by Huss, JA
“Put the baby in the car,” I tell the girl in a low voice that rumbles under Mrs. Pearson’s high-pitched one. She doesn’t even balk, just nods, puts the baby in the carrier, and heads to the door.
I did not have to tell her twice.
He obedience gives me more pleasure than it should and I’m trying to figure out why when Mrs. Pearson appears next to me cackling about how I should trade my Bronco in for a minivan like my rental. “It’s not my child, Mrs. Pearson. She’s some girl I’m helping out, that’s all.”
But Mrs. Pearson’s not listening. She just goes on and on about the safety rating on a Bronco. “I’m fairly certain a 1986 Bronco has no safety rating,” I tell her absently as I walk around the office lobby picking up the baby crap, shoving it into a diaper bag decorated with pink teddy bears. I make my way to the door as quickly as possible, barking out a loud, “Thank you,” as I go back out into the blizzard. The girl is still struggling with the seat in the back of the van so I stand and wait for her to be finished, the snow beating down on both of us. It seems rude to get in when she’s about to be blown across the parking lot.
She finishes with the baby and turns into me, her hands pushing on my chest and her eyes wide in surprise. I grab her wrists to remove her hands and she yelps. “Sorry,” she says softly, then snags the diaper bag and throws it on the floor. I back away as she whooshes the van door closed and runs to the other side to get in.
Mrs. Pearson is watching us from the door with a concerned look on her face and I get in hurriedly to prevent her from coming out to help. I slam the door and the girl lets out a long groan.
“Oh. My. God. I did not know it was possible for people to talk so—oh, shit! She’s coming! Go, go, go!”
I put the van in drive and give Mrs. Pearson a small wave as we pull away. “Yeah, she’s something, that woman.” I look over at the girl and she’s shaking her head, but also smiling. It’s the first time I’ve seen the smile. It’s nice.
She looks very different when she smiles. Softer.
Her eyes are wide and dark, excited. She looks back over her shoulder as we leave the motel behind and then her gaze rests on me. “Sorry. You’re probably wondering why I’m in your car.”
“I know exactly why you’re in the car.”
Her smile fades slowly. “Why? Why am I here? Why didn’t you tell me you were paying for my car to be fixed? Mrs. Pearson called over to the garage and that guy told her you were gonna take care of it. It’s a big bill. More than two thousand dollars. I—” She stops to study my face intently. “I don’t even know you. Why are you helping me?”
“I thought you needed it.”
She stares at me for a long time. I’m busy navigating my way across I-70 towards my house, but I can see her out of the corner of my eye. Hesitating. Like she’s got a choice in front of her and she’s not sure which way to go. “I do need it,” she finally says.
“That’s a nice change.”
“What is?”
“Admitting you need help. Most people refuse on principle.”
She grunts out a laugh. “I left my principles behind a while back.”
This piques my interest. “How so?”
“Never mind.” She turns in her seat to check the baby as I veer left onto Sunburst. “Not that I’m in the position to be picky, but where are we going?” She sits back down and suddenly realizes she has no seatbelt on and we’re driving through a blizzard. She drags it across her chest and snaps it in the other end.
“I have a family home here. We can stay there. I would’ve gone last night, but we’re at the very end of this road, up on a hill. Plus the house has been empty for two years, so it would not have been much comfort with no heat or hot water. It should be working now, though.”
She accepts that answer without comment, but a few seconds later she’s back. “How can you even see where you’re going?”
“This is Vail. It’s a small village situated in a very narrow valley between two giant mountains alongside a major highway. There’s really nowhere to go.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not a local, so pardon me.”
I ignore that and stop the van at the security gate that leads to our driveway. I open the window and the baby bellows out a wail when the wind blows snow in. I key in the code and the gate slides open. “If I had come last night, I’d never have made it past the gate with the snow. So good thing I didn’t try, I guess.”
She says nothing to that, just looks back at the baby with a concerned expression.
I close the window but the infant is not so easily consoled. At least the property management people plowed the driveway. Otherwise this stupid van really would’ve bottomed out on the way up. We climb slowly, the girl letting out a few gasps as we slip around, the all-wheel drive kicking in just in time. And then it flattens out and I pull around the side of the house to the garage. “Stay here, I have no garage door opener so I have to key it open with a code.”
I jump out and pick my way over to the door, minding the slick covering of ice under my dress shoes, then open the garage. The girl has jumped into the driver’s seat and she pulls the van in, looking like she’s trying hard to concentrate on doing a good job parking.
What have I started here? I’m not sure, but yesterday and today seem like two different lifetimes. Unrelated in almost every way.
The girl jumps out and swings the back seat door open. The baby is sprinkled with snow, her eyes closed, but her little mouth is scrunched up like she’s ready to lose it. “Oh no!” The girl bites her lip and looks back at me.
“What?” I ask.
“All our clothes and stuff are back in my car. I have a few diapers and a clean t-shirt for her, but not much else.” She looks at me like she’s afraid I’ll bite her head off over this.
“What?” I ask, annoyed with that expression.
