Don't Mind the Mess

“Sorry, I know it’s a bit of a state,” Declan said. “I’ll need a sec to clear the way. We don’t do much livin’ in the living room.”

The woman in her forties shrugged. “This is nudding. You should see my daughter’s car!”

Declan’s porch faced the stairwell to the second floor, with openings to the living room and kitchen on either side. He was on the woman’s left, arranging chairs, woodwork, candle collections, and his bike so he could penetrate the living room. Another woman, roughly the same age as the first, stepped upon the landing to look down the stairs at the guest. “My son, always bringing home the ladies!” She winked.

The guest smiled, “You must be Patty. I’m Felicia. I works at the Dominion pharmacy.” They were in St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador, and spoke as such.

Declan made some bangs and thumps. Patty asked: “Would you like some tea?”

“Please,” Felicia said.

It was common in the province for social gatherings to happen in the kitchen and, as with many townhouses, this meant an adjoining dining table with just enough room for chairs. They had a few framed pictures, a door to the backyard beside wall-mounted coat hangers, a door to what was once a sewing room, and a small floral centrepiece.

After the ladies were seated with their teas, Declan joined them carrying a tall blue bottle. Locals would recognize the distinct shape and colour as those of Qidi Vidi’s Iceberg beer. It was full of wax and had a wick sticking out of the top.

“Oh, wow,” Patty said. “I’m surprised we still got some of those.”

“This is one of four,” Declan said. “Felicia here has been supporting my stuff for a while.”

“Really?” Patty said. “How come I haven’t seen you with Shuffle?”

“Shuffle?” Felicia tilted her head.

“That’s what everyone calls me,” Declan explained. “Buddies, school, neighbours, what-not.” He’d set down the beer-candle and fixed himself a coffee with the still-hot kettle as he spoke. “Used to be Deck, short for my name, but people started seeing how I spend my time. Now I’m Shuffle.” He grinned as he sat. “Takes a full schedule to shuffle time.”

“Wild,” Felicia remarked. “What else do you do, then?”

Mother and son looked at each other.

“I’ve been with him a fair bit at the Farmer’s Market,” Patty started.

“That’s where I just seen him,” Felicia said.

“Felicia subs for choir and does some volunteer stuff at school,” Declan explained to Patty. “Now I think of it, the times I’ve seen her at Market is when you’re busy with the woodwork.”

There was a circle of nods and mug-sipping before Patty continued: “Me and Shuffle, we works a lot together. Sometimes in the same room, sometimes on the same ting, y’know?”

“Seems the way of it, these days. People working three or four jobs. Side hustles. But I’m startin’ to think you two have a job for every finger! Did I see soap and electronics in there?”

Patty laughed. “I help, but it’s mostly Shuffle, m’dear. I’m most of the woodworking, some call centre, works for the community centre. Organizing dinners, bingo, and the like.”

Felicia’s face grew. “And here I thought it was little Declan coming out of nowhere! Apples and trees, so they say.” She smiled at the young man.

He took his cue. “It started with the fundraising, I think. You remember my dad.”

Felicia was blank for a moment. Then she sat up straighter. “My god, not the lineman’s family?”

The pair nodded grimly.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“It’s been a few years now,” Declan shrugged.

“But thank you,” Patty added. “And maybe it started with the fundraising. Hard to say. My Shuffle was always a tinker.”

He furrowed his brow and sipped his coffee as he considered this. “I s’pose I poked at the gadgets. My youngest memory was sittin’ with Dad, puttin’ a broken radio back together, gettin’ mad when he told me how.”

“And there was the neighbour’s dollhouse,” Patty added.

“Right!”

“This I gotta hear,” Felicia said.

“He likes knowing the working of things,” Patty beamed.

Declan scratched behind an ear. “The whole thing of making stories with dolls was weird to me. The way it was more like a half a house than an actual house. Spent a lot of time with the neighbour girls when I was a kid, trying to make sense. There were bullies, but I played as much hopscotch as tag.”

Sips.

“Dad grumbled about it a little. Said his son was his son. I didn’t really get that. I did get the gadgets, though. I wired the dollhouse.” Declan’s grin was slow and just a touch shy, like he wanted to be the narrator and not the character in the story.

“I assume yer fadder wanted to help, and you’d have none of it?” Felicia glanced at Patty now and again to include her, but mostly the focus was on the young man.

“That’s right,” Declan said. There were enough gadgets to go around. I managed to get sound effects going through a speaker I took from those old teddy bears with the squeeze effects?”

“Right on. I feel a ‘but’ coming…” Felicia prompted.

“One of the girl’s friends wanted hers suped up, too. It started a whole thing. I was that guy who could fix your remote control car, restore saving to NES cartridges, beef up your Barbie suite. Started charging for it. Trading snacks or getting the odd loonie or toonie from it.”

“He’s glossing over the drama,” Patty pointed out.

Felicia raised a brow and watched Declan until he sighed.

“One of the girls used a dollhouse that belonged to her grandma. Heirloom stuff. Dad got involved, sorted it out. He was like that. Dad never let me forget that he was proud of my ‘wiry hands,’ but kept giving me those talks about how social groups were gizmos, too.” Declan’s expression had been sinking as he went. As though shuffle had landed him on a sad song. Then the smile snuck in. “I got him good, though; told him I talked to girls easier than he did.”

“Cute,” Felicia remarked after the trio finished laughing. “So who made the boat nesting doll?”

“We actually worked on that one together,” Declan said.

“I usually make bigger stuff,” Patty said, “and Shuffle’s after learning a bunch from me. But he’s more for smaller things with moving parts and tricks. Spent six months once trying to make those 3D wooden puzzles.”

“I can show you some of that stuff, too,” Declan said. “I think you’ll like my soaps. You’re not a perfume person, but I knows you likes a little scent.”

Felicia smiled at Patty. “Sharp nose, that one.”

“Don’t get me started,” Patty chuckled.

Declan blinked and they laughed. He fetched biscuits while Patty fixed more tea. Felicia examined the beer bottle candle until everyone was settled back in, then lifted it. “You told me at the market that you have candles that ‘do’ candle and candles that ‘don’t’ candle. Is this what you meant?”

“I can give you other ones I made if you want one you can light,” Declan said. “But this one will only go so far, since you want to cut the neck off if you're gonna fill the bottle with wax. I made these special.”

“Why make a candle you can’t really light?” Felicia was turning and tilting it as she spoke, but she sounded less doubtful than curious.

“So you can’t burn it away,” he said. “I made them during DarkNL.”

“He got all excited after the second day,” Patty said, and her voice was sweet with sadness. Her eyes carried a careful, melancholy warmth. “Obviously, his father was working overtime. Shuffle made me take him out for four blocks, asking people to give us the wax from their used candles.”

Felicia’s jaw eased a little lower and she looked at Declan anew.

“I made them from the Dark,” he said. “At first, I was just messing around, but we got the news about the drunk driver when we got home. I spent the night cleaning out the bottles Dad used to use for his homebrews, and the scattered Iceberg ones. Slept in his old summer work clothes while Mom made calls. Made most of the candles late in the fourth day. Not sure why that mattered, even now, but I had to do, you know?”

“Shouldn’t you keep what’s left, then?” Felicia set the bottle back on the table.

“You see my bike when we came in?” Declan asked. But he was pointing to a map of Newfoundland on the wall beside the cupboards. “I do some tour guide stuff in the summers. Have for years. When a piece of home goes missing, you gotta wander then. Till you gets back to it.”