The Keeping

by Nicky Charles

  Ignoring the little niggling worry in the back of her mind, Mel climbed into bed, wiggling around until she found a comfortable spot. With determination, she closed her eyes and began reciting several soliloquies from Shakespeare that she’d had to learn in school. As usual, she only made it partway through Hamlet’s ‘To be or not to be’ before sleep overtook her.

  *****

  Mel spent the next few days in what she dubbed ‘interview limbo’ while waiting for Ryne to make his final decision. It irked her to wait, but she sensed this was some sort of test. If she pushed too hard, he’d refuse, just to put her in her place. And so, with unaccustomed patience, she waited.

  Her days fell into a lazy pattern. She’d sleep in, drive to town, and spend the morning at the Gazette where Josh and Beth were allowing her to hook up her laptop to their internet connection. The hoped-for phone line connection at the cabin had yet to materialize and Mel strongly suspected the phone company just didn’t want to be bothered travelling all the way to Stump River for one service call. Still, the absence of a phone at the cabin had one benefit; Aldrich couldn’t contact her.

  Phoning the lawyer was the part of the day she most dreaded. Around noon, she’d leave the Gazette’s offices and walk around Stump River—which didn’t take long, but helped fill up her day—and then head to the diner to place the dreaded call to Aldrich.

  The calls followed a predictable path. He’d ask about her progress, she’d report she was still waiting, the lawyer would make some condescending comment, and the conversation would be over. It was barely five minutes, but felt much longer and left her feeling deflated.

  In happy contrast, once she’d done her duty, she rewarded herself by having coffee and conversation with Ruth, Al, and Lucy.

  A running joke had developed between them. Everyday she’d ask for a different type of coffee and they’d hand her a cup of plain black. Purposely, she made her requests more outlandish each day, enjoying their expressions as she explained the intricacies of each variety. Today’s lesson was on one of her favourites, a caramel macchiato venti.

  “So you see Al, then you take freshly steamed milk, vanilla-flavored syrup, a double shot of espresso and top it with caramel sauce. Oh, and of course the key is to slowly pour in the milk to create layers of different coloured liquid.”

  The chef rubbed his stubbly chin and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Right.” As per usual, he was leaning against the counter, his slightly stained apron stretched over his rounded stomach. He reached back and flipped on the coffee maker. “One black coffee, coming up.”

  Mel giggled, loving his deadpan expression.

  Ruth just shook her head, taking a cup down off the shelf and placing it beside the brewing beverage, ready for filling when the time came. “It beats me that you city folk have nothing better to do than to spend your time finding ways to mess up a perfectly good cup of java.”

  “Ah Ruth,” Mel teased. “You haven’t lived until you experience drinking coffee properly prepared by a barista.”

  Straightening her uniform on her boney frame, Ruth sniffed, but patted Mel’s shoulder. “I’ll survive just fine girly, don’t you worry. The men on my soap operas give me a better jolt than caffeine any day.”

  Lucy wandered over just then, and Mel settled into her favourite seat for a bit of gossip with the friendly waitress, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Miller’s service station in case Ryne should emerge. He did occasionally, to fill gas tanks, wash wind shields and check oil, but never to come across the street and agree to an interview.

  Mel was positive Ryne knew she was there. A couple of times, she even thought she caught him glancing her way, but he always went back inside, leaving her fuming and irritably drumming her fingers on the countertop.

  The time spent at the diner wasn’t a total waste, however. Ruth and Al enjoyed regaling her with tales of small town life. Mel was actually writing some of the amusing anecdotes down, toying with the idea of composing a series of articles about the place.

  Lucy was all for the idea when she heard about it. She’d lean against the counter, a pot of coffee in one hand to give the impression that she was working, while conspiratorially whispering tidbits of scandalous yet amusing information on the various patrons of Ruth’s Diner and the Broken Antler. Mel was surprised that for a town where nothing seemed to happen, so much actually took place. It was amazing, the activities that occurred at the bar and behind closed doors.

  Despite her enjoyment of the coffee, company, and conversation, Mel was fed up waiting for Ryne. It was already Friday and she’d made absolutely no progress with regards to her real ‘mission,’ which was learning about Ryne Taylor.

  “If he doesn’t come over and talk to me today, I’m going to march across the street and strangle him,” Mel confided to Lucy.

  “I’ll cheer while you do it.” Lucy agreed.

  “You two have a spat or something?” Mel looked at her new friend with concern.

  “Nah, we don’t have that type of relationship—nothing to really argue over when it’s just about good sex, you know?” She poured more coffee into Mel’s cup. “Nope, the problem is he hasn’t been around to see me since his birthday and he promised me a month ago, he’d stop by and fix the leaky faucet in my kitchen.”

  “Not the reliable sort, is he?”

  “What man is?” Philosophically, Lucy shrugged and then pointed out the window. “Hey, there goes Harley. I just love watching him cross the street.” The two women paused their conversation to watch the dog wait and cross at the light. Once he was on the other side, he turned and walked up to the diner, and pawed at the door.

  “What’s he doing?” Mel queried.

