Chapter 40: Carpentry and Cake Again
There are many ways that it can be pleasant to be stirred from slumber on a lazy Saturday. The sweet sound a songbird, a gentle kiss, a phone call from an absent friend, or perhaps soft light filtering though the curtains after a long and refreshing sleep. Power tools at dawn is not on the list of favoured ways to wake, regardless of the carpenter. I dressed quickly and made my way to my front porch, ready to confront my house-calling handyman.
There are some tells that indicate Oliver's emotional state – obvious plaid, snark, bouncing and Sam Hill. Today I was greeted by three of them – no bouncing, but everything else. Clearly, Oliver was upset and was using woodwork as an outlet. Hadn't we established that my swing needed two people on it? That promising fact made me almost ask him to leave it alone. Then, after I called him on his behaviour, he decided to make a jibe about Steve. If I knew where I stood with Oliver, I could tell him about Steve, and how in the past he is, but we (Oliver and I) are not there yet. In the dark of night, I worry that we may never get there. Then there is Sam Hill. Is it wrong that I find it so cute that a grown adult can't swear and uses such an old-fashioned euphemism? Sometimes I wonder if Oliver didn't grow up in Mayberry rather than Denver.
I digress. Oliver was upset. He had said something he regretted and was afraid that his father had left, possibly for good. Poor Oliver. What did Oliver say that he thought so beyond the pale? Feckless and flighty Holly had flown to Paris, and now Joseph O'Toole looked like he had been pushed away. I wanted to say something that might console Oliver. All I could think of to say were words of reassurance, hopefully convincing him that I wasn't leaving; something that my past behaviour might not have made clear. I could only hope that those words would mean something. My heart gave a small leap, but also tore a little for him when he said, 'It matters.'
I have shed more tears over this man than any other. Today brought forth more to add to the collection. What was it that Beatrice said? 'Yea, and I will weep a while longer.' Things worked out for her, but I didn't have such clarity. And what would he like to have done right then? Offer a friendly embrace? Swung a little in sweet companionship? Kissed me? Yeh right. That is my own deluded heart talking. Whatever it was, it didn't come to pass as Rita, dear sister, and finest friend Rita, interrupted the interesting interlude with an urgent phone call. Joe proved himself to be the fine man I guessed he was from the start. He left Oliver a lifeline in the form of a forwarding address.
As much as I wanted Oliver to stay and continue our discussion, I knew he needed to reconnect with his father as quickly as possible. It was the right time for them. Dare I hope that there will ever be a right time for some air-clearing between the two of us?
Another Birthday Party
It seemed that a repeat of my birthday gathering was needed. I wasn't sure, but I did really want to know what had happened, to everyone. A girl can only stifle her curiosity for so long. Rita and Norman, it seemed, had gifted Phoebe with a beautiful, blue, lost bottle for her to keep the sand her mother had included in each letter. I hope Oliver doesn't realise where it came from and want it returned. Rita and Norman had shared ice-cream last night, a visit to Phoebe this morning (which included handholding), and jointly gifted me a solar-powered abacus. Progress had Rita almost giddy with excitement. I am so happy for them.
I am also so happy that Oliver invited his father to my additional birthday celebration! Champagne and cake were great (even if the cake had an interesting inscription), but Oliver and Joe beginning to re-establish a connection was the best gift of the day. Well, that and a heart-melting glance. It wasn't exactly progress, but it was definitely something!
Now, I need to get Oliver to tell me about the pile of letters Joe gave him…