The first thing he taught her was how to reset the circuit breaker panel. “It’s about time you learned to do this, Margaret” he said, his bulbous, arthritic fingers moving the switch to the off position. The house went dark.
Next he taught her to clean the gutters with a contraption he had designed. “Never go to the top step, you won’t be stable.” Then he taught her how to shut off the water main, in case she forgot to leave the faucet dripping in cold weather.
When he tried to teach her to start the riding lawnmower, he got short. “The throttle has to be down. No reverse, no!” She moved in and out of the trees in their backyard while he chased her with instructions. She wanted to go back inside and make dinner, iron something. She did not want to be told what she was doing wrong and she did not want to learn how to live without him.
On the days he wasn’t too weak from chemo, he liked to sit with her on the rustic bench under his favorite tree, a tall, ugly pine in the corner of their yard. He would smoke his pipe and talk about what he would teach her next. She would need to learn to snake the drain, clean the dryer vent and refill the washer fluid in their car. She missed the conversations about trips to Florida. She missed the man who had carved their initials in the bark 36 years ago. She tried talking about Katrina and how she loved to be chased around the tree, which only made him sad and silent. So she asked if there were other car fluids she needed to be aware of.
By the time they got to power tools, she was less resistant. Twenty years ago she had tried to use the sander to fix a rough spot on the butcher block counter and ended up gouging it. She had eaten dinner alone that night. She concentrated hard on his lectures and feedback, not wanting him to get frustrated and be forced to demonstrate, which made him weak. He doubted she’d need to use the table saw, but she insisted. “Tell me. I want to learn from you.”
She told no one what she was learning. Her daughter, Ellie had always said they should take turns cooking and driving, be more egalitarian. Well, she was driving all the time now, and tractors too. There was no need to brag to Ellie.
Her friends didn’t know about her new projects either. They would understand, but she wasn’t ready for sympathy. The last thing she wanted was the numbers of the local handyman or the eligible widow from church.
The WD40 stains did not wash out of her elastic-waist, polyester pants. “You’re going to need some overalls,” he said. He was right. She put undershirts and overalls on her list, bought them in the men’s department, thought about work boots but decided on navy blue Keds instead. When she tried on the jeans she thought she looked like an older version of her daughter’s trans friend who wore boy’s clothes and looked feminine and made the most delicious baklava. Henry didn’t comment on her new work clothes, hardly ever thought to notice her appearance at all anymore.
She changed the batteries in the fire alarm (using the drill!), and asked him how to check the oil in the car when the light came on. He explained to her, from bed, how to dip the stick in the oil. He gave her the thumbs up from the bedroom window and watched her weave among the trees on the John Deere.
When the medical bills piled up, it was Henry’s idea to cut the trees down. The logging company would pay money for trees and they had two acres, plenty of hardwood too. They could take it all. “Everything but my pine,” Henry said. But they had to take the pine due to the location of their septic tank and routes for the trucks. A younger Henry would have stuck to his guns and insisted. It was hard for him to negotiate with a check in his hand that allowed him to provide for her again.
The day they took the pine she sat next to him at the bedroom window. When it was down, he cried for two minutes and then went back to bed. “It’s only a tree,” he said. She tried cheering him up, joking that she was going to ask the loggers to teach her how to drive the logging truck. He patted her hand and said, “I’m sure you could do it,” before he closed his eyes to sleep.
What she really asked the loggers for was several 8’ boards from the pine. When it was planed and delivered, she snuck it down to the basement.
She had made meatballs, doctor appointments and lists all her life. She had never made a coffin before. Using plans off the internet, she worked on it when he slept. When all the other chores were done, she retreated to the basement to build. It was her escape from caring for him, which was sad, necessary and exhausting.
She used the measuring tape, the table saw, the drill and the sander. As it took shape, she imagined the compliments at his funeral. Her daughter would be proud and appreciate the skill. “My mother, the carpenter.” Her husband’s friends would be impressed, her own friends confused and envious.
Her seams and joints were not the straightest but it had a simple, beautiful form. Her husband would be forever surrounded by her love.
She was surprised when Henry asked for her help to leave the bedroom. “Darling, help me downstairs.” She helped him to the bench outside, which she had moved to the porch. He sat and admired the sky. “You can see so much more without the trees.”
Each day she helped him to the bench and sat beside him talking about the birds they saw fly by and what they would have for dinner that night.They talked about Florida and Katrina and what the weather would be like the upcoming week.
One day when she came home from shopping, the basement door was open. She was both mad that he had done the stairs alone and glad that he had done the stairs alone. She found him standing over the coffin.
“You made this?” he asked.
“I did.”
“It’s from our tree?”
“It is.”
He climbed in and laid down, paused for a moment and said, “I love it.”
She laughed. He looked ridiculous.
He sat up and offered her a hand. She held it, climbed in and sat between his legs. Her feet almost touched the piece of carved bark with their initials. She rested her head back on her husband’s shoulder, and they rocked.
Short Stories
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So heart warming but I found the coffin she made a little creepy. It was as if she was planning or waiting for his death to happen. Do you know what I mean?