"Anything I can do?"
I'm going to have to stop asking that...
James turns back to his chopping board... "What could you possibly do?" ... slicing onion quarters into fine shavings.
He falls silent and again, after a few moments, I realise I am dismissed. Hands in pockets, I dither...
Now what?
The walk was probably the best idea...
Fresh air...
From beyond the kitchen door, something thumps: the thwack of axe on timber.
I know what I'm hearing. Pausing by the refrigerator, I rummage for what I'm sure will be there, then head outside, following the pounding from the woodshed. Much as I expected, I find Michael, his back to me, stripped to the waist, splitting wood.
A slice of pine sits on his tree-stump 'anvil', the cross-section of a trunk. Axe in hand, he swings with the practi
