Mr. Right Goes Wrong Page 7

  He nodded. “Hey, I got it, Mom. That’s the only way you know how to love. Pedal to the metal and all in.”

  9

  The veneered music cabinet had tremendous potential. Eli found two sheets of the thin, sixteenth-inch ocotea. The wood, commonly called Brazilian walnut, was easily confused with actual Brazilian walnut, the ipê. Ocotea was an evergreen from the higher elevations of the tropics. It was prized for its essential oils and it was used in flavorings. But it was also beautiful and durable lumber for furniture. Fifty years earlier it had been a common flooring material in many parts of the world. With the clear-cutting in the Amazon, it had become scarcer and more expensive. The pieces Eli had were pricey, but they had gorgeous graining, even a rare whorl that he wanted to use on the face of the center drawer.

  With a square and a pencil, he measured out and drew the sections that he wanted and carefully noted the locations he had planned. Then, like an artist with a canvas, he would step back to survey, seeing in his mind the finished product.

  It was, in some ways, the most important work that he did. A lot of men and women could successfully and superbly fashion furniture from a plan. The ability to vision a plan was an innate gift. He was born with the aptitude for it. He worked hard and pushed himself to excel, but like a professional athlete or a virtuoso musician, he understood that he had advantages others simply did not have.

  He had not intended to frame out the veneers today. There was a lot of more lackluster work to be done fashioning the poplar. But he found this task very distracting. And he needed to be distracted. A tiny seed of an idea had planted itself in his brain a mere three days ago. Although he had tried to ignore it, the weed was growing like kudzu through Georgia.

  It was a crazy idea. It would never work. Eli was determined to ignore it. But he couldn’t quite let it go.

  He stood back again, forcing himself to concentrate on the work in front of him as he tapped his pencil on his thumbnail.

  He could never pull it off. She would never believe it.

  There was a knock on the shop door.

  He and Clark exchanged a glance. No one ever knocked on the door. Visitors were relatively rare. And the place was a business. People simply walked right in.

  “It’s open!” Clark hollered.

  A tall, gangly teenager stepped through the doorway.

  Eli recognized him immediately. It was difficult not to. He’d played summer league with Tad Driscoll when he’d looked just like that. Then the kid’s shoulders sagged slightly as he shoved his hands in his jean pockets. That didn’t look like Tad. Tad’s chin had always been held high and he wore confidence to the point of arrogance. This open awkwardness and uncertainty showed him as Mazy’s boy.

  “Uh, hi,” he said. “I, uh...my grandma told me that I should come talk to Termite.”

  Clark chuckled.

  Eli walked across the room to stand in front of the teenager. Arms crossed he looked the kid straight in the eye.

  “I’m Eli Latham,” he said. “Nobody calls me Termite unless they’re looking to get punched in the face.”

  “Sorry,” he said. His apology, while seeming sincere, was immediately followed by a slight quirk of a grin from the right corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to punch my grandma in the face, are you?”

  Eli couldn’t quite maintain the tough-guy demeanor. With a chuckle, he shook his head. “No, probably not. But you can call me Eli.”

  “Yes, sir,” the kid replied.

  Eli liked the respectful manners. At least Mazy had done that right.

  “This is my brother, Clark.”

  The teenager gave him a slight smile and nod.

  “I’m Tru Gulliver,” he said. “I just moved in next door with my grandma.”

  Eli nodded. “What can I do for you, Tru Gulliver?”

  “Well, I’m looking for some after-school work, and Gram thought you might have something that I could do.”

  Eli thought about that.

  “What do you know how to do?”

  Tru paused, considering.

  “Basically nothing, I guess,” he answered. His eyes were Driscoll blue, but the honesty in them was all Gulliver. “But I’m not afraid to learn and I’m not opposed to hard work.”

  The shop didn’t need any help. And taking on a minimum-wage worker, even on after-school hours, could cost at least one hundred and fifty dollars a month. Somebody who didn’t know anything was definitely not worth the price. Still, Eli found himself eager to take Tru on.

  “I’ll think about it,” Eli told him. “Hang up your coat and grab that broom. See if you can make yourself useful.”

  The teen looked as happy as a kid at Christmas. His brother, who caught his eye as he headed back to his worktable, not so much.

  As Tru began diligently sweeping up the sawdust and shavings on the shop floor, Eli considered his options. Unfortunately, he was not going to be able to consider them in private.

  “Eli, I need to show you something in the shed,” Clark announced.

  He managed to keep his sigh inaudible as he slid on his jacket and followed his brother outside. The day had turned sunny, but in the wide expanse of land behind the shop, the wind that whistled through was crisp and cold.

  Clark waited to speak until they were safely out of earshot. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I haven’t said that I will take him on,” Eli answered. “But it might be helpful to have someone to clean up.”

  “We don’t need anybody to do that.”

  “Well, you don’t, because you go home at the end of the day and leave it for me,” Eli answered.

  “If you’re tired of doing it yourself, then we’ll trade off.”

