Page 20 of Wood You Knot

It gave me a chance to drop off the scrap materials at the high school. Maybe I’d get home in time to run into a certain green-eyed blonde. Tabitha had started bringing Daphne home with the girls after school for a couple of hours, but I usually arrived home after Sage had already picked Daphne up.

Since I was off early today, I was hoping for a chance to talk to her before she took off.

I spotted Jerry Mulligan, an old friend of Dad’s who frequently helped around the lumberyard, helping customers load up their supplies. He was a regular fixture around here and a good friend of the family.

“Hey, Jerry. Is Dad around?” I asked.

“He’s in the office, I think,” Jerry replied, scratching the back of his head. “Least, that’s where I saw him headed last.”

“Thanks, man. How’s Shirley?”

“She’s doing good. Busy knitting up a storm for the school fundraiser—she’s got her own crafts table and everything. She’s mighty proud. I’ve got about ten birdhouses ready to go myself.”

“Right on.” Hartwood Creek was always doing some kind of festival or fundraiser. The Fall Fun Fundraiser was a newer fundraiser Hartwood Creek Elementary School put on to raise money for extracurriculars and books for the library.

When the girls started school, Tabitha and Mom joined the planning committee, and they’d enlisted our help every year since.

Parker and I were going to man the ring toss table while Dad ran the beanbag toss. Tabitha sold wooden signs and other small wood projects at a vendor table with Mom and Gran. Even my younger twin brothers helped, taking turns at the dunk station.

Folks purchased tickets from the organizers, and those tickets were spent on playing carnival games. There was a silent auction that families and local businesses donated to. A lot of the local vendors set up to sell their products, their table fees counting toward the fundraiser’s earnings. They’d often donate a portion of their earnings at the end of the evening too.

“Guess you’re here to pick up the scrap material for the high school?”

“Sure am,” I replied.

“Ah, I’ll get that loaded for you.” Jerry tipping his hat.

“Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate it,” I said before I took off into the office.

I found Dad sitting behind the desk, looking at his computer screen, his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. I rapped my knuckles against the doorway to let him know I was there.

He looked over and smiled. “Hey, Nix, here to pick up the scrap wood?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “And I wanted to check on that order for the MacDonald’s cottage. It’s still ready for pick up Monday morning?”

“Yup.” Dad nodded. “Your mom wants to remind you about dinner Sunday. Have you told Parker about it yet?”

“Not yet; I’ve been pretty busy. We haven’t really seen each other,” I admitted.

Even though I lived in the apartment above the garage, I didn’t see Parker all the time. He had a life of his own with his family, and I tried not to be underfoot too much unless Parker initiated it.This week, he’d been busy clearing trees on a property north of Springwood with his portable sawmill service.

“Be sure to tell him tonight, or your mom will have my hide,” Dad said. “I should have called him myself, but we’ve been swamped here.”

“I’ll make sure I tell him or Tabitha tonight.” Satisfied with my answer, Dad nodded his approval, his gaze returning to his computer screen. “Well, I better get the scrap material dropped off. See you Sunday, Dad.”

“See you Sunday, Son,” Dad said, looking up at me long enough to smile.

While I was in the office talking to my father, Jerry had loaded my truck up with all the scrap materials for donation. “Thanks, Jerry.”

“No problem-o,” Jerry replied, tipping his hat at me.

“I don’t know what we’d do without you,” I said with a grin. It was true, Jerry was a huge help to my dad at the lumberyard. He was nearly half a decade older than Dad and had worked at the lumberyard longer than I’d been alive.

“Don’t make me blush,” Jerry joked. “See you around, kid.”

I saluted him before climbing into my truck.

School was still in session when I pulled up to Hartwood Creek High School. Teenagers were everywhere, hooting and hollering. A group of them huddled near the fence on the edge of the property line, smoking cigarettes. I couldn’t help but chuckle at them, remembering my own high school days and that time Parker and I snuck cigarettes off my old man to smoke in that exact spot.

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