PART 14: "The Empty Hands"
PART 14: "The Empty Hands"
Lily turned ten.
She didn't want a large party with caterers and string quartets. She wanted a bonfire on the edge of the estate, near the stone wall, with marshmallows and a telescope to look at the moon.
Richard spent the afternoon stacking firewood. He wore a faded flannel shirt and jeans. Dirt clung to his boots. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.
Lily watched him from the patio.
Over the past three years, she had watched him carefully. She had watched how he handled frustration when the car wouldn't start. She had watched how he spoke to her mother when they disagreed about finances. She had watched how he played with James, letting the toddler pull at his hair without swatting the small hands away.
She walked down to the fire pit.
"Do you need help?" she asked.
Richard wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. "I think I've got it. Just need to make sure the base is solid before I light it."
He knelt in the grass, adjusting a piece of kindling.
Lily stood beside him. She looked at his hands. They were calloused now. Scraped from the bark. Smudged with ash and earth.
"Your hands are dirty," she observed.
Richard looked down at his palms. He turned them over, studying the dirt embedded in the creases of his skin.
"They are," he agreed.
"They used to always be clean."
Richard paused. He understood what she meant. Clean hands meant he hadn't been doing the work. Clean hands meant he had been holding something else.
He rubbed his palms together, dusting off the loose soil. "I like them better dirty."
Lily nodded. She reached out and handed him a small piece of cedar to add to the pile.
"Me too," she said.
May you like
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