What I Remember Most (23 page)

I smiled, feeling all weepy.

I used the key to open the first lock outside the red barn, then another key for my door at the top of the stairs. I had left a light on.

Home.

Covey and I were married when I was in the “falling in love” part, six months from our first date.

That’s a bad move, in my opinion. The falling in love part lasts about a year and a half or two years. You should wait, I have learned, for that love and lust rush to leave. Then, and only then, can you think with your head, and not your hot vagina, about the other person, your relationship, and how your future will fair.

The unbridled lust and passion may still be there, but the brain starts moving again, sorting through issues, problems, personalities, and red flags. You start to be sane in the relationship, and you can ask yourself sane questions about whether it can survive a real-world life with what the real world throws at a couple.

I should have waited until my brain started thinking again. I wanted a happier ending than my beginning. Covey was romantic, attentive, interesting, smart. He made me feel like I was the only woman in the room.

He made me laugh and was thoughtful. As a surprise, he once sent me a huge basket full of art supplies from an expensive store I could never afford.

He bought me six hanging flowerpots when I said that I liked flowers, then hired a handyman to build me a trellis so I could hang them up. When my plumbing went out in my kitchen, he had a plumber there in an hour and paid the bill. When my car broke down, he gave me one of his to drive and paid the mechanic.

He took me on vacations. I had rarely been on a vacation in my whole life. He wanted to “show me some fun. You deserve it, Dina. Where have you always wanted to visit?”

I said I loved the Oregon coast. He rented a house with a view of the ocean. Then he took me to Maui so I could see “another beach, and compare.” I was stunned.

It wasn’t the money that Covey spent on me, it was the thought behind the gifts. Even now, I can look back and appreciate that part of Covey.

But he had the other side, too, and that side overwhelmed the good like a hurricane over a shack. He was the hurricane, I was the shack.

Covey pushed and pushed to get married. I pushed back, then gave in. He wanted a fancy-pants wedding, I sure didn’t. I invited the entire Hutchinson gang, who came in overalls and plaid shirts and played their fiddles, which all our fancy-pants friends loved, even though Covey glared when they played. “That was a white-trash, red-necked concert,” he told me later. I almost clocked him. It was a bad start to our honeymoon. I should have left then.

Beatrice Lee came in a formal gown and diamonds, with her husband, Larry, and Daneesha Houston wore blue and hugged me close. I invited six neighbors, but I still didn’t know 80 percent of the people there. We had a seven-course dinner, toasts, a band, and a wedding cake that looked like a piece of edible art. It was all for show. All Covey’s show, for me and for the friends and potential clients he wanted to impress.

I wore a sleek, lacy white gown that Covey bought for me without my input. He presented it as a gift, but it was more like an order. I thought too much cleavage and too much leg showed. It had a silky train and a veil that shot down my back.

How I looked outside did not match how I felt inside. The whole thing felt rushed. I felt rushed. I felt like I was an imposter. Someone who didn’t belong there with Covey and his rich and sleek friends. I had a sordid, difficult past I did not talk about. I hid it. I was a lie.

I should have known. I didn’t even have the excuse of being naïve and young when I met him. I was, as often, stupid.

So stupid.

He was a stupid mistake.

Sunday morning I was back at Hendricks’ Furniture at eleven o’clock after a stop at the big-box store for curtains and curtain rods.

This would be the fun part.

My hands shook for two reasons. One, I was so excited to be painting on a huge canvas again. In this case, my canvas was a wall. Two, I was worried about what Kade would think. I took off the remaining tape from the trim, pulled up the drop cloths, and cleaned up.

In the left-hand corner, behind my desk, I painted the gnarled trunk of an oak tree, based on the oak tree at my green house, its branches fanning out on both walls and twisting to form a bell canopy. In the opposite corner I painted a maple tree. I put three pines on the center wall right behind where I sat.

The trees were a darker beige than the walls, but not much. I wanted them to look like shadows, their forms outlined but not heavily detailed.

Hours later, I stood in the middle of the room.

Oh, swing me a cat, I liked it.