“You’ll have to take me back. I’m sorry. Really, I know I’m a major pain in your ass right now—”
“Save it.” I hold up a hand and grab her bag from the floor and then move out of the way so she can unhook that baby contraption from the seat belts. “We have to go back out anyway. I just wanted to come check on things before I went to the store. There’s nothing in this house to eat, and aside from tap water coming through pipes that have been sitting for two years, and some very fucking expensive Scotch whiskey, nothing to drink either. So there’s no way we’re not going back out. And since the Safeway is on the west side of the village, we have to go past the garage again anyway.”
“Oh, good.” She lets out a long breath of relief as she lifts the carrier out of the back seat and we walk over to the door that leads to the house. “OK. Thanks so much for your help. The room, the car. I’ll pay you back.”
I wave her through the door, then flip on the lights. “There’s no need, really. And I’m not trying to have a polite argument about it, I seriously don’t want or need your money. So drop it.”
I catch the dirty look from the corner of my eye, but she holds her response back.
I do not care at this moment because I am back in our family home. I walk through the kitchen, drop the baby stuff on the granite island, and then walk into the middle of the living room and look around.
Dark hardwood floors. Everything is shades of black, white, and gray. It’s got a minimalist feel.
“It’s nice,” the girls says as she looks around. “Not how I expected a house in Vail to look—I figured ski lodge people would have rustic homes. But still, it’s nice.”
“It’s horrible.” And it is. Ultra-modern—just like my downtown Denver condo. My parents hated this look, but they redid this house and let me pick the designer. And my designer picked all this cold furniture with the chrome and glass. All these sharp lines and contrasting colors.
That was right before my dad died.
I used to like the minimalist look, but I’d give anything to have our old stuff back right now. The sagging brown couches instead of these gray ones. The dark waln
ut coffee and end tables instead of these glass ones. The family photos on the walls instead of this pretentious shit they call art around here.
The girl tries to bounce a little on the long gray couch, then gives up. “Huh.”
“Huh what?”
She looks up at me with a sly smirk. “Yeah, it’s horrible.”
“The basement is nicer. More casual. At least the couches are overstuffed leather. I’m gonna sleep down there.”
“Why? Don’t you have more than one bedroom?”
“Yeah, I have a room and my parents have a room. But I’m not sleeping in either of those beds, so I’ll take the downstairs couch.”
She looks down the hallway towards the bedrooms and for a second it feels like she’s gonna say something, but then she closes her mouth and looks back up at me with a smile. “OK.”
I walk to the bathroom and turn the water on. It runs clear and after about a minute or so, it’s warm too. “Well,” I say, coming back out to the living room. “Looks like we have hot water, so that’s good.” The girl is slumped against the back of the couch looking exhausted. “Do you want to stay here while I go into town?” She shakes her head and drags herself up. The baby is already sleeping. “She sure does sleep well.”
“Yeah,” the girl says a little wistfully. “People think new babies are hard, but the new ones sleep.” She turns her face up to me and smiles. “A couple weeks from now she’ll keep me up all hours of the night, but for now, all she wants is milk and rest.”
“How old?” I try again since she’s not pissed at me right now.
“Three and a half months.”
“And you’re driving a piece-of-shit car over a snowy mountain with a three-month-old, all alone… why?”
She gets up and grabs the baby carrier, her jaw tense and her posture stiff. “I’m ready if you are.”
I wave her back the way we came, but I’m not satisfied. Not at all. Because this girl has a ring on her finger, a new baby, and she’s alone in a strange place with no money. Crossing the mountains unprepared in the dead of winter is stupid. And in spite of the fact that I did the same thing, it’s not even remotely comparable. I’m a man, I’m rich, I have a house along the way. I’m from here. I, at the very least, have a survival kit in my truck with very expensive blankets that will keep you warm in subzero temperatures even if you sit your ass outside in the snow.
She has nothing and she’s not the least bit bothered by it beyond keeping it to herself.
And I don’t like that one bit.
Because this girl is starting to remind me a little too much of the old Rook.
Chapter Nine
“The car is locked inside.”
I feel a little bad for her as I fool with my phone web browser. She’s genuinely distraught at having all her things locked away inside Jason’s garage. “He won’t come open it so you can get your stuff, so we’ll just get what you need at the store.”
She turns away from the window she’s fogging up with her breath and stares at me. Silent.
“What?” I ask absently, still paying attention to the search results on my phone.
“Nothing,” she sighs. “If you say so.” She turns back to the window and I put my phone away. I pull out of Jason’s and make our way back onto I-70 to get to the west side of the village, and then she turns back to me. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m not more appreciative. I’m just…”
I wait. The car is silent except for the blast of hot air coming from the heater vents. But she’s dropped it and I hate that. “You’re just what?” I prod.
She waits again. And then, just when I think she’s ignoring me, she says very softly, “I’m just not sure what’s happening.”
I slow the van down so we don’t slide into the car in front of us when we get off the freeway, but as soon as I turn right to go to Safeway, I can’t wait anymore, so I ask. “You’re not sure about what? I don’t understand your confusion.” I figure she’s gonna ask me what my intentions are. Hell, if I was a girl with a new baby traveling alone, and some guy picked me up and wanted to pay for everything, that’s the first fucking thing I would’ve asked.
