Her smile turns sad as she walks over to me and lays a hand on my arm. “Why don’t you three come here for Christmas dinner? My two kids, Kenneth and Bethany, will be here with both their families for a few days. Sara is Kelsey’s age and Cody is Daniel’s. Might be nice for them to have kids their age to hang out with.”
I look down and flip the lid closed on the crayon box. It’s the holidays that are always the hardest. This will be the third Christmas we’ll have without Will. It was always his favorite holiday, so it was a big deal for our family. The house, inside and out, was always decorated to the max. All the shelves were filled with nativity scenes, all the doorways had lights and garland, the tree was loaded with ornaments. Per Will’s request, and much to the kids’ delight, we always had some type of Christmas snack the whole month of December. Christmas Eve everyone got a pajama set and got to open one Christmas present to tide us over until the next morning. It was our tradition. I’ve tried to stick with that tradition, to bring the holiday to life for the kids, but it’s just not the same without him.
I look back up at Mrs. Tanner and offer a smile. Maybe being with more people will help distract the kids, and they’ll be able to enjoy the holiday like they are meant to.
“Can we do it the day before Christmas Eve? Emma, my best friend, will be in town and we’re supposed to have Christmas with her grandmother.”
“Absolutely. The kids will be here all of Christmas week.”
“Then we’d love to. But I insist on bringing something.”
Her answering smile makes her seem ten years younger. “You bring whatever you want. As long as you and those two precious kids are here, I’ll be happy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Tanner. We’d be honored to spend Christmas with you and your family.”
She reaches up and pats my cheek. “Gwen, dear, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Ruth before you actually start calling me that?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. Probably many more times.”
“Well, since you’ll be spending the holiday with me, I insist that you start.”
I smile and scoop up the coloring book and crayons. “I promise I’ll try to remember.”
I walk around the table to Kelsey, just as Daniel comes back in the room with his book bag slung over his small shoulder.
I squat down beside her. “Hey, honey. You ready to go? You can help me make Mrs. Myers’ pie if you want when we get home.”
She looks at me, and I want to cry when her lips stay closed. She gives me a small nod, but that’s all. I know she’ll help with the pie. She’s a very good child, always doing what I ask without complaint. Sometimes I wish she would throw a tantrum. At least she would be showing some form of emotion. But then I feel terrible for thinking that way, because no matter how Kelsey acts, she’ll always be perfect in my eyes.
I lean over and kiss her cheek before standing. She immediately gets up, her crossword book in hand, and stands beside me. I reach out and grab her hand. It may be odd for a mother to want to hold their eight-year-old daughter’s hand when they are simply walking to the truck, but I steal as much attention as I can from Kelsey, and that includes holding her hand, kissing her head or cheek, hugging her as often as I can—anything I can get. I’m deprived of her voice, if I can help it, I won’t be deprived of anything else.
I thank Ruth once more as she holds the door open for us, promising to stop by in the next few days to have dinner.
2
ALEXANDER
I PULL MY OLD FORD truck up to the cabin and cut the engine. Grabbing an armload of groceries, I carry them up the steps, then wrestle the key into the lock and kicking the door open with my boot once I managed to unlock it. I set the bags down and go out for the rest. I’ll get the horse feed and few other items that go in the barn later.
Gigi, my black lab mix, trots behind me to the kitchen. Once I set the bags down, I pat the top of her jet-black head.
“Hey, girl. How’re the pups?” I ask as she walks beside me into the kitchen.
Knowing what she’s looking for, I grab a can of dog food from the pantry, pull the tab, and pour the chunky meat into her bowl. She runs ahead of me as I carry the bowl to the door leading to the huge utility room where her pups are. She slips through the doggy door right before I pull the door open. She immediately goes to check on her sleeping pups in the big dog bed across the room, sniffing them and nudging them with her nose, then comes back as I’m setting the bowl down. She gives it a quick sniff, checking the smell of dinner, before diving in.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go out, girl,” I tell her. She doesn’t acknowledge me, just continues to devour her food like she’s starving, when she just ate a few hours ago. Her pups are taking all her nutrients and leaving her with hardly any.
