CHAPTER 16

Isla

“That one goes in the great room.”

I point the delivery guy in the right direction. This is the third delivery today. The huge horseshoe-shaped sectional couch was delivered this morning, along with the twin dressers and nightstands we picked from the same place in Albuquerque. Those were in a spare bedroom for now. The second delivery of furniture was a collection of smaller items: stools, bookshelves, and a desk and chair for the office, as well as some high-end pots and pans I can’t wait to put to use.

This last one is the one I know Ben’s been waiting for; the big screen TV. We don’t have cable up here, but apparently Ben knows a guy who installs satellite, and he’s scheduled to come in sometime this week.

“I have years of football to catch up on,” he said with a grin, making me groan out loud.

We scrubbed everything yesterday. More than once, but the smell still lingered. Ben insisted he wasn’t going to have me sleep in the stench of his old life. I was going to argue, but when I saw his face, I decided against it. This morning he was already here, scrubbing the floor again, by the time I walked up with Atsa.

Now the windows are open in the master suite, to get rid of the chlorine fumes, and Ben is out with the dog to find some firewood for the fireplace that bisects the large picture windows.

I close the door behind the delivery guy, who left the huge box propped against the wall, and head back to the kitchen, where I was washing the new plates and glassware that were packed in the trailer with the bed. The new pots are already done and hanging from the massive pot rack, dangling over the island.

For now, we’re going to make do with stools at the counter, instead of a dining room table, because Ben really wants to make one. I worry a bit, with all the projects he’s got lined up, that he’ll get bored when he runs out of things to do. Is he worried about that?

“Hang on, boy.” I can hear Ben mutter to the dog when they come in. “Let me clean your paws.”

Makes me smile. Yesterday he’d laughed when I put an old towel by the door for Atsa’s muddy or wet feet. Today he’s using it without prompting. And they say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

“I’ve got some deadwood that needs cutting, but I don’t want to do it with the dog outside,” Ben says, walking into the kitchen stocking footed. He gives my neck a kiss in passing, before opening the double door refrigerator and pulling out a beer. “The TV’s here?”

“Just arrived.”

I watch as he grabs his bottle and goes straight for the big box. I sigh when I think about the boxes holding the pieces of our bed in the master suite.

I dry and put away the last of the glassware and head down the hallway to our bedroom, leaving Ben to play with his new toy. I don’t need him to put together a bed.

-

“I’m putting that together,” Ben says twenty minutes later, when he finds me sitting on the bedroom floor, boxes opened all around me, reading the instructions carefully. “And we don’t need this.” He plucks the sheet of paper from my hands and tosses it over his shoulder. Then he hands me my phone. “You’ve got it on vibrate. I found it almost buzzing off the kitchen counter. It’s Al, I just missed him.”

“You sure you can manage?” I ask him, taking the phone and scrambling to my feet. I know I’m poking the bear, but it’s fun to see his eyes narrow on me. “I mean, I did already read the instructions and all.”

“Out,” he growls, which I ignore as I lift on tiptoes and kiss his scruffy jaw.

“If you’re sure...”

“Pixie.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just give Uncle Al a call then.”

“That’d be good.”

I’m already dialing as I walk inside the great room. I sink down on the new couch and feast my eyes on the view.

“How’s my girl?” my uncle’s smiling voice answers.

“I’m good. No, I’m great.” I correct myself, smiling at his voice.

“How’s that boy treating you?” I roll my eyes. My uncle never fails to call the big, husky man, currently wrestling our new bed, a boy.

“Uncle Al...” I chastise, as I always do and Al just chuckles.

“Gotta ask, girl. Especially since I’ve gotta call six times before you even give me a ring back.”

“I’m sorry. Left the phone on the counter. I was working in the kitchen earlier.”

“So how’s the house coming along?”

I feel bad for my uncle. This was originally his idea, and he hasn’t had a chance to see any of it yet, except through pictures.

“It’s mostly done, just some cosmetic stuff now. We had some...a delay, but we’re back on track now.” I feel guilty not telling my uncle about the recent events, but he’s had his hands full with Ginnie, whose health hasn’t been great. That’s the reason he hasn’t been down yet, he didn’t want to leave and then have something happen to her.

“How’s Ginnie?”

“Much better,” he chuckles after a brief pause. “For sure, I thought that was it for her, but that woman is indestructible. She doesn’t know me at all anymore, after this last episode, though. Keeps asking me who I am. Every day I walk in, hoping I’ll see some recognition, and she smiles pleasantly enough, but it’s no different when she greets anyone else.”

