Chapter 10: Ralph's Hands

My father slept on the loft couch, with his boots lined up under it and his coat over his knees.

At six a.m. I found him sitting at the little table, holding Maddox's kettle by both handles.

"Your friend makes decent coffee," he said.

"He's making it right now."

"He's making it very loud."

Downstairs a plane was shushing across wood.

Maddox came up the stairs a minute later with three mugs, and set one in front of Ralph.

My father looked at him for a long time over the steam.

"You build things."

"Bars, tables." Maddox sat on the nail keg. "A coffin once, for a client's dog."

Ralph's mustache twitched.

"Did the dog like it?"

"The client cried. I took that as a yes."

"Mm." My father turned the mug a quarter-turn on the table. "You were at that party."

"I was."

"You saw him do it."

"I did."

"And you didn't hit him."

"I thought about it," Maddox said honestly. "She did it better."

Ralph grunted, a sound I recognized as a very high compliment.

"I'm taking my daughter to see the shop on Bruce Street," he said.

"I could use a man with a truck at noon. I've got a flat file that weighs as much as a horse."

"I can be there."

"Good."

That was the whole interview, and I could have wept.

The shop on Bruce Street sat between a tire place and a funeral home.

Its roll-up door had been closed for two years.

My father lifted it with a shoulder and a groan.

Inside, the air was cold and dusty, and all my childhood was there.

The pegboard of brushes, in rows by size.

The long bench scarred with a hundred brewery logos in carbon paper.

Keep reading free with an account. Start You've Been Replaced, First Love from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.