Page 16 of Second Round

“What’sthat?”

“A studfinder.”

I giggled. “We could use that when we go outtobars.”

“Oh ho. Are we going to start going clubbing?” Sharon ran the stud finder slowly across the wall until it began to beep. She made a pencil mark, then continued and made another. “Remember, the stud finder only finds the edges of the 2x4 underneath thedrywall.”

“I only understood half of what you just said. But how else do you find guys? Bars were how we found guys in the eighties.” I met Brent atapub.

“Now apps can find men for you. Or websites.” She handed the stud finder to me. I copied her slow motion until itbeeped.

“Have you had any success finding dates that way?” Iwondered.

“Definesuccess.”

“A guy to go out with—like on nice dates. To dinner or movies, stufflikethat.”

“No.”

“Sharon! Are you hooking up withrandommen?”

She only laughed in reply. Did I really want to know the answer to that question? It felt weird to think about having sex with someone who wasn’t Brent. “I wonder if I’ll even find anyone attractiveagain.”

“Of course you will. Now, where do you want the shelves?” We decided on the best placement, and Sharon made a few marks. “I’m going to do the first shelf, and you’re going to do thesecondone.”

“Can’t I just watch you admiringly? I’m worried that my shelf is going to fall down and knock thecoachout.”

“From the sounds of things, that’s exactly what you want to happen. Don’t worry; I’m here to supervise you. Anyway, don’t you find it liberating to live onyourown?”

I watched as Sharon drilled holes, inserted plugs, levelled the bracket, and then hung the perfect shelf. “Liberating? Yeah, kind of. I don’t have to remind anyone to take the garbage out. No more nagging or argument—I just do everythingmyself.”

“You know, it’s only a thought, but maybe you should do some fun things too. Especially on the weekends you don’t havethekids.”

“I do. I paint.” Painting was the perfect mentalescape.

“Fun things that involve leaving the house,” Sharon eyed the shelf and then handed thedrilloff.

I panicked. The drill felt heavy, and my hand shook. “I can’t use power tools. What if Imessup?”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “It’s been two years since you had real sex,right?”

“What? Well,uh,yes.”

“Well, if you can handle a vibrator, you can handle a power tool. You’re going to need to learn if you keep doing this. Don’t hold it like a grenade. You’re the boss—you show that drill you’re incharge.”

I grinned and gripped the handle firmly. Sharon had already marked the wall, so all I had to do was drill those spots. It did feel surprisingly good to use a power drill. I felt even better once the shelf wasmounted.

“Ta da. Ididthat.”

“Yup. Keep it up and I’ll hire you on my crew.” Sharon’s philosophy was to hire as many women as possible. She had trouble getting her first break, so she wanted to help other people. “Okay, I’m off to the site now.Goodluck.”

After Sharon left, I worked steadily. It was satisfying work, seeing a place come together. I attacked the bedroom first. The little office looked bare without papers, so I added a few accessories I’d bought at a garage sale and then spray-painted white. Now the wire pencil holder and in-baskets could pass for brand new. I rolled the blue office chair into place, and then shut the closet doors. Now it was a bedroom again. I dressed the bed, adding two shams and throw pillows. Brent used to complain about all the extra pillows, but they made the bed look so inviting. I laid a throw on the bottom corner of the bed and stood back. The bed was smartly made up with burlap-textured shams, white cotton sheets, and a knitted throw. I hung my lovely new painting of white peonies. With the teak dresser, the whole room looked neutral and classy. I had even added a few potted plants. I choose cacti because they matched the coach’s personality and didn’t need much work. They also looked stylish with white pea gravel. The whole room was masculineyetcozy.

The place was shaping up. The kitchen was almost fully equipped, but I realized I had forgotten a box of new utensils at home. That would have to wait until I got into the apartment again. I had managed to fit in a small table and two chairs. That would be enough for the coach and his daughter, and he didn’t strike me as theentertainingtype.

There was a rap on the door, and I ran to answer it. A burly man in a navy coverall was standingthere.

“I’m from MacDermitt’s. We’ve got the couchesdownstairs.”

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