Chapter 24: Stays

The thing in the middle of Abel's living room was draped in a moving blanket.

It was as tall as my hip and as wide as a door.

"Don't peek," Abel said, from behind me.

"I'm not peeking."

"You are leaning."

"I'm leaning politely."

He pulled the blanket away.

It was a chair.

A big, low rocking chair in honey-colored maple, with a curved back and wide arms.

The seat was made for someone who wanted to stay.

The wood shone under the lamp.

I put my hand on the arm, and it was sanded perfectly smooth.

"I made it in the evenings," Abel said. "While you were in the unit. I had to do something with my hands."

"Abel."

"Sit."

"It's too nice to sit in."

"It's a chair. It's got one job." He took my shoulders and turned me around. "You told me you were very good at them."

I sat.

It took my weight and tipped back a little.

I settled into it and did not want to get up.

"It's perfect," I said.

"Check underneath."

I leaned over the arm and ran my hand under the curve of the seat.

My fingers found letters cut into the wood, small and neat.

W. D. + A. T.

And below them, in the same careful hand: Stays.

My throat closed.

"I know it's early," Abel said. "I know you've been through hell, and you don't owe me a thing."

"You're allowed to say no. I'm only telling you I'd like to build the next one too."

"The next what?"

"Whatever you want. A table. A porch. A crib for my sister's baby, which is due in March."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"A house, someday."

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