Page 15 of Rival
Leaning over the two by four, Edith uses a pencil to mark the cut lines on the wood before her arms struggle to lift it from her station to lean against the first wall we’ve framed out.She inspects her work critically as she asks, “If you had to pick between a dog or cat for a pet, what would you choose?”
With a chuckle, I line up my saw and drop my safety glasses over my eyes as I consider her question. After cutting the piece, I flick my eyes over to her. She’s frozen, curled over the next piece to be marked, waiting for my answer. We’ve been playing this back-and-forth question game for the past hour, and so far, I’ve learned that she by far prefers orange juice over coffee, she’d rather be barefoot than wear sandals, would want a mountain cabin rather than a beach house, and likes pie instead of cake.
“That one’s a no brainer. Dog, for sure.”
The way her nose wrinkles is adorable. “Really? They’re so…loud. And messy. Although, if I had to pick a puppy over a kitten, I’d probably pick a puppy. They’ll love you unconditionally, no matter what. But as adults? You have to go with a cat!”
“I’m going to stand by my statement. Dogs are playful, loyal, and can do tricks if you train them right. If you tried to do that with a cat, they’d just put their nose up and leave you behind to save their sorry asses. Why in the world would you think a cat is better?”
I was just teasing, but the way her face falls in consternation at my passionate answer sends a sliver of guilt through my chest. Then she grows thoughtful and whatever bothered her is pushed away and she gives me a well thought out answer.
“Well, for a lot of reasons, actually. First, they’re smaller, so not such a burden in the home. I already mentioned the noise levels. They’re by far cleaner and use a litter box, so you don’t have to worry about rusty doors opening and shutting throughout all hours of the night to take them to the yard.”
Edith resumes her work on marking cut lines as she continues, and I find myself a bit uneasy with the direction she goes in with her reasoning, but I’m not sure what it is that bothers me.
“The lifespan of a cat is almost double that of a dog, so you’ll have them at your side significantly longer. Feeding them won’t break the bank, making them much more affordable.Oh!They can hide anywhere. If they’re frightened or need to escape a threat, they can just slip under a bed or even through a crack in the wall to get free.”
“Edith…” I call to her and trail off when she doesn’t hear me, lost in her own thoughts.
“They purr. It’s like they’re telling you they love you andonlyyou, because it’s so quiet, no one else could hear. It’s like a secret you have between just the two of you.”
She frowns, then finally looks over at me, seeing my own frown. Her teeth dig into her pouty lower lip as she blushes in embarrassment from her rambling. Not wanting her to stop talking, I force a smile. “Edith, you may have sold me on cats. I’ve been converted.”
Her shoulders relax, and she seems relieved I didn’t say anything about her speech. “They really are pretty fantastic.”
“Apparently. Okay,” I say, focusing back on work. “It’s my turn. How old are you?”
Pointing at me, she teases, “That’s not a this or that question.”
“It’s not.” I nod solemnly. “But I’ve asked it, nonetheless.”
Her hum of defiance is adorable, and she makes me wait a moment before answering. “I’m twenty. Although, I have a birthday coming soon. What about you?”
“You two look like you could use somethin’ to drink.” Ruth Danielson interrupts our game, which I couldn’t be more thankful for. I won’t lie; Edith’s answer shocked me. I knew she was probably much younger, but fuck, she’s not even drinking age yet.
As she sets down her pencil to accept the small plastic cup filled with lemonade, I fight off my disturbing feelings of flirting with someone almost half my age.
I’ve just turned thirty-seven, for Christ’s sake. What the hell am I doing contemplating getting to know a girl barely out of high school, let alone flirting with her?
Ruth walks stiffly to me, holding out another cup, eyeing me curiously. “How do you think everything is going so far?”
Clearing the lump in my throat, I avoid looking over at Edith. “Everything seems to be going well. The volunteers are great, and we haven’t had any hiccups yet.”
Ruth hums, then glances over her shoulder where Edith is bent over the boards to continue marking them. Dropping her voice, she leans in so she’s not overheard. “I wasn’t tryin’ to overhear, but I think you ought to know, age is just a number darlin’. It’s what’s here that counts.” She finishes her statement by tapping her fingers to her chest, just over her heart.
It’s a common saying, but my moral compass eating away at me is saying ageisimportant when it comes to someone who’s barely had a chance to be an adult. I’m disappointed as well, more than I would have expected. There’s nothing that says we can’t be friends, though.
“In some instances, I’d agree,” I tell her, then finish off the lemonade before crushing the cup under my hand. “We’re about done here for the day. I’ll make rounds and start sending everyone home for the evening.”
Nodding sharply, maybe with a bit of her own disappointment, Ruth turns away. Loudly, she calls out, “Today was a good day. Thank you for all you’ve done, and I hope you sleep well tonight. As always, take God’s blessings with you.” Then she makes her way back over to Edith. “You seem exhausted, my dear.”
I don’t stick around to listen to the rest of their conversation. Quickly, I unplug the table saw, then start dismissing the workers, thanking them for their help and listening as they chat about their plans for their evenings. Everyone sticks around long enough to clean up their stations, and by the time the last person is leaving, I blow out an exhausted breath. It’s been a long day, but also very rewarding.
A part of me hopes Edith is still here, so I find myself heading back to where the two of us were working. I only find Ruth sitting on a bucket next to Edith’s table, who is nowhere in sight.
“She’s left.”
Picking up my things, I shove my gloves and personal tools into my bag and ask, “Who?”
