Chapter 24

Sawyer

I’m on my hands and knees, pounding—

We’ve been through this before, haven’t we? You all have dirty minds. I’m installing a hardwood floor.

Some guys like to use staples. I prefer the old-fashioned nails.

In the end, I did go for salvaging my own boards—I heard through the woodworkers’ grapevine, which is mostly centered out of that Seattle reclaimed lumberyard I mentioned, that there was an old church being torn down and that the flooring was up for grabs. I pulled Brooks in, and Brooks pulled Chase and Jack in, and Jack pulled his friend Henry in, and before I knew it, the five of us were loading our trucks and dumping hardwood at my house.

Since then I’ve been recutting tongue-and-groove where necessary, cutting board lengths, laying floor, and hammering nails.

Which is an excellent outlet for all my frustrations.

I didn’t realize how difficult a challenge I was setting for both Elle and me when I declared that we wouldn’t have sex until Trevor’s wedding. I haven’t been this sexually on edge since I was fifteen and Cindy McNamara and I were doing everything-but on a regular basis. Grown men (or at least this grown man) aren’t accustomed to this kind of waiting game, particularly if the other party is also a ready, willing, able, and enthusiastic participant.

I have thought several times about just abandoning all pretense, showing up at Elle’s house with condoms in hand, and getting this out of our systems. There’s a vivid set of fantasies to go with that plan, mostly involving what it would feel like to kiss her and fuck her at the same time, so the slick of tongue and squeeze of pussy blend together in my muzzy head into one hot, wet mess.

The thing that keeps me from doing it—breaking the rules—is the knowledge that the pretense is what’s keeping both of us from freaking out. As brave a face as Elle puts on, as strong and competent as she comes across, I’m not sure she’s ready to tackle something like a relationship. And I know I’m not. This wacky game we’re playing lets us mess around without needing to explain, define, or analyze it.

And that’s a good thing.

Jonah and Madden bound through the front door and into the living room.

“Can we help?” Madden asks, watching me with a wide, admiring gaze. It feels nice to be hero-worshipped from time to time. I’m guessing Madden, in particular, doesn’t have much experience with carpentry, since Mr. Yap doesn’t seem like the type to do it himself.

I eye the two of them, light and dark, assessing their ability not to smash their fingers. “Sure.” I show them where I need the nails to go, and set them up with two smaller hammers. I know they’ll lose interest in a few minutes, and that’s okay, but it’s not a bad thing to get some experience with stuff early on—practice definitely makes perfect.

Sure enough, after each of them has put three or four nails into the wood (several getting bent in the process, but that’s okay), they bounce up and declare themselves done. They’re going to go looking for salmonberries in the bushes behind our houses.

I don’t try to talk them into staying. When Jonah gets a little older, I will offer to teach him more, but for now I’m content to give him a taste. I’m not naive enough to think that because I love woodwork, he will. I do think, with great warmth and affection, of the days I spent learning carpentry at my dad’s side, but I know nothing ruins good memories faster than trying to recapture them. Anyway, for now these boys need to be outside, playing and exploring, enjoying these early days of summer.

“Hey,” I ask. “Whatever happened with Mr. Ketotzi and Junie?” I realize that with all the things in my head—Elle’s compact, sexy body not the least—I let the school year end without ever checking back in.

They look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, which I probably am. Let’s face it, once school’s out, it’s like it never happened. Madden seems to be looking a long way into the distance, or possibly inside his own head; I’m not sure which. “He apologized to Junie in front of the class,” Madden says. “And he said that from now on Junie—and all of us—could line up or be chosen for teams or whatever, however we wanted to be. And he apologized to Jonah and me for saying we were girls, unless we wanted to be girls.”

I can hear the grudging note in the whole apology from a thousand miles away, but I still appreciate how things turned out, that Mr. McKibben laid it all out for Mr. Ketotzi and that Mr. Ketotzi, however under duress he must have been, did the right thing. And most of all, how the boys forced the adults to look at themselves in the mirror.

“You did good,” I tell the boys. “You did a good job. That must feel good.”

Madden nods, a compact nod that hints at the way he’ll be as a teenager and as a man, too cool for a big emotional show.

I watch them as they go. If Madden’s too cool, I’m not—I’ll admit it. My chest feels tight.

I pull out my phone.

Madden’s a great kid. I’m glad he’s in my kid’s life.

Her reply comes back quickly.

Right back atcha in reverse. Love that they look out for each other.

And everyone else, too, apparently.

It’s only as I grab a handful of nails and resume pounding that I realize I forgot to wish I could tell Lucy.