It was way too early for the bar to be open, but I pounded on the back entrance until Stacy opened the door.
“Liam!” she scolded. “What are you doing out here?”
“Do you have a hammer and some nails around someplace?” I asked. “I want to build something.”
She looked at me skeptically, shook her head slowly, and opened the door wide.
“There’s a toolbox in the kitchen,” she told me, “but you can’t take all of that in there—there is no room for it. Take it to the locker room, and I’ll bring the box.”
I offered to go get the box myself, but she waved me off and muttered something about not being all that old. I shifted my load from one shoulder to the other and then hauled it all downstairs. I lay the pieces down on the cement floor and looked them over.
There were four decent-sized, mostly flat pieces of plywood, and the section of two-by-four was a little over two feet long. In my head, I tried to picture what a bookshelf looked like and thought about that Tangelos game my Dad used to play with me when I was a kid. You would get all these different-shaped pieces and have to fit them together into a certain arrangement, and you’d try to do it as fast as possible. Using scrap wood to make serviceable furniture wasn’t too different.
Stacy brought a large toolbox down the stairs, dropped it at my feet, and asked if I wanted lunch. I declined politely before I began to rummage through the box. Hammer, nails, a hack saw, sandpaper—I didn’t think I would need much more than that.
I spent the entire afternoon sawing, hammering, and sanding. I cut the two-by-four into eight small pieces to serve as feet and tops and then shaped the plywood into four similarly sized pieces. They weren’t perfect, but when I started putting it all together, it worked out pretty well. It at least stood up straight without wobbling.
It was definitely useful, but it didn’t look like much.
“I made you a sandwich,” Stacy said as she pushed open the door and dropped a plate down in front of me. “You’ve been down here for hours, and I know you have to be hungry.”
“Dordy’ll be pissed.”
“He’s not in yet, and I doubt he’s going to miss a couple slices of cheese and bread.”
I looked up at her and gave her a smile.
“Thanks,” I said. “I am kind of hungry, now that you mention it. What time is it?”
“Nearly four o’clock,” she replied.
I nodded and looked at my little project a bit more closely. It needed a lot more sanding.
“Are you taking up a new hobby?” Stacy asked, snickering. “Joining a book club?”
“Nah,” I said with a headshake. I was pleased that she at least recognized my creation for what it was supposed to be. “I got a roommate, and she’s got a lot of books. My apartment doesn’t have a bookshelf or anything, so they’re still in a couple boxes. I saw this shit…um…”
I glanced up at
the older woman, who had her hands on her hips as she stared down at me.
“Stuff,” I said, correcting myself, “in the dumpster. I thought I could make it into a place for her books.”
“Liam Teague!” Stacy exclaimed. She placed her hand over her chest. “Do you have a lady friend?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Roommate, Stacy. That’s it.”
“Hmm…” she murmured as she turned around and headed back up the stairs. “I always wanted a boy who would make me bookcases.”
“You asking me on a date?” I asked, snickering.
“If I was thirty years younger, you wouldn’t be able to fend me off,” she called as she disappeared around the corner.
I laughed and wolfed down the sandwich before I went back to sanding. Stacy came back a few minutes later to collect my plate, and as she did, she handed me a small can.
“Not sure if there will be enough,” she told me as she walked back out, “but it’s a pretty color blue, and we don’t need the extra paint for anything.”