My heart is heavy for my uncle. Already he’s had to say goodbye to one wife, and although Ginnie is apparently hanging in physically, it sounds like her mind is long gone, along with all their memories. It’s heartbreaking.

“That’s tough, honey,” I say softly, knowing he won’t want the tears filling my eyes anyway, or the words of sympathy I’m feeling.

“Yeah, kid. Tough is right. But she’s happy, you know? She giggles at everything and her hands are always busy, she hasn’t forgotten the knitting.”

“Crocheting, Uncle Al,” I gently correct him. Ginnie hated knitting, but always had a crocheting project in her purse she could pull out anywhere, like others carry rosary beads or something.

“Same damn thing,” he responds, the same way he’s done many times before, and it makes me smile. So much has changed, but when you look at the details, so little is different.

“So I’m thinking,” he says casually. “Maybe I’ll come down for a visit at some point, now that things with Ginnie have settled down. I’ll stay at that Dolores Mountain Inn, always wanted to see what that’s like.”

“Nonsense,” I interrupt. “We’ve got room. I won’t have you staying anywhere else.”

“Stubborn,” I hear him mumble over the phone.

“I learned from the best,” I fire back, making him laugh. “Look, how about getting away for Christmas? Or would you prefer to stay with Ginnie during the holidays?” He’s quiet for a minute before he answers.

“I was dreading Christmas, to be honest,” he says, the struggle with his emotions evident in his voice. “Last year she was still mostly there. We made some good memories. The thought of sitting across from someone I still love with all my heart, who has no idea who I am, or what Christmas is, is not something I want to have as my last memory.”

“Understood.” I struggle to swallow down the ache I feel at hearing his pain. “Come as soon as you feel you can get away,” I forge on, not lingering on the sadness, which I know my uncle won’t want. “You’ll like the trailer we got from your old buddy here. It needs some work, though.”

“Yeah? How’s Phil? Did he try to shoot you off his property?” It’s good to hear his chuckle. It’ll be good for him to come and see his old buddies.

“It was close,” I joke, glad to hear my uncle’s mood lifted.

By the time I end the call, he’s all geared up for his visit and excited to take Ben’s niece exploring, like he used to do with me when I was a kid.

In the laundry room, I empty the dryer and quickly fold all the new bath towels on the nifty, fold-down shelf Ben apparently installed. It doubles as an ironing board. There are more dandy little touches he’s added. A shallow knife drawer, right beside the stove. A drop down spice rack, underneath the upper cabinet. And in one of the bedrooms, he reconfigured the closet with storage slots for office supplies on the inside of the door.

One of the things I enjoyed about living in the trailer was the practical use of every nook and cranny. Everything had its place. Ben has brought a little of that into our new house.

With the stack of towels in my arms, I walk into the master bedroom, finding Ben sitting on the floor, in the middle of the bedframe, looking a bit confused at two large pieces of wood still lying unused, beside the rolls of slats, on the far side of the room. I struggle not to chuckle as I walk by, as if nothing is wrong, and quickly put away the towels in the bathroom.

“Looks good.” I press my lips together and lean quasi-casually against the doorframe. From the slightly stormy look Ben sends me, I know he knows I’m laughing inside.

“We’re gonna have to send this back. There’s something wrong with it,” he grumbles, waving his hand around.

Atsa, who was sleeping in his bed in the great room earlier, saunters into the room, and nudges his big head against my knee.

“Need to go out, buddy?” From the enthusiastic wagging of his tail, I deduct he likes the sound of that. We haven’t really let him go off alone without one of us being outside.

“I’ll take him,” Ben offers, pushing up off the floor. “I need a break before I take this piece of shit apart and ship it back. Son of a bitch,” he swears under his breath as he walks out of the room, taking Atsa with him. Right before I hear the front door slam, he has one parting thought.

“But we’re keeping that goddamn mattress!”

Ben

“Let’s go, Atsa! I’m freezing.”

My face is numb with the wind coming up off the water. The temperature is well below freezing, and I can see the system they were warning about coming in from the west. Eight to ten inches of snow expected at higher elevations. A bit early, not even quite December, but anything is possible in the mountains.

“Atsa!”

Some stumbling in the underbrush, and out comes the dog, trying to drag half a tree trunk with him.

“Buddy, that’s not a stick.” I chuckle when he proudly drops the thing and stands over it, looking mighty pleased with himself. I have to stop him when he makes a move to drag it toward the house. “You’ve got toys inside. Sticks are for outside.”

We make it inside, me with a hand on his collar, while he struggles the entire way. I leave him whimpering at the door to kick off my boots and hang my coat. In the kitchen, I grab his bowl and fill it with kibble. In two seconds he’s there, his tongue lolling and the tree trunk forgotten.

