Page 27 of Clean Hack
Then I chose to change the subject because I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like to remind her of the bad things, even if I had no idea what they might be.
“I was thinking of taking up woodcarving.” Wow, could I sound any more like a lonely, old guy? But she snorted and I didn’t give a damn if that made me sound lame because that was pretty much close to a laugh. “I don’t really have any hobbies. I like to read, but that’s about it. I think it would be something nice and relaxing between jobs.”
“Sure,” she said and I could hear the laughter in her tone.
“I’m going to do it. What should I make first?”
“Probably something easy,” she said. “You don’t want to go crazy for your first masterpiece. Plus, you have to be careful. Something with a lot of intricacy could lead to lost fingers. And well, that just wouldn’t be good.”
I chuckled, it came out like a low rumble.
“No, that would not be good.”
“A platypus.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked jokingly. “Did you say a platypus?”
There was a short giggle that sounded faint, almost like she was trying to hide it.
“Yes. I don’t know. It was the first thing came to mind and it seems like it wouldn’t be all that hard to make. And they are kind of cute.”
An odd feeling came over me. It had started out as a joke but now I suddenly wanted nothing more than to actually carve her a platypus out of wood. I had this image in my head that it wouldn’t turn out looking anything like what I intended, but somehow it seemed fitting anyway. Maybe one day I’d even get the chance to give it to her.
I realized that those thoughts were crazy. I pushed them away with a quick shake of my head and tried to keep the conversation going. I knew that I wasn’t ready for this to be over but I wouldn’t let myself entertain the ideas of why.
“You should do it. Try something new,” she said and then there was silence.
I sat there for a long time, my phone still gripped tightly in my hand and pressed against my ear. Like somehow, she’d come back even though I knew it wouldn’t happen. My mind drifted off, wandering down a strange path and I wasn’t sure how to turn back.
Three days later.
“I decided to try something different this week,” I said already feeling a heaviness through the speaker. “I went to this Irish restaurant that I swear I must have driven by a million times. I always say to myself that I’m going to stop there but never do. But I did today. I had a conversation with the owners. They came out and talked to me because the place wasn’t that busy. They’ve been married over forty years and they still held this sweetness in their eyes for each other.”
I paused because it hit me that it didn’t really feel strange that I was sharing part of my life with her. A simple part, but it still meant something to me. Actually, it meant a lot to me but I wasn’t about to dive into that thought any more.
“The shepherd’s pie was amazing. It was hearty and full of flavor. You could tell that they put everything they had into it. And they were very proud of it. After I was done, they sent me away with a container full of Irish Potato Candies. It sounds weird, but they are so delicious. They are filled with this cream and have a heavy cinnamon flavor. I couldn’t stop eating them after I got back to my place.”
I chuckled lowly and was surprised to hear a distant, light laugh ringing in my ear. I smiled at the sound and was desperate to hear more of it.
“Do you have a favorite dessert or candy?”
“Yes,” she responded and for a flash of a second, I could have sworn there was a hint of snarkiness in her tone. But in a playful way.
“Okay. That’s good. I think everyone should.” Now I had just become a rambling idiot. I was hoping she would tell me what it might be but clearly, she either couldn’t get out more than one word at a time or I was there for her amusement.
“I…,” she said then there was a bit of dead air. “I like these cookies my mom makes. Oatmeal cookies filled with all kinds of random things.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, like chocolate chips and cranberries. Sometimes nuts and dried cherries. And they always have cinnamon and clove in them. She called them Oatmeal Surprise because it was always a surprise what she’d put in them. I…I always get this warm feeling inside whenever I eat them.”
Then she was gone. I couldn’t say that I wasn’t smiling. That was the most I’d gotten out of her and it did something to me.
Eight days later.
“Hi,” I couldn’t help but lamely say as I settled myself behind the wheel of my truck and knew where I was headed.
“Hi,” she parroted with a strained, almost sad, giggle.
