The Woodworker’s Heart
jagged burst of reality. Two days. He had two days.
Grace Ashby, First Place The ambulance left the neighborhood with the somber pace of
a hearse, the red exterior strangely dark in comparison to the bright greens of the summer day. Cal sagged against the pillar of his front porch and reached up to finger the leather cord around his neck. The neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday morning. Children were kept inside their homes to avoid disturbing the somber silence while their parents peeked through their windows to see what was going on. The sound of the ambulance’s tires crunching against the asphalt road echoes in his ears long after it vanished from view. Cal wasn’t sure how long he stood there on the porch of their red brick house, several hours maybe, as the soft morning sun shifted into the brilliance of full day. He needed to get to work soon. He could feel the urgency begin to bubble up from the empty pit of his stomach. Cal closed his eyes. All he needed was a moment, a little pause in the hands of the clock to soak it all in before he lurched forward into a final [7]
“I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Oakheart. Is there anything I can do to help?” A hand landed on his shoulder and Cal looked up to see Charlie Johnson looking at him with his young face creased with empathy. “It’s Cal, kid,” remarked Cal, the words a reflex after three years of repeating them to the young man living in the home across the street. Charlie just shrugged, a boyish grin Cal had seen many times slipping onto his face as he ran his other hand through his short blond hair. “Four years with you as my woodshop teacher is a hard habit to break,” said Charlie. Cal had taught the woodshop and U.S. history classes at the Rockwood high school for decades before he retired. Leah had been the English teacher for 11th grade. While Cal was never one for picking favorites, Charlie had been one of the good ones. The kid had a talent for woodworking and the work ethic to back it up. A pity he never kept up with it when he went to college. Cal didn’t blame him. Engineering is far easier to make a living off of than woodworking. Still, it had been a pleasant surprise for him and Leah when their former student moved in with his wife in the house across the street from them five years ago. Leah liked to invite the young couple over