With the dog inhaling his food, and my mind a little clearer, I head back to the bedroom, determined to have another go at that frame. Maybe I’ll have a quick peek at the instructions. I stop right inside the doorway.

“Come lie down with me.” Isla smiles and pats the mattress next to her. “Help me flatten it.” She’s talking about the mattress. The mattress that is on the bed, that now looks to be complete. I throw a quick glance around the room. Nothing left. Not a single piece of wood, screw, bolt, or nut is left on the floor.

Isla’s soft snicker draws my eyes back to her. On the bed, casually waving the instruction sheet between her fingers. Fuck me.

“I hate Ikea,” I mutter, as I drop down on the mattress beside her. “But I love you.” I reach over and pull her giggling on top.

“Ditto,” she says, propping her chin on her hands folded on my chest. “On the second part, because I love Ikea, too.”

“Whatever,” I gripe, lifting my head to kiss her.

“You’ve got a cold nose.”

“It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there,” I inform her, rolling her off me, and swinging my feet to the floor. “I should build a fire. Grab some of the smaller pieces for tonight. I’ll chop the rest tomorrow.”

“You know we still have about half a cord left behind the trailer, right?” she points out, lying on her side propped up on her elbow. “Chopped and ready to go.”

“Not the same,” I tell her. “I’ll need to chop a lot of wood to make up for my loss of manhood over this damn piece of Ikea crap.” The peal of her laughter follows me all the way to the front door.

-

I check one last time, to make sure I have the flue open, before I strike a match to the kindling. Sitting back on my heels, I watch as the small flame slowly licks around the dry wood.

In the end, I drove down to raid the woodpile behind the trailer anyway. Whatever I’d dragged from the woods was either too big or too wet.

The chassis of the old truck almost hit some of the dips and bumps on the gravel path of the campground, with the load of the snow blade in front and the wood piled in the back weighing it down. I’d need a wheelbarrow to haul the rest of the wood onto the small overhang by the door, but for now, I just brought what I could carry. 

The dog lifts his head when a piece of dry wood snaps in the flames, only to drop it back to his paws, his eyes already closing again. Isla’s humming something in the kitchen as she throws together some dinner, and I grab an old paperback I found at the bottom of my duffel bag when I was unpacking.

Reading. For years it had been the only thing I could occasionally lose myself in, until it eventually became more about the exercise than it did the pleasure.

Now I want to read because I feel like it.

-

“Want to watch something on Netflix on my laptop?” Isla asks after dinner. Whatever Internet hookup she had at the trailer via HughesNet, works up here as well.

“Like what?” I ask, making room beside me on the couch.

“Have you ever seen The Shining?” she asks, spotting my old Stephen King book on the couch.

“If I have, I can’t remember. I’m pretty sure I’ve read the book,” I confess.

“Oh, you’d remember,” she says, smiling. “You’ll love it. It’s all about this snowed in place up in the mountains. Jack Nicholson? I love him.”

I listen to her rattle on about Jack Nicholson and what movies he was in, while she logs into her Netflix account on the laptop. From what I know about Jack Nicholson, he’s a bit of an asshole.

The movie is pretty good. Especially since it would seem Isla is a bit jumpy and thus is plastered against me during most of it.

Just as Jack is trying to prove he’s not a dull boy, by chopping down a bathroom door, a notification pops up on the screen, startling both of us. Without thinking, I reach over and click on it. Isla’s email opens automatically to the last received message. A grainy image with lettering in the top left hand corner, circled in red.

“That’s an ultrasound,” Isla says, leaning forward to look closer before I hear her suck in a sharp breath. “Of a baby,” she adds. “That woman’s name is on there.”

I lift the laptop from the table and enlarge the image. It takes me a second to process what I’m looking at, but when it sinks in, it feels like someone hit me upside the head with a sledgehammer.

Kaiser, Jahnee — 30, F  DIAGNOSTIC CENTER

E31579-05-08-31GA:19w0d  31-08-2005

As if nothing happened.

I’d watched and waited, and then I’d finally got a break. I had to show her, she couldn’t claim what was already mine. But now it looks like the message didn’t get across.

Delivery trucks going up and coming down, but no sign of Brent, or that bitch. I don’t understand. He’d know by now it’s me. Surely there’s no way he can stay with her when he knows I’m out here. His.

He’s blinded by her.

Not even the decency to put drapes up. Cozy as can be, with her filthy hands all over him. The whole world can look in as she buries her face in his chest—MY chest—and he ruffles her hair with a smile.

That touch is mine.

That smile is mine.

Time to remind him for once and for all.