  “Doesn’t Sheila insist you get home to play with the girls?” Eli reminded him. “You don’t have time to do it. You shouldn’t object if I find somebody who will.”

  “I’m your brother and you’re doing something boneheaded. I have an obligation to object.”

  “It’s not boneheaded,” Eli insisted. “It might be a good idea for us to get used to having some help around here. We’re going to be bringing your oldest into the business sooner than you think.”

  “Ashley’s eight and she’s a girl.”

  “Latham is Latham, I don’t think we ought to show any gender bias.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Clark said. “The only reason that you’re considering hiring this kid is because he’s Mazy’s son.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit that. I’d like to help her out.”

  “Well, it’s a pretty nice favor,” Clark said. “But I hope you know that it won’t do you any good. She’s not going to fall for you because you give her kid a job.”

  “Jeez, do you think I’m completely stupid? It’s not about her. Or it’s not entirely. It’s about...well, it’s about the kid. His mom’s fallen on hard times. He needs a job. There’s no reason we can’t try him out. If he turns out to be a nuisance, I’ll let him go.”

  Clark was shaking his head.

  Eli brought in the big guns. “It’s what Dad would do,” he said. “You know how much he liked Mazy, how much he and Mom tried to help out Mrs. Gulliver. Dad would have hired him immediately and you know it.”

  It was the truth―inconvenient as it might be that Eli was still hung up on Mazy, his father would have taken the boy on. And not just to sweep up. Dad would have tried to teach him skills.

  Clark threw up his hands in defeat. “Whatever,” he said. “But don’t expect me to put up with any crap from the kid just because you’re trying to score with his mom.”

  “Understood,” Eli replied.

  Clark kept his word and was a gruff old bear for the rest of the afternoon. If Tru noticed, it didn’t seem to bother hi
m. He kept his head down and kept busy. He swept and put up equipment, he even scrubbed the toilet, which Eli was pretty sure hadn’t been done in three months at least.

  While Tru got a lot accomplished, Eli did not. He found himself unable to concentrate on the veneer and unwilling to get busy with anything else. The kid was not a big talker. Typically Eli was the same. Today, however, he couldn’t quite shut up.

  “You know, your mom and I were playmates practically from the time we could walk,” he said. “And in the winter, when it was too cold to be outside, we were often underfoot in here.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Those shavings from the plane,” he said, indicating the thin loops of wood peeled off the lumber. “We once glued about a thousand of them into her hair so she could have blond ringlets.”

  Tru laughed.

  “You grandmother screamed when she saw what we’d done. I thought she was going to kill us.”

  “Did you get into a lot of trouble?”

  “No, not too much,” he said. “But that was the year that Mazy got her summer haircut in the winter.”

  Eli was surprised at all the stories that he remembered and allowed himself a nostalgic trip down memory lane, careful to keep to their pre-middle-school era. Tru seemed to enjoy this new version of his mother.

  “My mom never talks about being a kid,” he said. “I mean, she tells me the factual stuff. But not a lot of funny stuff.”

  “I guess that’s the way I remember it,” Eli said. “There was a lot of fun stuff.”

  Even Clark got into the act, complaining about the two of them running wild.

  “It’s bad enough to have a little brother,” he told Tru. “But it’s twice the trouble when the pest has a sidekick.”

  “Mazy was never a sidekick,” Eli protested.

  “Of course not,” Clark agreed. “Eli was her sidekick.”

  Tru laughed aloud at that.

  It was almost five when Eli sent the boy outside with the trash for the compost pile. Clark gathered up his lunch box and retrieved his jacket.

  “I’m off,” he told Eli. “Do what you want about the kid. He’s okay, really. And someone to sweep up at the end of the day could be a help. I just hate to see you getting mixed up with Mazy again. I’d feel better if you’d tell me that it’s not going to happen.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Eli answered. “I can take care of myself.”

  He was careful not to make any promises about Mazy. The plan that was hatching in his mind, the one that he was valiantly trying to ignore, continued to gnaw at him.

  Don’t go there, he admonished himself. There was simply way too much wrong with the whole idea.

  When Tru came back inside, Eli motioned him over. There was no trepidation in the teenager’s step. The boy had clearly relaxed within the atmosphere of the shop.

  “Well, you did pretty good today,” Eli told him.

  “Thanks.”

  “This is the kind of work you’d be doing,” Eli said. “Cleanup and carrying. Are you still interested in that?”

  He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s pretty cool here,” he said.

  Eli thought so, too.

  “I’ll pay you minimum wage. We’ll keep your hours on a tally sheet. If you’re not going to be here, you’ll have to let me know. I don’t want to be guessing whether or not you’re showing up.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean, I wouldn’t not show up.”

  “Good,” Eli said. “There is absolutely no smoking anywhere on this entire lot. Fire is a real hazard for us. If I so much as see you with a lit match, you’re out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oily rags, any cloth with solvent of any kind, has to be put in the metal container outside the minute you’re not using it.”

  “Okay.

  “How many afternoons can you give me? Two or three a week?”

