fight.
I'm just walking back through the door to the shop when a familiar voice pulls me up.
"Never in a million years thought I'd see you living inthishouse again."
"Well you know what they say," I reply without turning around. "When some guy who claims to be your dad moves back to town and starts ordering you around, the universe probably has a reason for it."
The voice is closer when it speaks again. "I mean, if the universe has decided to give you a shop twice as big as the one you used to have, that doesn't seem like the worst thing. Even if it means dealing with Bear for a couple months. We all know he's not going to stay long, anyhow."
I shout with laughter at that, unable to keep it in any longer, and drop the box in my hands as I spin, throwing my arms out a moment later. Gabe Hawke, my cousin, is standing so close that I nearly hit him, but he's laughing as well, big and broad and happy as I've ever seen him. He throws his arms around me–has to, as he's several inches taller than me–and squeezes a huff out of me.
