He looks at me; there is a pain in his eyes. I’ve seen it before—long ago—when he had been vulnerable enough in his youth to tell me all of the things he felt might burst from his grieving heart. It is a vulnerability I have not seen in his adulthood.
“You didn’t know,” he says more as a statement than a question. “I stopped when Olivia was born.”
“She’s ten months old.”
“I know. I’m her uncle.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just, well, Em and Colin never mentioned you stopped drinking again.”
“I’m sure they were waiting to see if it stuck.”
“Ten months is a long time. I’d say it stuck.”
“That’s how I actually discovered I could do this woodworking. I’d just moved here, determined to stop drinking, and prove myself to Colin and Em so they would be all right with me being a part of Olivia’s life. I hadn’t slept in two days, and the crazy was starting to set in. I picked up a hunk of wood in the back of the gallery, and I carved. I had no idea what I was making. I just kept going.”
“So did it help you sleep?”
Christian nodded. “It did. My shoulders were sore, and I was starving, but my body gave into the fatigue, and then I slept. I got up the next day and started all over again. I worked all day. By the end of the week I had a set of hand-carved skis.”
“Wait, are those the ones on your wall?” I laugh, remembering the oddity.
“I had no clue what I was making when I started. They just kind of took shape eventually. I hang them there to remind me to always move forward, never back.”
The hair on my arms stands up. “Wow.”
“It’s just what I do, no big deal,” he adds modestly, turning the wheel, pulling into a gravel parking lot. I resist the urge to lean over and hug him.
Leaning to one side and peering out the window, the now famous Roadhouse comes into view. An unassuming building with rust-colored exterior walls and a tin roof sits surrounded by parked cars. There is a deck area with picnic benches and tables that are over-flowing with locals.
“This place is hopping,” I comment.
“You’re going to love their portabella burger with sweet potato fries.”
“No, this is Texas. I thought everything was bigger in Texas. What happened to a huge beef patty?”
“Oh no, you’re right, everything is bigger in Texas. They’ve got the biggest damn portabellas you’ve ever seen.”
I start laughing. As Christian gets out of the truck, a warmth falls over me. That is it, the friend I’d been missing. Not that Henry isn’t my friend, as well. Christian just knows me in a way nobody else can. No matter how many stories I tell Henry about my mom and our past, Christian saw it. He lived it with me. He was there through all the issues of my youth. I suppose most of my problems were actually my mother’s problems, or related to the vile men she would bring home. Christian never tried to fix it—the same as I couldn’t fix his parents dying. All we could do was simply be there, together. I never thought I could have that friend back, but hope is growing in me that it might be possible.
My door creaks open, and I beam a smile at him.
“What’s that goofy look for?” he quickly asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know—just having a good time.”
“Now now, Paige, you’re a promised woman, so don’t go getting a crush on me.”
“In your dreams.” I hop out of the truck.
“How’d you know?” Christian laughs.
“Know what?”
“That you’re running through my dreams every night,” he says, cracking the widest grin.
“Yeah, and I’m the one who’s not right in the head,” I reply, slugging him in the arm again.
“The punching thing,” Christian moans. “Why couldn’t that have been the one thing you grew out of?”
“Oh,” I answer thoughtfully. “I did. I just like punching you. Now can we please go eat? I’m starving.”
“You got it.” He leads the way to open the large glass door.
Once we are seated at our modest table and the food is ordered, Christian looks at me, and suddenly the tables are turned, he begins asking me the questions.
“So Henry, he seems like a … a nice guy.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, tilting my head and flashing a smile.
“What? I’m serious. He seems … nice.”
“It’s the way you say it, and you know it,” I argue.
He snickers. “All right, I’m just playing. He was your date at Em and Colin’s wedding, wasn’t he?”