I run my fingers through her hair a couple times, before walking back out of the room and closing the door behind me. I unload the groceries, then put a pot full of water on the stove to start boiling for the chicken. Grabbing another pot, I add more water and set that down on the stove for the rice.
Chicken and rice. One of the simplest meals, but one of the best.
By the time I’m done, Gigi’s back from eating, waiting for me at the door. I grab my gloves off the counter where I discarded them before putting away the groceries, then we both walk outside.
The snow’s coming down a bit more than it was before. The ground is already covered in a thin layer of white, but this time tomorrow, it’ll be at least a couple feet deep, if not more. The snowstorm that’s due is supposed to be a harsh one and last for several days. That’s why I was in town a couple weeks earlier than normal. The road out here tends to be rough for days after a snowstorm, and I’d rather have everything I need just in case. I did most of the chores this morning that needed doing before the storm, but there are a few things that still need tending to.
As Gigi and I walk across the yard to the barn, I make sure to keep my eyes forward and not look at the half-built house. It’s been sitting there abandoned for four years. I’ve been meaning to tear the thing down, but I just can’t yet. It hurts to look at it, but the pain at the thought of destroying it is much worse. I’ve been trying to build up the courage; I just don’t have enough yet.
Gigi barks and takes off in front of me. I chuckle as she chases a rabbit. It must sense the bad weather that’s coming and is out foraging for food before being forced to stay in its hole. The rabbit takes off with Gigi after it. She stops after several feet, does her business, then takes off in another direction.
After watching her for a couple of minutes, I get to work on making sure the horses have enough hay and water and everything is secure against the heavy winds that are coming. Luckily, the temperature isn’t supposed to be too bad, only the mid-twenties, so I don’t have to worry about the horses being too cold since they’ll be away from the winds.
I stop long enough to let Gigi in when she starts barking at the back door to the house, then continue the few things I have left. Bandit, the male Arabian I’ve been working at breaking in, snorts at me as I walk by. I flip him off because I’m pissed at him right now. My damn backside still hurts from him throwing me yesterday.
“Don’t you snort at me, you big bastard,” I say, baring my teeth with a forced smile. Horses may seem like mindless animals to some, but they’re actually pretty smart. They’re very watchful creatures and can sense moods.
Bandit’s been one of the most stubborn horses I’ve come across since I started training them eight years ago. Ordinarily, it takes me anywhere from three to eight weeks to train the horses that are brought here, but Bandit’s being ornery and doesn’t take kindly to someone being on his back. Hell, he doesn’t even like it if someone looks at him. I’ve had him for nine weeks already and have gotten hardly anywhere with him. He’s solid black, a very pretty horse, but very moody. He’s also purebred and cost the owners a fortune, which means they’re being very patient. However, I don’t see that lasting muc
h longer if I don’t make any more headway with him.
I grab a couple of apples out of a basket, stuff one in my back pocket, then approach the white-and-brown mustang. Bella came to me three years ago to be trained. A few weeks into training, the young girl the owners bought her for fell from another horse and broke her neck. She’s now paralyzed from the neck down. Understandably, they no longer needed Bella to be trained for their daughter, so I bought her from them. Unlike Bandit, Bella is very gentle and docile. I put her next to him for a reason, hoping he’ll see my interaction with her.
“Hey, girl.” She neighs softly and nudges the hand holding the apple, not trying to take it, but letting me know she knows it’s there. “I’ll take you for a ride as soon as the bad weather passes.”
I hold the apple up in my palm, and she crunches down on it. I run my hand down her neck, murmuring quiet words to her. Bandit snorts beside me, and although I don’t acknowledge him, I do watch him out of my peripheral vision. His dark head is pointed our way, watching me interact with Bella.
