Words Get In the Way by Nan Rossiter Page B

They thumped their tails thankfully. Linden poured milk into the glass from the dish drain, wandered into the small room next to the kitchen, and looked out at the rain. Even though it was coming down in sheets, he could already see a sliver of blue shimmering across the western horizon.
    He finished his milk, turned from the window, and switched on the adjustable lamp that was attached to the old wooden drawing table. The table was solid oak and had been rescued from a Vermont roadside, and the threadbare swivel chair in front of it had come from a junkyard in Keene. Linden sat in the chair and ran his hand lightly over the watercolor that was taped to the table. He leaned away and then closer again, trying to decide if he liked it. Several weeks earlier, in frustration, he’d given up on the painting, but now he decided maybe it wasn’t so bad. He stood up and looked at it from another angle. Maybe he’d work on it later.
     
    The rain had stopped, and Linden let the dogs back out and carried a new six-pack down to the river. He slipped five of the bottles into the cold water, unbuttoned his shirt, dried his hands with it, draped it over the back of one of the chairs, and opened the remaining bottle. Then he kicked off his L.L.Bean camp mocs and made his way gingerly out across the shallow current. He stood, sipping his beer and surveying his handiwork. The cairn was almost as tall as he was, but he still wanted it to be taller. He began to wonder if spending so much time alone was making him crazy, and then he remembered an article he’d read one time that said if you thought you were crazy, you probably weren’t. He put his bottle down; looked into the depths of the clear, swirling water; and realized that he’d almost exhausted his supply of large stones. He would have to start carrying them from upstream. He had just started to slosh in that direction when he heard a car pull into the yard.
    He looked up and saw Callie’s old Nova parked next to his truck and his heart pounded as he watched Kat and Springer bounding over to greet her. She petted them and looked around.
    “Hey,” he called with a wave.
    She looked over and smiled. “Hey!”
    “You remembered.”
    “Well, I thought I remembered, but I made a wrong turn back there”—she motioned in the direction of the road—“and I ended up at a wooden gate. But I finally figured it out.” As she walked toward him, she couldn’t help but notice that he was no longer the slender boy she’d known in high school. His chest and shoulders were broader, and his muscles were more defined. Linden reached for his shirt, and she quickly looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
    “Wow! That is a very impressive pile of rocks,” she said, looking over his shoulder.
    Linden pulled the shirt on and thought, If you only knew what inspired it!
    “I shouldn’t have come,” she stammered.
    “No,” Linden said, fumbling with a button. “I’m glad you did.”
    She searched his eyes. “I really shouldn’t have come,” she blurted, “but I don’t have anywhere else to turn. I know you offered to help, Linden, but you probably didn’t expect me to take you up on it so soon.” She paused to take a breath. “Please say no if you can’t ... or you’re busy ... or you just don’t want to. I will completely understand.”
    Linden gave up on the buttons and stepped closer. “Callie, what’s the matter? What happened?” Callie started to explain, and Linden caught on immediately. “No problem, Cal. I’m happy to watch Henry.”
    She nodded and bit her lip. “It’s not that simple, Linden,” she continued. “Henry’s not like other kids. He’s not easy to look after. He takes off, and he has terrible tantrums and ...” She paused, trying to find the right words. “He doesn’t talk.”
    “Oh,” Linden said. “Well, I’m sure we can manage. I do enough talking for two people anyway.”
    Callie looked puzzled. “You?”
    Linden smiled and shrugged.