But she’s done talking about it because she changes the subject. “Do they have a Wal-Mart here?”
I laugh.
“What?”
I laugh again. “This is Vail. We have a Patagonia, a Sports Authority, a million ski and board shops, several survival gear stores, one 7-11, and a Safeway. Unless you count the boutiques in Vail Village, but I do not. We can go there tomorrow and get you more clothes if you need it, but not today. You have to walk in from the parking garage, and even though the sidewalks are heated so snow is not a problem, I’m not in the mood to boutique shop in Vail Village during a blizzard. So I’ll hit the Safeway for groceries and you can shop for clothes in the consignment store next door.”
“What if it’s not open?”
“I already checked, they’re open until four.”
“Well,” she says with a little sigh that might be relief. “I guess you’ve got it all figured out, then.”
“I do,” I say as I pull up in front of the consignment shop. She gets out and opens the back door and the wind whips snow inside. She grabs that pain-in-the-ass baby carrier and I get out some cash from my wallet and thrust it at her. “Here, get whatever you need.”
She stares at the bills in my outstretched hand for a moment, then looks up to my eyes. “Did he send you?”
“What? Who?”
She shakes her head and mutters, “Nothing.” And then she grabs the cash and the baby carrier and whooshes the door closed.
“Did who send me?” I have a paranoid vision of her being some mob boss’ daughter on the run after witnessing a triple murder of some important politician’s family… and then I laugh myself out of it. Fuck, Ford. You have some imagination. Not everyone is a criminal. I’m not sure who this girl is or what that remark just meant, but right now I do not care. The snow is getting worse and I just want to get this shopping crap over with and go home.
Home.
That word in association with Vail evokes feelings in me that I’m not sure how to identify. I’ve lived here on and off my entire life. In that house. In that bedroom. But now this place feels… empty for me. It’s missing something.
No, that’s not right. It’s missing everything.
I park the van and jog towards the entrance before the snow drenches me.
The Safeway doors slide open when I approach and I’m bombarded with leftover Christmas shit. I skirt around an employee trying to hand me samples of corned beef, and then grab a cart. I hit the alcohol first. I grab a few local brew six-packs and then head to the meat department.
I can cook. Regardless of what Spencer thinks, I have no problem cooking. I might not push a vacuum around, but that’s only because I have maids who do that for me. But eating is something I have to do a few times a day so cooking is a survival skill.
I grab a few pounds of boneless chicken, some rice, and other small things to make it taste a little better. I wander around the produce department and pick up some vegetables for a salad. I’m perusing the drinks aisle when I hear the baby behind me.
“Hey,” the girl says as she comes up laden with bags and the carrier.
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, the shop girl practically kicked me out. I was her only customer all day and she was just thinking she could close early when I walked in. I got a few things real fast. I didn’t spend much.”
I take the bags and put them in the grocery cart and she balances the baby carrier on the front seat and takes over the driving.
I shake my head at that. Fucking girls. “I got a few things, but you can get whatever you want.”
“I have to get diapers.” She looks back at me. “If that’s OK?”
I wave her on. “Whatever you need.”
She leads the way after that and I follow, feeling a bit uncomfortable to be doing something so personal as groc
ery shopping with a total stranger and her child. But then, I spent last night with her, she’s staying with me this weekend, and I paid for her car to get a new engine. So I guess grocery shopping is not so strange after all.
She whips the cart around the corner and looks up at the aisle signs as she walks, then takes a hard right into the baby stuff. She barely stops, just grabs things off the shelf as she walks. Tosses in diapers, a bib, and a box of something. “I have a bowl and spoon, so I don’t need that,” she explains when she notices me watching her intently.
“OK,” I reply. She stops at the end of the aisle. “You done?”
“I think so.”
“Do you need anything specific? Milk?” She glances down at her breasts and I let out a small chuckle. “For you, I mean.”
“Oh, I’ll eat whatever, but thank you.”
“OK.” And that’s that. Shopping is over. We stand in the checkout line, which is long since there’s a threat of another storm coming and people are reactionary when they think they might be snowed in for a day. I pay and the girl talks to the baby as the bagger loads our cart back up. And then we go back out and brave the snow. It’s really coming down and the parking lot hasn’t been cleared since earlier in the day, so I have to fight the cart through the slush.
We load the kid and the crap, then climb back into the van. Our doors slam at the same time and we let out a collective sigh. She looks over at me and gives me a smile again. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem. Jason will be at the shop tomorrow, so we can go by and get your stuff if you need it. The Bronco will be done on Monday, but he won’t be able to start your car until later in the week, so you’ll have to stay up here in Vail until it’s done.”
“Oh.” She seems disappointed and that’s all she says as I drive carefully through the snow, the tires making that crunching noise as we go.
“Don’t worry,” I say, looking at her frown. “You can stay at my house. Just call the property managers when you leave and they’ll come lock it all up again. I’ll leave you some cash for food, and you can use this rental if you want.”