The mural was simple, but it gave the room a clear focus: This was a furniture making company, these are the woods we use. It somehow seemed to highlight my desk with the pine trees carved into the legs and the buck in front.

I grabbed Tad and Cory, who were working on furniture in the back, to help me move a medium-sized table, the top carved with a polar bear and two polar bear cubs, into the corner. I knew it had not sold yet, because it was not on the website.

Around the table I put three chairs, each with a hawk, a falcon, or an eagle carved into the back. Tad and Cory also helped me move an armoire into the other corner. It was one of my favorite pieces. The doors of the armoire were shaped into howling wolves, heads back.

We dragged in a five-foot-long table and set it against the wall near my desk. The table had raccoons, curious and fun, carved into the thick legs. I took that as a sign of Kade’s humor.

When we were done moving things around, they both told me it was “way better than before . . . good job.” I hugged them, couldn’t help it.

Although there was recessed lighting in the ceiling, the room needed more light for ambience. I had bought four lights shaped like metal lanterns that I had seen in a store in town. That morning Ernie, an electrician I knew from the bar, installed two over my desk and the third and fourth lanterns in the corners.

Ernie has a degree in English from Stanford. He likes owning his own electric company and says he makes “a ton more money than I would as a professor. Plus I don’t have to publish ridiculous papers all the time that only your mother and other jealous colleagues read.”

I put a light with a base shaped like a steelhead in the corner of my desk and a light with a cowboy boot base on the polar bear table.

“You didn’t tell me you were a talented artist,” Ernie said.

“You remind me of a Shakespearean quote: ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’ You are clearly great, Grenady.” He whistled. “This is awesome.”

“Thank you.” I was so pleased. “By shots and by fire, thank you.”

He shot me a curious glance at that phrase. “It’s from my childhood. I have all sorts of . . . sayings.”

When he left, I used a drill to install the wood curtain rods, then hung blue/beige/red plaid curtains on the windows across from my desk, on either side of the barn doors. They would never be closed, but they added color and softness. I briefly thought that a thick rope around the curtain rods would add to the cowboy feel here, but I couldn’t do it. No ropes. I swallowed hard, pushed what was in my head aside, and went back to decorating.

Tad Kamaka had done what I’d asked and cut out wood letters, each one a foot tall, with a dark, honey-colored stain, that read, “Hendricks’ Furniture.” I nailed up the letters behind my desk, over part of the pine trees, so it would be the first thing people would see.

Next to the sign I hung up a photo of Kade. I’d had it blown up to twenty-four by thirty-six, matted it in white, and had Tad stain the frame the same stain as the lettering.

I’d chosen the photo of Kade in his black T-shirt, looking off to the right. Behind him was an armoire that he’d designed, with a carved blue heron in full flight. His black hair, a little long, had a feather to it, probably because he’d just run his hand through it. He filled out his black T-shirt in a sexy way. He was smiling and looked relaxed and happy, a man who owned a company and was proud of what he made, confident of his business.

I’d had eight other photos blown up, too, although not as large. The photos were of the furniture that Hendricks built. I matted them in white and had Tad stain the frames. I hung them on the wall to the right of the offices and to the left of the factory doors. Each piece of furniture was a work of art, and I thought they should be treated like works of art.

I cleaned up and organized.

It was almost nine o’clock at night.

Would Kade like it?

What if he hated it? What if he was embarrassed by it but didn’t want to tell me? What if his face froze and I could tell he thought it was as good as rotting deer meat? I massaged my throat. The worry was making it feel tight.

Before I left to go home, I glanced back at the photo of Kade on the wall.

I thought of him in jail. He’d had some tough years.

I’d been in jail. I’d probably be there again. I hoped I would be tough, too.

At least we had one thing in common, though I had come out of my recent stint without any knife fight scars on my face. It would be nice if there were no knife fight scars in my future, although if Neanderthal Woman was still there, it could happen.

Good golly God, Kade was one tough dude.

I hoped he liked the lantern lights. I hoped he liked the plaid curtains.

