Max walked with a light step from the schoolhouse to his shop. He felt a few inches taller than before his time with Charlotte. He whistled and thought out a plan to fix the schoolhouse’s furniture. He owned enough raw wood to replace the rotted benches, so that would be easy enough. He would work on that first and finish them before classes started so that no child would be in danger of breaking a seat and falling. The tables could be done later, if necessary. To prevent future wood rot, he and Tim would also need to patch any leaks in the roof upon discovering where they came from during the next rainfall.
Max heard a thud coming from inside his shop as he neared. He stopped whistling, which allowed him to hear a loud voice he recognized. Clenching his jaw, he walked to the door and shoved it open. He was greeted by the sight of Simon launching a hammer at Tim, followed by Tim ducking in time for the tool to hit the wall behind him.
Anger surged through Max, and his voice boomed. “Simon, what the fuck are you doing in my shop throwing around my tools?” He strode in his direction, fury making him feel like a powerful giant. “You all right, Tim?” he asked as he walked toward the man.
“Yeah. His aim has gotten worse,” Tim replied. His voice sounded dry and numb with hatred.
Max stopped in front of Simon, who stood up straighter and appeared to be gathering his wits. It took every ounce of self-control for Max not to punch him when he smiled.
“Do forgive me, Max. My son and I were having a bit of a disagreement.”
Max gritted his teeth at how he referred to Tim as his son, which as far as Max was concerned, he had no business doing, having never treated him like one. “You’re welcome to disagree with Tim, but not in my shop when he’s supposed to be working, and not with violence. What’s this all about?” Max glanced at the boy, who stood on the other side of the room with his arms crossed and his eyes set on his father. Something had changed in his posture. He didn’t appear afraid, only disgusted and angry.
“I hope you didn’t just tell me how to raise my own son,” Simon said jovially. “While I admit your shop is not the ideal location, and I do apologize, how I treat my son is none of your concern.”
“Tell me what this is about,” Max growled, impatient to deal with it so he could be rid of the man.
“Once again, it’s none of your concern,” Simon responded. He fixed Tim with a hard stare before he strutted out the door.
Max tossed his Stetson on a chair and looked at the boy, who avoided eye contact. He sat on his bench to resume his task of forming a chain.
“Well, Tim?”
“It’s nothing,” the boy responded, not looking up from his work.
“Bosh,” Max exclaimed. “Something is wrong, and you know very well I won’t let it go that easy. Now you stop what you’re doing and start exercising your jaw.”
Tim kept the chain in his hand and looked at him. “I don’t want to discuss it, Max,” he said, quietly and with resolve.
Max stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, and then cleared his throat. “Now you look here, young man. I’m proud of you for having the courage to stand your ground, but I’m disappointed that it’s happening now and with me. You’ve been secretive lately, and I thought I’d earned your trust.”
Tim looked down at the chain and shook his head. “I do trust you, Max. It has nothing to do with trust. I’m my own man, and I can take care of this situation.”
Max tied the strings of his chaps around his waist with a yank, then stuffed his gloves over his hands. “Unbelievable,” he muttered as he strode to his work table. He felt exasperated and offended that Tim and Simon shared knowledge of something without his involvement, and he didn’t like that whatever it was led to violence against the boy.
He swept metal shards off his table and pondered Tim’s unusual words and behavior, such as claiming to be his own man. Max let out an irritated sigh. Tim was still a boy, a vulnerable one at that, and he seemed to be in need of a man’s help. Max would help him without question, if Tim would only tell him how he might. Max worried silently, and the two of them didn’t speak again until Tim prepared to leave.
“I finished the chain. Thanks for letting me go early, Max.”
“It’s all right, Tim,” he said without looking up from his task, which was drafting the dimensions and structure for the benches.
Max didn’t hear him leave. He looked over and found the boy observing him with a pained expression. Max set his pencil on the table as Tim approached. Tim didn’t stop until he’d reached Max and wrapped his arms around him. Max felt stunned for a moment, but then returned the hug with a tight squeeze. He only released him when he felt the boy’s arms soften their grip around his waist. Max tousled his hair and gave him a small shove.