Arrows Through Archer

Slowly, I walked over to where Mallory stood. He watched me walk, staring at my bright blue socks and then looked to my eyes. Had he been anyone else, that look might’ve meant… something. Had he been anyone else, that look might not have made my body tingle like it had.

« So, what are you going to show me? » I asked.

Since the day of the first bereavement group, almost a week ago, Mallory and I had opened up to each other even more. I’d told him about my parents, and he’d told me about how he found solace in his craft.

« The workshop, » he said simply.

« Really? »

« Yes, really. »

Almost daily, Mallory spent some time in his workshop. It was an unattached second garage on the side of the house that he’d converted. He’d told me once that it was where he felt most at peace in the world.

« Come on, » he said, tipping his head toward the back door.

We pulled on our boots and jackets and stepped outside into the cold, late-afternoon air.

Even at this time of year, when it began to get dark early, the smallest shred of sunlight still managed to make the entire world look bright. It was the snow, Mallory told me. When there was so much of it, the sun reflected against it and made everything too bright.

There was a pre-formed pathway through the snow, thankfully, that led across the back deck, down the stairs, and around to the workshop on the side of the house.

He pushed the door open, let me inside, and closed it firmly behind us. When he flicked on the lights, I was completely floored by the number of things covering the space from floor almost to ceiling. There were clocks, tables in all sizes, chairs, lamps, and sculptures everywhere, all made of wood. Against the wall farthest from the door sat a large table with pieces of wood stacked next to it and an array of tools I didn’t recognize. In the corner sat a miter saw with a protective cover over top.

Mallory moved around me and walked to the corner, where he switched on an electric heater. It whirred to life, filling the room with a gentle purr.

« Wow, » I said.

He laughed. « Yeah. It’s a mess. »

I walked over to a table he had leaning against the wall, flipped on its side. It was unfinished. Two of the legs were missing, but the wave pattern in the grain of the wood was so magnetizing, I reached out and ran my fingertips against the smooth wood.

« This is where I am most nights, » Mallory said.

« These are amazing. » I studied the fine details on a massive grandfather clock against the wall. The swirls in the finish, the smooth carving of the flourishes on the mantle.

« Thank you. »

« I’d hire you to make me something if I thought I could fit anything into my sardine-can room back at college. »

« You don’t have to hire me. I’ll make you anything you want, Archer. »

Without turning to face him, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

Sometimes, words meant nothing. Other times, they meant far, far too much.