  “I can work every day, if you want me to,” Tru assured him. “I get out of school at three-thirty. By the time I get home and grab something to eat, I can be here by four.”

  “What about basketball practice?”

  The kid’s jaw dropped slightly and he took a step back. “I don’t play basketball,” he said.

  “Oh, uh, my mistake. Well, never mind. Every afternoon will be great.”

  Tru was nodding, but he no longer looked so pleased. He folded his arms across his chest and eyed Eli critically.

  “You know, people keep asking me about this basketball thing,” he said.

  Eli shrugged. “We play a lot of basketball in this town,” he said. “You’re tall. That’s probably what it’s all about.”

  “Maybe,” Tru said. “But I’m beginning to think the sperm donor must have been some basketball jock.”

  Eli choked. “The sperm donor?”

  “That’s what I call my birth father,” Tru said. “The term baby daddy just doesn’t fit. If you’re such great friends with my mother, then you must know that she had me on her own.”

  “Well, yeah. I know that.”

  Tru’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t the sperm donor, are you?”

  It was an unexpected question. There had been a time when this tall, skinny kid had been a chubby toddler. Back then, Eli had totally taken on the idea of being his father. He’d convinced himself that being a dad was about love, not shared hereditary traits. He had stoked himself up for the challenge. But Mazy hadn’t given him the chance to take it on.

  “No,” he answered simply.

  The teenager nodded. “I didn’t think so,” he said. “You’re not the type that my mom usually goes for.”

  10

  Mazy thought she’d made it crystal clear that she didn’t want Tru to work. The fact that her son, in cahoots with Beth Ann, had paid no attention to that was a little galling. But it was made a little less so by the identity of his employer.

  “I can’t believe you went behind my back to talk to Termy.”

  “Don’t call him Termite, Mom,” Tru corrected her. “He goes by Eli.”

  “Does he?” Mazy found herself amused at that.

  Eli was a grown man’s name. It did seem that he finally fit the bill. Maybe because they had been kids together she had continued to think of him that way. He’d only been one year younger, but she always felt more mature by decades.

  “The guy is nice, okay?” he said. “And he said nice things about you.”

  “I’m not making fun of him. I like him. He was my best friend when I was a kid. And although I don’t like the idea of you having a job, I’m glad you’re going to work with him. Maybe you’ll learn something useful, like how to nail stuff together.”

  Her son gave her a long-suffering look. “Mom, I’ve only been around there two hours and I already know they don’t ‘nail stuff together.’”

  Mazy shrugged.

  After dinner she rushed through the cleanup. She’d decided to go visit Termy. She wanted to thank him for hiring Tru, but she also wanted simply to see him, to talk to him. Their short chat together earlier in the week had been pleasant, friendly. Once upon a time he’d been her friend. She needed all the friends that she could get right now. And if some startlingly pleasurable flashbacks assailed her, she didn’t have to allow that to complicate things.

  So she fixed her hair, repaired her makeup, walked across the back lawns and knocked on the basement door.

  Eli opened it hurriedly, but the look of surprise turned to pleasure at the sight of her.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “My son says I can’t call you Termite anymore.”

  Her abrupt statement was answered with a grin. “He can’t call me Termite. You never did. But Termy is actually worse.”

  “So it’s Eli now?”


  “It is Eli,” he said. “And this is Eli’s place. Would you like to come in?”

  “I would.”

  She did.

  Eli held the door open for her and helped her with her coat. Mazy couldn’t remember the last time a man had done that for her. She tried to think of herself as a no-nonsense person, but she really liked that feeling of being treated so politely. She made a mental note to double-check Tru on gentlemanly manners. They were undoubtedly not a priority in high school, but she wanted him to have them, anyway.

  “I’ve got beer in the fridge if you’d like one. Or I can fix margaritas. Is that still your drink?”

  “Margaritas? I used to drink margaritas?”

  “On the rocks, no salt.”

  She laughed. “Well, I’m a vodka-tonic gal these days,” she told him. “And I mostly leave that for a special occasion.”

  “Having you here in my home is certainly special to me,” he said.

  Mazy glanced around his living space. His was well past the age of mattresses on the floor and flags for curtains. Still, she was expecting Spartan decor. In truth, the more accurate description would have been comfy or cozy. The living room/kitchen combo was painted butter yellow. The color both warmed the room and kept it from having the dungeonlike feel of most basements. The decor was masculine, but without the saddle-soap appeal that so many bachelor pads go for. Of course, Mazy thought, it made sense that a guy who builds furniture for a living would have an eye for design.

  After some clinking of ice and glassware, he handed her a drink.

  “To Mazy in Brandt Mountain,” he said, by way of a toast. They clinked glasses and she took a taste.

  “Very good,” she told him. “I like your place.” She heard the incredulity in her own voice and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Thanks.”

  He showed her to the gray chenille couch. There was a big overstuffed armchair nearby that she knew must be his favorite, but Eli hesitated only for an instant before taking a seat beside her and lolling his arm casually along the back.