Page 3 of Not Looking
I dropped my voice. “And knotting dildos for my heats.”
He burst into laughter. “That is one thing Miles doesn’t miss. His heats were so hard on him.”
“At least he had you,” I replied.
“And I was more than happy to help,” he chuckled.
“So are they hiring a new sales manager?” I asked, changing the subject.
He shook his head. “Everybody’s going up a rung on the ladder. Though the biggest change you’ll see is a new face in the yard and store rather than Oscar.”
“Is that why I haven’t seen as much of him?”
He nodded. “He’s been training on how to handle the small accounts.”
“Good for him. Hope he does well.”
“He’s picking it up easily enough.”
A beep sounded from a walkie-talkie on his belt.
“Oops, that’s me,” he laughed. Then he reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “It was good to see you before I left.”
“Same.”
He knelt and scratched behind Russy’s ears. “You too, Spud.”
Russy’s tail thumped against my leg as he enjoyed the attention.
He stood. “Well… maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Enjoy your vacation, and your retirement.”
“I will.” He grinned, then disappeared back into the employee-only area.
I looked down at Russy, who still wore a doggy smile after the interaction. Would he eventually realize that this was the last time he was going to see Jim? Sure, there was a small possibility I could run into him at the store or somewhere around Mount Sable, but the chances were small.
I reached down and scratched between his ears. “Come on, buddy.”
I returned to the scraps and found several pieces that I could use. Then I meandered over to the live-edge cuts and picked out a handful that would work well for charcuterie boards or trivets. While they weren’t my favorite things to make, they sold well—especially when paired with matching utensils.
Finally, I made my way over to the burls. I ignored the ones that had already been rounded into bowl blanks, knowing I could use scraps for smaller or resin pieces if I bought the whole thing. Unfortunately, not many caught my eye. There was one with some interesting bug holes, which could look neat when combined with resin. Another had a pretty spalting pattern.
I was halfway to the register when I heard footsteps jogging up behind me. I turned to see Oscar bearing a large chunk of wood.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said when he stopped beside me. “The guys cut this off a few minutes ago. I snagged it before they could turn it into boards. Interested in a crotch?”
I grinned and accepted the proffered chunk of wood. I turned it over and studied how the branches had diverged. It was still covered in bark, but I could imagine the grain pattern.
“Good call,” I finally replied. “I think this would make a gorgeous vase… or maybe a set of nested bowls.”
He grinned. “Great. Boards would have sold, but it’s on the smaller side, and I was hoping I’d catch you.”
“I appreciate it.”
He laughed. “Just doin’ my job.”
I found a spot for the crotch wood on my cart—careful to keep the wet piece away from the already dried cuts—and headed to the register. A few minutes later, Russy was supervising from the cab of the truck while I loaded my haul into the bed.
