The Carpenter & the Queen by Michelle Lashier Read Free Book Online Page A

should know. He didn’t
hear a word of it. She had lost him after the second sentence. To
be fair, he was the one who had decided to tune her out, but it was
so much easier to smile and nod (he instinctively knew the places
such responses were required of him) and mentally zone out.
    He found her talking attractive. Of course,
the way she looked when she talked was even more attractive. But
the most important thing was that when Linda was talking, Paul
didn’t have to say anything. So many times in his life Paul had
lost out on something because he didn’t have the words. Marriage
would change that. When words were needed, Linda would step in.
Finally, he had found someone who would compensate for his many
deficiencies.
    The party was what he expected—high-brow art
types talking over his head. He remembered what his mother used to
say, “Better to keep your mouth closed and have people think you a
fool than to open it and have people know it.” It was good advice.
So he smiled, shook hands when Linda introduced him, and said,
“Pleased to meet you.” Then he let Linda talk.
    After Paul had met what felt like every
person in the room, Linda touched his shoulder.
    “I’ve got to close a deal over here. Can you
do without me for a minute?”
    “Go do your thing,” Paul said with a
lopsided grin. “I’ll stay here and hold up a wall or
something.”
    This was one of his only jokes.
    When she was swallowed by the crowd, Paul
edged his way out of the main crush and roamed through one of the
smaller rooms off to the side. The centerpiece of the room was a
marble column with a piece of sheet metal suspended in front of it
and thirteen small circular mirrors glued to the surface of the
metal. According to the sign, it was named, Slicing Heart Willow
Tree.
    Weird.
    The other sculptures were also modern and
just as odd. Paul continued roaming around the room, dismissing the
“mounds of garbage,” as he thought of them, until he came to a
small display of plaster casts of body parts. Very strange .
But what most caught his attention were the wooden shelves the
pieces sat on. Maple, he decided, but the miter joints didn’t meet
up exactly. The stain was uneven, and the polyurethane was streaked
and at a ninety-degree angle to the grain. Shoddy workmanship if he
ever saw it.
    “There you are,” Linda said, entering the
room. “I see you’ve found the adult section of the display.”
    Paul looked at the sculpture in front of
him, and realizing what body part it represented, blushed.
    “Don’t be embarrassed, darling. It’s art,
after all.”
    “I was looking at the shelf.”
    “Right.”
    “Really. It’s very poor quality. Look.”
    Paul pointed out the imperfections he had
seen then looked to Linda for her response.
    “You are the only one here who would notice
that.” She didn’t sound pleased.
    “Why would someone want to buy a $600
plaster . . . thing . . . when it’s displayed on a shelf made by
someone in Taiwan?” Paul was surprised at his own vehemence.
“Packaging should count.”
    “It does,” Linda agreed. “That’s why you’re
in the tuxedo.”
    She kissed him, and Paul allowed himself to
forget shelves, packaging, and sculptures. Linda herself was the
only piece of art he really needed.
    On the taxi ride home, Linda didn’t talk
much. Paul kept his arm around her and knew tomorrow he would do as
Linda wanted and buy her the ring.

7
     
    February 2005, Lindberg, Michigan
    Paul wasn’t surprised when he woke up to see
more snow in the drive. His leg had ached all day yesterday as the
front moved in. He hated February. Miserable month. March was
better. It usually brought a warm spell, enough to whet his
appetite for summer before the snow returned intermittently until
late April or early May. He frowned into his cereal bowl, as if it
were somehow responsible for Midwest winters. After eating, he
slipped into the garage from the entrance off the kitchen and
turned on the propane heater to