I was at Hendricks’ by seven-thirty Monday morning, and I was nervous, nervous, nervous. I was desperate to know what Kade thought. Perhaps he would think the trees were strange growths on his walls. Like warts. Or creepy.

Unfortunately, Kade was out of the office. He was with a client who was going to turn an old church into a bed and breakfast and would be buying much of his furniture from Hendricks’.

Two men, Angelo and Petey stopped in the entrance and gaped.

“Oh. My. God,” Angelo said. “Fancy me that.”

“Blimey. I feel like I’m standing in a painting,” Petey said.

“Do you like it?” I wanted a compliment. I know on the inside I’m insecure about a boatload of stuff. I try to hide it because it’s victimy and pathetic and weak, but I am what I am.

The men walked around. They studied the painted walls and trees, the polar bear table and wolf armoire, the lantern lighting, the curtains, the photos.

“Grenady . . .” Angelo said. He stopped and put his hands on his hips. He was a college football player and has a nose that has been broken way too many times. “This is quite special. Breathtaking.”

Petey, about fifty, weathered, who had a slight Irish brogue said, “It’s downright damn beautiful. You gotta come over to my place, lass. I need help. A lot of help.”

I kneaded my fingers together. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

I heard the same reaction from everyone who came in.

Tad said, “Over the weekend? You did this whole room in two days?”

Rozlyn said, hugging me, “It’s a gift, Grenady. You have a decorating gift.” I teared up and sniffled at that one. Then she whispered, “How come you didn’t put the photo up of me flashing the girls with my tongue out? That hurts me.”

Marilyn came in and forgot to hide her expression. Her jaw dropped. I could tell she liked it. She said to Cory, “Oh. My. God. Eudora was busy this weekend!”

When Cory said that I had done it, her face closed down. “Oh. Ah. Hmm.” She peered around again, eyes narrowed. “Now, why did you choose the paint color you did? And the curtains? Don’t you think it looks a little too . . .” I saw her brain pumping away, searching for a put down. “Lower class?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you, Marilyn. Good-bye.” She’s an idiot. There’s always one petty, jealous person in every group. I wondered why Kade had hired her, and kept her. Everyone else I understood, but not her.

“Don’t be so sensitive, Grenady!”

“That’s what all controlling, rude people say to other people when they’re deliberately making noxious remarks and want to blame their prey. Out you go.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. You’re just the receptionist!”

“And you’re just a screwed-up gnome with dead gopher hair.” I have no idea why I called her a gnome, but she is short, and she did leave after telling me, “Button up your shirt before you fall out.” There was no danger of my falling out.

Between people chatting, I kept myself busy answering the phone; directing people who had come to talk to one employee or another; and organizing furniture that was going to be shipped to Montana, Wyoming, and California that afternoon. I also helped a number of clients who came in to pick up furniture they ordered.

I loved helping the clients, because they were so excited about their purchases. They had been waiting for many months for highly personalized furniture, as we’re backlogged, and today was the day. They always loved the presentation. A couple of the employees carried their new furniture into the lobby with a drop cover over it, one pulled it away, and drum roll . . . ta-da!

I watched their expressions. They were delighted, surprised, and thrilled. They put their hands to their mouths, they jumped on their toes, they hugged each other, they laughed. It was better than expected. It was the best! Often they cried. The furniture was expensive, but people bought it to keep forever.

Sometimes they had their name or favorite poem or lines from literature carved into it.

Now and then we had an order for something funny to be carved into the furniture like,
Never fear Grandpa’s beer.

A manly man knows his wife is the boss.

And, recently, in flowing italic, surrounded by roses:
Revenge is sweet. Try it.

They might have had the family vacation home carved on a table, a beloved pet, or a special view. One woman wanted a penguin because she called her late father Penguin Man. An older gentleman wanted dahlias carved into the front of a woman’s desk for his wife, Dahlia.

Kade was often there, too, so he and I would stand and chat with them. They told us they would be back soon, he said we would be happy to work with them again, and they waved as they left. Often they would hug us and hug the carpenters, too. We tried to make it special for them.