Never Let You Go(6)

I walked to the front bay window, where ice bloomed in the corners of the glass like beautifully frosted spiderwebs. The house was freezing—the utilities had been hooked up that morning—and we’d been taking sips from the flask Andrew had brought with him. “That doesn’t taste like hot chocolate,” I teased.

He laughed. “It’s my special recipe.”

I spun in a circle. Where should we put the Christmas tree? Maybe right in front of the window. We’d get one that reached to the ceiling, and cover it with so many lights and ornaments the branches would bend. We’d had a heavy snowfall, early for Lions Lake, and it was looking like we’d have a white Christmas. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

When I walked back outside, Andrew was unloading a wardrobe box, his leg braced, his face determined and flushed from exertion. He’d removed his coat and was wearing a white knit shirt, sleeves pushed up. His work trucks were all immaculate white, same with his crew’s shirts and caps. His construction company’s dark green and black logo stood out in crisp contrast.

My dad and Chris were in the back of the rented moving truck. Andrew had wanted to hire a company and didn’t think it was fair to ask my family. “Your dad works hard all week.” I explained it was the kind of family we were. We helped each other.

I came up beside Andrew. “So who won the snowball fight?”

“Me, of course.” He smiled. “You okay?”

“I’m absolutely completely beyond happy.”

He threw his head back and laughed. I felt that little hiccup in my chest, the same one I’d had the summer day he came into the hardware store where I worked, asking to speak to our manager. I hadn’t seen him around before, and I knew everyone who worked construction in our small town. After he left I made a beeline to the back and found out his name was Andrew Nash, he was from Victoria, and he was developing a parcel of raw land at the end of the lake.

The next time he came in, I helped him find everything he needed, chatting about Lions Lake, all the fun things we did in the summer, how hot it had been lately, thinking the whole time that I really needed to shut up and let him say something, but I couldn’t stop my runaway mouth. I even pulled out a map and showed him the best swimming spots around the lake. As if he couldn’t find them himself. While he waited for me to ring up his order, he kept pushing back his dark blond hair with one hand. It was streaked lighter in spots and fell to his shoulders.

“You need a haircut,” I said, then blushed. What a thing to say.

“I do,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve just been too busy.” The light was shining through the side window and hitting his eyes—green, the color of glacier water.

“Is your dad Ian Finnegan?” he said.

I passed him his receipt. “You know him?”

“I heard he might be looking for work.”

“My dad’s a great carpenter, has lots of experience.” I held my breath. I didn’t want to say too much, but I couldn’t help thinking of my dad, sitting at home and making call after call. He’d had a good job but was fired because he had to take so much time off to help Mom.

“Tell him to drop by the site.”

After that I’d see Andrew on the days I brought lunches for my dad. He rarely stopped to eat with the crew, but almost always paused to say hello to me and ask how I was doing. “He never quits,” my dad told us at dinner, his admiration clear in his face. “He’s there before we are with coffee and donuts for the guys, and he’s the last one to go home.”

One day I brought him a roast beef sandwich and he looked so surprised, just stared at it in his hand while I waited in humiliation. Then his face broke into a huge smile and he said roast beef was his favorite. We sat and talked, and he invited me to see some land he was thinking of buying. We hiked that entire property together, climbed under and over logs, slid down hills, laughing as we both almost fell on our butts, sharing a bottle of water and cursing ourselves for not bringing more. From that day on, we saw each other as much as possible.

We hadn’t actually lived together yet, but I wasn’t worried. We understood each other’s every thought and mood—he knew when I was getting hungry and tired, or when something had upset me. And I knew him, just like I knew marrying him was the best decision I’d ever made.

Now Andrew stopped as he walked past, kissed me on the cheek. “Welcome home, Mrs. Nash.”



I was unpacking a box in Andrew’s new office, carefully placing files in his desk drawer, when I heard his footsteps behind me. I turned and smiled, but faltered when I saw the look on his face. He almost seemed upset, but then his expression smoothed out.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I don’t mind.” I wondered if it was the sight of his desk that bothered him. It was one of the few things he had from his father. We’d found it when we were cleaning out his storage unit. He wasn’t sure about bringing it to the house, said it was too old and scratched and that it wasn’t really his style, but I told him the oak was gorgeous and we could refinish it as a winter project.

He came over, took the files out of my hands, and set them down. “I have my own system. If you put something in the wrong place, I’ll have a hard time finding it.”

“Right, sure. Of course.”