  “Beats me, this is a new one.” Lucy walked to the door and opened it. “What do you want, Harley?”

  Harley walked inside as if it was part of his daily routine, came right up to Mel, and dropped a piece of paper in her lap. The paper was rather wrinkled and sticky with drool.

  Gingerly, Mel picked it up, avoiding the worst of the slobber. There was a message addressed to her and despite the ink smearing a bit from the dog’s saliva, it was still quite readable. “It’s from Ryne! He says he wants to talk to me about terms. I should be at his house at noon tomorrow. The gate will be open and he’ll provide lunch.” She happily clenched the soggy note in her hand. Finally something was happening. “This is great news. Thanks, Harley!”

  The dog woofed and sauntered out of the diner, heading back towards the traffic light. Mel glanced across the street. Ryne was standing by the door of the Service Station, his arms folded. Despite the distance, they managed to make eye-contact. He nodded and went back inside, ruffling Harley’s fur as the dog returned from his mission.

  “Well, that’s good news for you, isn’t it Mel?” Lucy grinned at her. “And when you see him, remind him about my leaking faucet, will you?”

  Mel nodded, rereading the note and wondering what the ‘terms’ might entail. It was going to be just a straightforward interview about his life, nothing that special. Did he want a cut if she sold it to a magazine? That could be tricky, since Mr. Greyson was paying her. She’d have to ask Aldrich about that.

  Finishing her coffee, she thanked her friends and headed back towards the Gazette. She was going to e-mail Aldrich about this latest development and ask his advice about Ryne’s possible terms. Mel knew that Aldrich would be peeved about the e-mail, having made it plain that he preferred phone conversations, probably so he could ‘read’ the speaker’s tone of voice. Oh, well. Too bad for him. She’d suffered through talking to him once today. He’d have to make some concessions to modern technology.

  *****

  Noon the next day found Mel driving down the road that led to Ryne’s house. She’d stopped in town to call Aldrich. He’d emailed her back yesterday, his message terse and simple; call me. And so she did. While he’d tried to hide it, she was sure Aldrich hadn’t been expecting her to get an interview with Ryne and it pleased her no end t
o prove the man wrong. When she’d mentioned Ryne setting terms, Aldrich was adamant that no mention of his client should occur.

  Aldrich was a clever sort, she had to admit. He suggested that if Ryne questioned what publication she was submitting the article to, she could claim it was a school assignment that she was completing for extra marks and that only a professor would be reading it. Mel agreed the story was a good one, but felt a bit guilty about the fact that she couldn’t be upfront with the photographer.

  She firmly squashed her misgivings as she approached Ryne’s home. Just as he promised, the gate was open. Slowing down, she made the turn and looked around, surprised that he’d just leave it open like that when he was so obsessive about his privacy. Anybody could have just driven in.

  Shrugging, she decided it wasn’t any concern of hers. All that mattered was that she didn’t have to climb over the top of the darn thing and she was safely in her vehicle, where no wolves could get at her.

  The drive from the main road to his house was a bit eerie. She kept recalling her earlier visit and the wolves that had chased her. Obsessively, she peered into the woods on either side for signs that they were watching her. Of course, there was nothing to see, but acre upon acre of forest.

  It was turning into a cloudy, dreary kind of a day with dark clouds rolling across the sky and the threat of rain evident in the dampness of the air. As she travelled deeper onto the property, the trees blocked even more of the light and the twisting, turning driveway began to seem as if it would never end. A slight tinge of panic was building inside of her. When she crossed a little bridge, Mel started to wonder if she might be lost. She didn’t recall going over a stream the previous day.

  She slowed her pace, steering around several potholes along the way. The spring thaw was making a mess of the driveway, similar to the road she’d driven on to get to Stump River. Taking her time, she decided being a few minutes late was preferable to explaining to the rental company why the vehicle’s suspension was messed up. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable amount of time, the trees began to thin and a house came into view. She brought the car to a stop and put it in park, staring at the photographer’s home, with a feeling of dread.

  Chapter 15

  Mel sat in her car and stared at the house. The sidewalk was cracked and grass was popping up between the broken cement slabs. The lawn was filled with weeds and the remnants of flower beds could barely be discerned among a tangle of old vines and leaves. A lone tree stood to the right of the building. Its branches stretched out like greedy hands and a hole in the trunk reminded her of a gaping mouth.

  “Perfect for Halloween,” she muttered.

  Averting her gaze from the creepy tree, she began to study the actual house. It was massive and stood out like something from a horror flick, complete with a dark stormy sky and a spooky forest in the background. Two stories high, not including the attic, its wooden siding was a weathered grey where it wasn’t hidden by ivy vines that seemed to be trying to slowly choke the entire building.

  Over the front porch there was a rickety looking balcony, access being provided by a set of French glass doors complete with cracked glass. Extending from either side of the main part of the house were two large wings of rooms, each with eight windows that seemed to stare blankly and bleakly back at her. Mel couldn’t even begin to speculate how many rooms the house might contain.

