Page 13 of Return To You

three

Ethan

A few hours earlier

*

I’ve been volunteered to go help with the last odds and ends of set up. Turns out, there’s still a lot to do. Not just odds and ends. For one, delivery of the bleachers for the ox pulling was delayed until last night, so at the first sign of dawn—4 a.m. in Northern Vermont in the summer—a bunch of us get on that.

Someone already set down plywood sheets on the flattest surface of the field, and we tackle assembly of the bleachers right away.

“Ah, fuck.” My brother Logan throws a plank meant for seating to the side and grabs another. “Fuck! This one’s splintered too!”

“Lemme see?”

“It’s splintered, Ethan. We can’t use it.”

“Maybe we can fix it.”

He grumbles and walks to the pile of planks. “There’s no extra! That means we’ll be missing two benches.”

I pick up the two planks he’s shoved aside and go to a small shack where I noticed the guys were getting tools from. There’s a couple metal boxes with people’s names painted on them. I rummage through the largest one and find what I’m looking for.

“You wanna use this one,” someone behind me says, pointing over my shoulder to a big brand carpenter glue wax.

Owen Parker. Figures. “Hey, Owen. Yeah, that’s gonna take too long to cure and set.” I grab the one I’m looking for. It doesn’t specifically mention ‘wood’ on the labeling, but I know for a fact that’s the one we need to use if we want those bleachers to be ready in just a few hours. “That super glue gel will set in just a few seconds.”

“It doesn’t say wood on it,” he insists.

“I know. Wanna help me? I’m gonna make a Dutchman patch.” Looking through the shed, I take a piece of scrap wood that’s the thickness of the seat, a saw, and a chisel, set myself right out the shed and get to work while Parker walks away.

Some things never change.

I’m almost done when I hear footsteps behind me. “Dude named Owen Parker said you might need help, but it looks like you’re all set.”

I glance at the guy talking to me and tighten the clamp on the second repair. “Yeah. Hope it’s okay I helped myself.”

He shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “That’s what it’s for. Not everyone knows what they’re doing, though, but you—you a carpenter?”

I shrug. “Nah. Just… always liked working with wood.” The first seat is dry, so I sand it down.

“You’re Ethan, right? Ethan King.”

I straighten and extend my hand. “Yeah.”

“Lucas Hunt. We’re new in town.”

I nod. “I’d say welcome, but I’m not really from here anymore.” Then I start sanding the other plank.

“See you around,” Lucas says as a goodbye.

I tidy my workstation, put the tools and glue back, then grab both planks and haul them to the bleachers.

I’m not from here anymore. Shit.

Parker hollers, “No need, King, we just closed those down.” He points to the top bleachers, where there’s yellow tape across the gaping hole.

I smirk. “Gotcha.”

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