We Aren't Doing Anything

“We aren’t doing anything for our anniversary.” Steven’s wife straightened out the bottom of her dress, giving her outfit another look in the mirror. Steven still sat in bed, bleary eyes watching Laura give her hair a scrunch with her hands.

           “But we could,” he said, though he already knew she would shoot him down again. “We could do something simple. Like a picnic, or we could watch a movie. I could even make you dinner.”

           Laura shook her head as she put on her shoes. “I don’t know why you’re being so determined about this. I don’t want to do anything. Money is already tight as it is, and we can’t go wasting our food on picnics and dinners.”

           “Then a movie—”

           “Or the electricity bill,” she finished. A dim bulb sat in their old lamp, barely shedding any light. It lit up her face enough to show the dark color under her eyes, something she hadn’t yet covered with makeup. Laura grabbed her makeup kit from the dresser, leaning down to give her husband a slight kiss on the lips. “I won’t hear another word of it, Steven,” she warned, walking toward the bathroom. He tried to open his mouth to say…well, he wasn’t quite sure. Whatever was on his tongue quickly vanished as Laura turned, giving him a sharp look, and saying, “Not a word, you hear?”

           He listened as her footsteps faded, first a steady clop-clop on the hardwood, and then quieter once she got to carpet. Steven sat in the bed, letting his hand trail over the soft comforter Laura had gotten them last Christmas. He was still sitting there by the time she finished in the bathroom. She rushed into their bedroom, grabbed her purse, and left. Before he could blink, she was back, getting her keys from the dresser. Then she was gone once more. Steven finally got out of the bed as Laura came in a third time, this time to grab her wallet. He caught her by the arm, stopping her frenzied rush.

           “Will you be busy today?” He drew her into a hug. She relaxed, and he placed his chin on top of her head, humming quietly.

           “Not terribly. I think it's just Molly and Thomas today. If the Lettermans are back, I could watch their kids, too.”

           Steven’s grip tightened around his wife at the mention of the last name. He hoped Laura didn’t notice. “Right,” he said, quickly planting a kiss on his wife’s head. “Well, perhaps I can find someone to help today. The bar owner, or old Farmer Jim. I’m tired of just sitting around.”

           “Me too,” Laura teased, poking at his stomach. “You’ll get fat if the only places you walk are from the bed to the bath to the kitchen. I should be back around lunch. Oh, but I’m already late! Molly’s grandfather won’t wait for me long.” She gave him one last kiss, far too quick for his liking. She had the most mysterious habit of appearing when he least expected it and disappearing when he least wanted her to. The front door shut, making him jump a bit. Her perfume still hung in the air, and when he sniffed his shirt, he could smell it there as well.

           He sat down at the foot of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. Steven looked around the room, at the simple decorations and pictures hanging on the wall. With a groan, he let his head fall into his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping he could get rid of what felt like a never-ending headache. Something stronger would help him through the day, surely. Steven pushed himself out of bed, stumbling into the hall.

           The house was only one floor and a little small, but it was just enough room for the two of them. Steven rubbed the crust out of his eye, and a yawn forced him to close his other. When he opened them, he spotted an old picture on the wall, the frame slightly cracked after he had dropped it years prior. It was of himself and Laura in front of a bookstore. They were so young. Laura had put blue highlights in her hair while Steven had just gotten his braces off. Back then, Steven didn’t feel aches in his knees, and Laura didn’t have to massage her feet every night.

           Steven touched the frame, his finger coming away with a film of dust. He traced Laura’s face, the picture becoming clearer and clearer. Steven remembered taking her there as a first date, paying for every book she wanted. She still had them to this day—old history books, English classics, magazines on space and biology—keeping them under the bed in a memory box. Steven rubbed his dusty hand on his shirt, wondering if he could go into town, buy her another book. But he remembered Laura’s words, and with a shake of his head, headed to the bathroom.

           He tried to listen to his wife, he really did. Steven brushed his teeth, using a water bottle to wet the brush and rinse out his mouth. He brushed his hands through his hair, making a mental note that he needed to cut it soon. He was back in his room, trying to decide what shirt to wear when he noticed the comforter again. It was a ‘them’ gift, she had said as he opened it that Christmas morning. Yet on the days he woke up before her, he saw that she kicked it off her and onto him sometime during the night. Steven stared at it for what was far too long before he finally picked a shirt. He couldn’t get her a book, or a blanket. That would cost money they didn’t have. His wife had been clear. No money or food was to be wasted. But she didn’t say he couldn’t at least look around for other ideas.

           He walked out their door, shutting it behind him. The day was cloudy, the sun poking out only to immediately be covered. It wasn’t cold enough for him to go back inside and dive back under the comforter, however. The driveway was the only thing separating his home from the town of Camel. Very few people were out, so Steven made sure to say hello to anyone he saw. Steven walked down the road, which ran the length of the town. A handful of older kids, ones not watched over by his wife, were playing soccer in the middle of the street, paying him no mind as he went.

           Steven’s feet carried him down another gravel driveway. About ten minutes away from his house was an old log cabin. The wood was chipped off in places, and one window was completely shattered. The man who lived there didn’t mind. He was rocking in a metal chair and smoking a cigarette as Steven approached him.

           “Mr. Joseph!” Steven held up a hand in greeting, and Joseph returned it with a nod. “How are you today, sir?”

           “No need for sirs,” the man said as Steven came to a stop. “Not since you got me out of all that money trouble. What was that, around two years ago?”

           “Three I think.”

           “Ah, yes, yes. What can I do for you? I guess you have something you need built.”

