What had begun as a way to keep idle hands busy by whittling a small figure or a dollhouse table and chairs had evolved into making full-size accent tables and bookcases, cutting boards, and inlaid charcuterie boards and serving trays. It was a use for scrap wood that prevented it going to waste and it was satisfying to make something unique out of what was left over.
There was no way I could have predicted that this would be the life I wanted. Living on my own land in a cabin in the mountains with my daughter, working with my hands and loving it, feeling more grounded and happier than I could ever remember. I could have just retired on the money I’d already made; bought the brownstone I’d been living in and hired a nanny. I wouldn’t have had to work another day in my life, but I wanted a different kind of upbringing for my daughter. She needed room to play and fresh air and something more wholesome than the rat race and the social climbers that surrounded me in New York. We both deserved better, and I’d made it happen. I had a standing order for timber, and I milled some of my own at the place outside Overton, plus I chopped firewood to sell in town and made furniture and other custom pieces. I liked to keep my hands busy, and more money seemed to follow.
I leaned back and shut my eyes. It had been a good day, but sometimes, just once in a while, the nighttime was lonely. In an ideal world, I would’ve had someone to talk things over with. Someone to show the gleaming river the teal epoxy made down the center of that table just the way I intended, and someone to laugh over the things Sadie said about being so grown up. And somebody to share the fact that I had a pang of sadness over it, too, the idea that she was no bigger than a football the day I met her and now she was full of opinions and definitely didn’t eat enough vegetables. I sighed.
Rachel had an easy way with Sadie. I wondered if she had nieces and nephews, because she was really good with kids. She didn’t act stupid, and baby talk at Sadie, which my daughter hated above all things. I had seen her hand flutter toward the God-awful ponytail and then withdraw. She had restraint and respect for Sadie. She didn’t try to fix what she wasn’t asked to fix or criticize her appearance. I knew that my kid could’ve been dressed like a damn Kardashian offspring if I wanted to do it—carrying some kid-sized Birkin bag and wearing Gucci leggings. But I got her clothes at the Target in Overton when we went to the seafood place there once in a while. She wore lime green leggings and a blue t-shirt with a glittery sloth on it. It’s what she picked out, and as long as she was clean and comfortable, I wasn’t bothered about it.
Rachel let Sadie be Sadie and went along with her, asking about things that she was interested in, getting her to try a vegetable. I was grateful for their rapport, and grateful that she didn’t try to push for anything else. I’d had enough women try to worm their way into my bed by fussing over my daughter. Women who were more than happy to be an instant wife and mother if I’d have them. The perky brunettes who came to my door with tater tot casseroles and hair bows and suggestions about setting up play dates for Sadie with their own daughters or nieces, and ideas about how they could make things so much easier for me by helping out with her. Calling her ‘sugar’ and ‘little miss’ which she despised. “Sadie Catherine,” she would correct them, and I’d try not to laugh behind my hand.
I loved who my daughter was, and I wasn’t in the market for someone to change her or tell her she should be different, or that a family of two was wrong. That didn’t mean I wasn’t lonely sometimes. It meant that I didn’t have time for the drama, and women, in my experience, had been nothing but drama. They’d want to change things, and insist their way was better. They’d come between Sadie and me, try to make her, make us both into something more suitable. Make us into people who didn’t go outside barefoot in all weather, or who didn’t buy our clothes at the discount store or build dollhouse furniture at the kitchen table and get wood shavings all over the place. She had the fun and free, sticky face, dirty feet, outdoor upbringing I wished I’d had.
Despite my better judgement, I couldn’t stop thinking of our favorite waitress.
Rachel’s high, golden ponytail swished when she walked, and she had a sort of apple-cheeked prettiness that wouldn’t have been out of place on a movie screen as the beautiful girl next door. She made delicious pies and had a great body, all curves, and a warm voice. Rachel’s voice made me want to shut my eyes and listen to her forever. It was low and husky, somehow sexy and comforting at once. She had everything under control and no matter how busy she was, she always made time to talk to Sadie. Sometimes I watched them together, and I felt a
