Page 87 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“We’re making Uncle Adam an apartment in my room.”

I smile at Otis. “Sounds cozy.”

“It’s a bunk bed fort, but I connected it to the rocking chair with a quilt, so there’s more space for reading.”

His dad peers over his glasses at him. “Make sure I still have a path around the room.”

“I’m really, really good at forts,” Otis declares. “But Uncle Adam’s still better than me.”

“Not for long, bud.” Adam touches the top of his nephew’s head affectionately.

I melt just a little.

Otis reaches for my hand and tugs me up the stairs to his room. “It’s not as tall as the last one, but Mom won’t let me use the couch cushions anymore.”

“That’s good. Rules spark creativity.”

Otis throws me a look that says he’s not convinced by my design philosophy. Like his mom, he’s a mini maximalist in the making.

I peek into Otis’s room through the open doorway. He hasn’t followed his dad’s instructions, and there’s no space to move about the room. Still, there’s an architectural method to the madness of stacked pillows and blankets tied to the metal posts of the twin bunk beds. The blankets create a lean-to tent off the bed frame with the ends secured under a bookcase and a wooden rocking chair.

Unable to stop myself, I get closer to admire it. “Did your uncle make that?”

“Uh-huh. He made it before I was born. I want him to make a bed loft now, like my friend Phoenix has in his room, but my mom says he doesn’t make stuff anymore.”

I run my hand along the chair’s smooth arm. The piece is so functional, but it’s more than that—it’s art. Organic curves and clean lines emphasize the warm golden wood. It looks both sturdy and airy—masculine yet delicate. There’s a sky-blue crescent pillow tied to the spindles where Otis’s back can rest while reading a story. There’s so much life in this chair. I can’t picture something so confidently itself coming from the messy and confused workspace Adam showed me in Duluth.

“Did you add another side already?” Adam appears in the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the emerald-green accent wall behind Otis’s bunks.

Otis’s eyes sparkle at the sight of his uncle. “I wanted to make two sides around your bunk, but Dad said we won’t be able to see if we do.”

“We can take away the blue blanket to make a skylight and hold the other ones together with zip ties. They’re in the glove box of my truck.”

Otis’s eyes go wide. “You brought them? Mom! Uncle Adam brought the zip ties!” he yells to his mom on the way down the stairs toward the driveway.

Adam chuckles at his nephew, high-stepping over blankets to cross toward me. “Otis is easy to impress.”

“This chair is amazing. Seriously, Adam.”

“I’m happy with the quality. The teak’s held up well to abuse.” He snorts, likely imagining an Otis-designed stress test.

“It’s beautiful.”

Adam’s cheeks pink. “Do you mind if I help Otis with this?” He points to the mass of blankets and pillows behind us. “June’s emptying pop into the cooler on the back porch.”

“Perfect. I have so many questions for her.”

Adam’s head shake produces a barely detectable breeze. “I regret bringing you already.”

I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Too late.”

While Adam is helping Otis install a fort skylight with zip ties and a rainbow knitted throw, and Dev is moaning “Come on” at something the Detroit Lions did or failed to do, I’m sitting on my heels in a crouch on the back porch with June. She passes me a twelve-pack of Coke while she pours a bag of ice over bottles of Spotted Cow, a cult favorite beer sold only in Wisconsin she snagged from a border gas station for this occasion.

“He’s been different these last couple weeks. He must really like you.” June’s tone is as cheery as ever, but her eyes size me up.

“It’s been nice having this time to get to know each other—despite the circumstances.”

“So you’re Sam’s, were Sam’s…,” she stumbles.

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