I talk quietly with Bella for several minutes, ignoring the beast beside me, before finally turning to him. His black eyes watch me as I approach his stall, and he tosses his head back a couple times. When I reach out to place my hand on the side of his neck, he snorts loudly and kicks out a hoof.
“No need to get all pissy on me, Bandit,” I tell him, keeping my voice calm. He snorts again and turns his head to the side to avoid my hand when I place it on his neck. “Shh… calm down, boy. It’s alright.”
He lifts his head, dislodging my hand, and takes a step back. I pull the other apple out of my pocket, and he eyes it with interest.
“You want it?” I ask, holding it up. “You have to take it from my hand.”
I hold my breath with anticipation as he bends his head and sniffs the apple. His warm breath floats over my hand as I hold real still, not wanting to spook him. He nudges it a couple times, snorts, then knocks the damn apple out of my hand. I narrow my eyes at him when he lifts his head and looks me right in the eye. If horses could smirk, I have no doubt this damn animal would be right now.
“You little shit,” I mutter.
He just snorts and turns away, going over to his hay and munching on it, telling me with his actions to fuck off. I bend and pick up the apple, putting it back in the basket. As frustrating as Bandit’s been to train, I’m enjoying the challenge he’s giving me. It’s kept me distracted from thinking of other things. Things I don’t like thinking about.
I walk back to the house once I’m finished in the barn. Gigi meets me with a soft bark, then heads back through the doggy door to be with her pups. After checking on the chicken on the stove, I make quick work of the buttons of my shirt as I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. This cabin may be small to some people, but it’s perfect for me. Once upon a time, I had plans to build a big house and fill it with laughter, but not any longer. That ship has sailed, crashed, burned, then sunk.
I toss my shirt on the floor in front of my dresser, then take off my pants, leaving them in the same pile. In the bathroom, I turn on the shower to let it warm up. Turning away, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. Normally I try to stay away from mirrors. Not because the scars are hideous and I hate looking at them, but because of the memories that come with seeing them. I don’t turn away this time. I stand there and force myself to look at them, and the memories immediately assault me.
A woman’s laughter and soft smiles.
The screech of tires.
High-pitched screams of fear.
Deep screams of pain.
Innocent wails, then silence.
My own pain gripping me.
My vision fading to black as my life dies before me.
I look at the snarled and twisted skin on my arm and side. I was awake when the heat of the flames hit me. I was conscious when my flesh started to melt. But that’s not what I remember when I see my scars. What I remember is what I almost had. I remember not being strong enough to save them. I remember the screams and the broken pleas.
I grip the sink in front of me and hunch over, dropping my head, no longer able to look at myself. It’s been four years, but it feels like it was last week.
I turn without looking back at my reflection and get into the shower. The warm water hits my chest first, and it feels good. I relax my head back and blow out a deep breath. I wash away the dirt from the day, then get out and dry myself. Walking naked into my bedroom, I grab a pair of gray jogging pants and slip them on.
While the pot of rice is cooking, I chop up the cooked chicken, then throw it in the pot. I make both Gigi and myself a bowl and set hers on the floor in the kitchen. I carry mine into the living room, where I catch the last quarter of the Broncos game.
After, I put the leftovers away. That’s another good thing about chicken and rice. Leftovers.
I let Gigi out once more and throw a couple logs in the fireplace before locking up the house. It’s only nine thirty, but I’m exhausted from the extra work I’ve done today. I take off my jogging pants and put them on the end of the bed, and stretch out naked on the bed, my hands going behind my head.
An unbidden image of the woman from the grocery store comes to mind. Gwen. She had hair the color of brown sugar and eyes the color of a cloudless sky. Had I been a normal man, I would have admired her beauty, but I’m not normal and beautiful women are wasted on me.
I have no fucking idea why I offered to pay for her groceries. I told her I couldn’t wait for Jeremy to cancel the order, but it was a lie. It wouldn’t have taken him more than a minute or two. Actually, I do know why I did what I did. I saw some of the items that were rung up and overheard parts of her and Jeremy’s conversation. She has kids. The thought of her dragging her kids out in this weather didn’t sit well with me. They should be warm and safe in their home.
