Chapter 12: The Splinter
The treehouse was nearing completion. The walls were up, the roof was shingled (somewhat haphazardly), and the trapdoor was functioning perfectly. Today's task was sanding down the rough edges of the window frames so no one got hurt leaning out.
Julian and Matteo were working side-by-side, the rhythmic shhh-shhh of the sandpaper filling the small wooden space.
"Make sure you go with the grain, buddy," Julian instructed gently, demonstrating with his own block of sandpaper. "It makes the wood smoother."
"I am," Matteo replied, pressing hard against the window sill.
Suddenly, Matteo let out a sharp cry of pain. He dropped the sandpaper and clutched his right hand against his chest, his face instantly draining of color.
Julian dropped his block and scooted across the floorboards. "What happened? Let me see."
Matteo shook his head, pressing his hand tighter against his shirt, his breathing turning rapid and shallow. The old panic was setting in. In the past, injuries or accidents were met with Julian's high-stress, frantic energy, which always made Matteo feel like he had done something wrong.
"Matteo, look at me," Julian said, his voice entirely devoid of panic. It was a low, steady, grounding rumble. "I'm not mad. I just want to help. Let me see your hand."
Slowly, trembling, Matteo pulled his hand away from his chest.
Embedded deep in the fleshy part of his palm was a massive, jagged splinter of oak. It was thick and dark, and a small bead of blood was pooling around the entry point.
Julian’s stomach did a nervous flip, but he kept his face perfectly neutral. "Ah. I see. The tree bit you back."
Matteo let out a small, terrified sniffle. "It hurts."
"I know it does," Julian said, gently cupping Matteo's wrist, careful not to touch the wound. "It’s a big one. But we can fix it. Let's go to the bathroom, and we'll get it out."
Julian helped Matteo down the rope ladder, keeping a supportive hand on his back the entire way across the lawn. When they reached the upstairs bathroom, Julian sat Matteo on the edge of the marble sink counter.
"Okay," Julian said, opening the first-aid kit and pulling out a pair of fine-tipped tweezers and some antiseptic. "This is going to sting for just a second. Do you want to watch, or do you want to look away?"
"Look away," Matteo whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
"Good choice," Julian said. "While I do this, I need you to answer a very important question for me. If our pirate ship had a pet, what kind of pet would it be?"
Matteo’s brow furrowed, his brain struggling to focus on the question rather than the impending pain. "A... a parrot?"
"Too cliché," Julian said softly, swiping the area with the cold antiseptic wipe. Matteo flinched, but Julian’s grip on his wrist was steady and reassuring. "Every pirate has a parrot. We need something tougher. Something scary."
"A shark?" Matteo suggested, his voice shaking a little less.
"How do we keep a shark on a treehouse ship?" Julian asked, pressing the tweezers firmly against the skin and gripping the edge of the splinter.
"In the moat," Matteo answered, opening one eye.
"Brilliant," Julian said. With one swift, smooth motion, he pulled the splinter free.
Matteo gasped, but the sharp pain instantly subsided into a dull throb.
"Got it," Julian smiled, holding up the tweezers to show Matteo the offending piece of wood. "That is a monster of a splinter. You handled that like a champ."
Julian quickly placed a small bandage over the wound. He looked up, expecting to see tears on Matteo's face.
Instead, Matteo was looking at him with a quiet, profound sense of awe. There was no fear in his eyes. There was no bracing for anger or impatience. For the first time in his young life, Matteo knew that when he was hurt, his father was a safe place to land.
"Does the shark have a name?" Julian asked, putting the tweezers away.
May you like
Matteo hopped down from the counter, inspecting his bandaged hand with pride. "His name is Chomper. And he only eats people who don't knock before using the trapdoor."
Julian laughed, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. "Understood. I will always knock."