           “Something like that. I need materials. Or if you don’t have them, I need to know where to find them.”

           “I’ve got some wood if that’s what you’re talking about.” Joseph gestured to the shed to his right, a slanted hut that was filled halfway with chopped wood. He squinted at Steven, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “But a man of your talents don’t know a thing about making gadgets out of wood, am I right?”

           Steven shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly embarrassed at the thought of old man Joseph looking at them. “I want to make something for my wife,” he said suddenly. “For our anniversary.”

           “Ah.” With that word, Joseph groaned, standing up. “Now we’re talking. You got an idea, son?”

           Steven touched his wallet in his pocket, sighing. “I think you should know, I don’t have any money, Mr. Joseph.”

           “You and everybody else.” Joseph hobbled over to the woodshed. “I owe you for the money business anyhow. Now come on, while we still have sunlight to work.”

           Steven explained his idea, and Joseph picked out some wood that he thought would work best. While Joseph got to work sawing down the wood, Steven returned home and grabbed his barely used power tools. The two worked for hours, and loath as he was to admit it, Steven knew he wouldn’t have been able to craft this on his own. He winced every time Joseph turned on the drill and yelped when a nail pricked his thumb. Joseph found a sturdy pole for them to use, and Steven rummaged through Joseph’s pile and managed to find a flat piece, though not without earning a splinter.

           The box was the hardest bit. Steven had to hold the pieces together while Joseph hammered, nailed, and drilled them together. It felt as if the drill was shaking Steven’s whole body, even though he was only holding the wood. Joseph finally fixed the final wall of the box, setting the drill down with a huff.

           “So far, so good. Just needs a door. I can fix one that flips up, to keep the rain out.”

           “Can it be done before lunch?”

           Joseph had a great black beard, but it didn’t hide his frown. “You’re lucky your wife’s a good gal,” he grumbled. “I’ll go make it real quick. Give me half an hour.”

           It didn’t feel any more than 5 minutes to Steven. He was too busy filing down the wood, the one part of the process Joseph said he couldn’t screw up. When Joseph came back, he had two hinges and a small door flap. He drilled it in, and the gift was finally done. They both stood back, looking at what most would see as a glorified box on a post.

           “You trying to paint it?” asked Joseph. Steven let out a tired, half-strangled laugh.

           “Do you have any paint?”

           “No, I’m a carpenter, not some artist.”

           “Then no, I’m not going to paint it.” Steven picked up one side, and after a moment, Joseph picked up the other. They moved, silent, back toward the middle of Camel. The kids from before stopped to watch them until one of them kicked the ball, and the game resumed. The owner of the Camel bar asked them to stop for a chat, but Steven was dragged along by the much stronger carpenter too quickly to respond.

           They stopped at the town hall, a two-floor brick building that was as old as the town. Joseph held the structure upright, allowing Steven to grab a shovel from the community shed. Steven held the shovel high, ready to break ground when he heard a clop-clop-clop on the concrete path.

           “Steven?” Laura was holding a child’s hand, gently pushing him toward the other kids when she saw her husband. Her lips were bent in a frown, hand waving to their creation. “What’s this?”

           His mouth felt dry, like sandpaper. He looked to Joseph for help, but the giant man had disappeared, the thing they had made laying on the grass. Gathering his courage, Steven put the spade in the ground and turned to his wife.

           “It’s your gift.” He held up a hand in surrender, stopping her before she could start. “It’s done, it’s already made. It was free, and the materials were gifted to me. And it’s for you.”

           “I told you we weren’t going to do anything!” Her voice couldn’t decide whether to be angry or squeaky. It ended up being a combination of both. Laura cleared her throat as Steven dug up the first bit of dirt. “What is that even supposed to be?”

           “It's for books.” He shoveled away another pile of dirt. It was almost deep enough for the pole now. “For your kids. Everyone in town can put some in. These things are popping up everywhere now. Someone puts a book in and borrows another, so there’s always something inside. Think of it as a little community library.”

           Laura stood there, watching him dig with her hands fisted at her sides. “I said we weren’t going to do anything,” she said, with no real venom. Steven struggled to drag the box over to the hole, holding it upright. He tried pushing the dirt back over the hole with his foot, but the weight of the box made it difficult. His hands gripped the box, adding more cuts to the tips of his fingers. He was going to drop it, he thought, his stomach dropping. He was going to ruin it, and then he’d have splinters, a broken gift, and an angry wife.

           His wife sighed, straightened out the bottom of her dress, and bent to the ground. Her hands, tanned with red nails, pushed the dirt over the hole and patted it down around the post. Steven held it steady until she was done. Slowly, he lifted his hands away from the box. It didn’t fall. It was a little crooked, but it was standing. Steven gave it a smack, just to make sure it wouldn’t collapse. Laura was still on the ground, sitting in a most unladylike fashion.

           “We said we weren’t going to do anything.” She rubbed her dirty hands on her dress. She looked up at him, still frowning. “Now what am I supposed to make for you?”

           Steven got on the ground himself, taking her hand in his. “A pie,” he offered, “with little strawberries. Or maybe a brown sugar one.” The sun shined a little brighter as she laughed. She used her free hand to reach out and trace a knot in the wood of the post.

           “It won’t be up for long,” she said, a little sad. “You know that, right?”

           “As long as it’s there for a little, and it makes you happy, then I’ll be fine.” Steven stood, bringing Laura up with him. “Come on, you promised me a pie.”

           “I did no such thing.” But she followed. It was gift enough.