I wasn’t trying to be rude or an ass when she asked for my name, but I have no desire to be her friend. I just wanted her gone so I could finish with my shit and leave. I hate going to town, and I only do it when I have to. The looks and whispers I get piss me off, and it takes iron will to keep my mouth shut.
She tried to hide it, but I saw the look on her face and heard her breath hitch when she saw my scars. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t like the thought of her seeing my fucked-up face and being disgusted. I don’t know why I gave a damn, but I did.
I push the thoughts of the brunette away and roll to my side. My eyelids drift closed and it’s not long before the exhaustion from today pulls me into a deep sleep.
The next morning, I wake to fat snowflakes falling. It’s not bad yet, but in the distance I can see the dark snow clouds heading this way. The forecast said to expect at least a foot later today and another couple of feet over the next few days.
Most people dread the heavy snowfall, but not me. I love Colorado weather, especially the winters when the snow will come down for days. It may be cold as shit, but it’s still beautiful to be around. I like the thought of having a nice warm house to go to after work, walking in and smelling the logs burning in the fire.
After I get dressed, Gigi’s waiting at the door to be let out. While I wait on her to finish her business, I make a pot of coffee and stir the fireplace back to life and throw on a couple more logs. I stomp my boots on and walk out back to grab an armful of logs from the back porch. Everything is covered in white, and it looks gorgeous. I’ve lived in Colorado my entire life, and I never get tired of looking at a freshly dumped snowfall.
Gigi comes bounding around the corner, her coat covered in snow. She stops just long enough to root her nose in the snow until it disappears, then flicks her head up, throwing snow in the air. I whistle and she makes a mad dash for the porch, stopping once she’s on the steps to shake.
“Get your goofy ass in the house.” I chuckle and snap my fingers.
I follow her inside and unload the logs beside the fireplace. I walk back to the kitchen, the smell of brewed coffee leading m
e. I’m just pouring a cup when my phone rings. I snatch it off the counter, then groan when I see my mom’s name.
My mother is a good, loving woman, but there are times I just can’t handle her. She worries, and I love that about her; I just wish she’d know when to leave shit alone. I know she means well, she’s a mother after all, but her asking how I’m doing every time we talk, knowing she’s referring to my emotional state, isn’t something I want or need. All it does is remind me of what I try so fucking hard to forget. It’s bad enough I see them every time I look in the mirror, I don’t need them thrown in my face.
For almost a year after the accident, she hovered over me like a mother hen. It’s just me and my younger sister, so when one of her kids is hurting, I know she hurts as well. Dad had to finally drag her out of my house when he saw she wasn’t helping at all, but hindering my mental healing. Before the accident, they were supposed to move to Tennessee where my sister Christa lives, but the accident put the move on hold. Luckily, after realizing what my mother was doing, my father eventually convinced her to go forward with the move. I miss my family, but I’m glad they aren’t so close anymore.
I hit Ignore and set the phone back down on the counter. I know I’m being a dick, and I do feel guilty, but I just can’t talk to her right now. I’ll call her back later or something.
I down the rest of my coffee and head back outside to check on the horses and to haul in another load of wood. My cabin doesn’t have central heat and air, so I depend on the fireplace for all the heat. I like it that way.
Once I’m done, I refill my coffee and head outside to sit on the porch. It’s fucking freezing outside, but it’s beautiful and peaceful. I sit on the wicker chair with my feet up on the railing and look out over the field of white and the snow-covered mountains. I inherited this place from my grandparents ten years ago. My grandfather used to breed horses for a living, before he got too old. I’d come over every day after school when I was younger and help him around the place. My grandma passed away twelve years ago, and my grandfather was never the same. He always told me the place was mine once he was gone. He knew of my desire to work with horses.
Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Page 68