  The slate roof appeared to be new and sported a widow’s walk along the top surrounded by a wrought iron railing. Mel could almost picture some tragic heroine pacing back and forth, wringing her hands in despair before throwing herself to the ground in a suicide attempt.

  The style was… well… Mel wasn’t sure. It appeared as if some Victorian architect had taken bits and pieces from several designs and centuries and then thrown them all together. It wasn’t a pretty house; a more apt description would be 'uniquely interesting and in definite need of repair.' Obviously, Ryne and his friends were working hard to fix the place up, hence the new roof, but there was still a long way to go.

  Stepping out of her car, Mel stared at the structure, craning her head back as she walked towards the front door. On her previous visit she’d been rather disoriented and hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings, but now she was taking in every single feature. Two sets of long thin windows flanked the front door and she was surprised to see that there was a stained glass panel over the top of the entrance. The steps were new and the front door had been refinished. She took a moment to admire the carved surface before raising her hand to knock.

  Just as she was bringing her fist down, the door swung open and she suddenly found her hand held firmly in Ryne’s.

  “Trying to hit me already?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “No, that comes later, after the fifth time you annoy me. Right now, I’m just knocking on your door, but if you insist on opening it when my fist is up… well, I can’t be held responsible now, can I?” Mel smiled with fake sweetness, while trying to retrieve her hand from his grip. He didn’t let go; somehow she’d known that he wouldn’t. Instead he used his hold to pull her inside.

  “Good. I thought we’d save that rough stuff until later, once we’re better acquainted.” He leered at her.

  Mel bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. Sternly reminding herself that she was here for an interview and needed to be professional, she forced a smile instead. “I was pleased to get your message and I’m sure, whatever your terms might be, we can come to some form of satisfactory arrangement.”

  He dropped her hand, his face suddenly becoming serious. “I hope so. I don’t like interviews. I prefer my privacy, but with you, I think the easiest way to regain my peaceful lifestyle is to give you what you want.”

  She stared at him for a moment. Ryne was not a happy camper and she wasn’t sure why. Her tactics hadn’t been that pushy, had they? He had no reason to dislike her, but for that brief moment, she was sure he did. Waves of something—anger? Hatred?—seemed to be rolling off him. Hoping to get on a positive footing, Mel tried to smooth things over with a smile and a conciliatory tone.

  “I promise this will be painless. Just a few questions, some background information, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  Ryne grunted and she wasn’t sure whether he was agreeing or scoffing. Before she could decide, he turned and indicated she should follow him.

  They walked down the hallway and Mel noted her surroundings. Wooden wainscoting covered the bottom of the walls while the upper half showed just a few remnants of old flocked wallpaper. Both the wood and plaster seemed to be in the process of being stripped down in preparation for refinishing. Looking up, she noted the embossed tin ceiling. Even with its layers of peeling and bubbling paint, she could make out the fine workmanship. Decorative mouldings framed the ceilings and surrounded the doorways and the windows. They, too, showed signs of age, some broken and scarred; all in definite need of some attention from sandpaper.

  It was obvious that this had been an elegant home in its day, but years of decay and neglect had taken their toll. Ryne had a big project ahead of him, if he intended to restore the home to its former glory. What had he mentioned the other day? Renovating the kitchen? She supposed he was doing the most crucial areas first, hence the new roof and step. Probably the plumbing and electrical had been the next on his list.

  As if reading her thoughts, he turned to the left and led her into a room, flipping on the lights. New fixtures immediately sprang to life, filling the area with brightness. Along one side of the room a large entertainment centre, complete with a flat screen TV, was centred on the wall directly across from an overstuffed leather sofa. Two matching recliner chairs were on either side. Chocolate brown paint covered the walls, accented by white window mouldings and an area rug in varying shades of green. There were no blinds or curtains on the window, but Mel supposed that being in the middle of nowhere, there was no need to block the neighbours out. A fireplace, flanked by bookshelves, occupied
the fourth wall and from the look of the partially burnt logs, they used it to help heat the room.

  “This is nice.” She commented as she looked around. It needed a few pictures on the wall to give it a more homey feeling, but for three men on their own it was eminently suitable.

  “Thanks. It’s where we relax.” He nodded towards the sofa. “Have a seat.”

  Mel sat down on the overstuffed piece of furniture and immediately felt herself sinking down into its depths. It was soft and comfortable, but she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to get back up again without assistance. Adjusting herself as best as she could, she looked over at Ryne. He hadn’t sat down yet and was pacing back and forth in front of the windows.

  “So… ” She began slowly. “What are these ‘terms’ you were thinking about.”

  He stopped and studied her for a long moment and she had to force herself not to start twisting her fingers nervously. She’d almost decided he wasn’t going to answer, when he finally spoke.

  “I have complete control over what you write and want to see a list of questions ahead of time so that I can consider which ones I want to answer.”

  She straightened and opened her mouth to protest. Who did he think he was? Before she could speak though, he continued, still staring at her, no doubt reading her reaction to his words.

  “At any time, I can veto the entire article if I choose and you will leave Stump River immediately. You are not allowed to ask my partners questions about me either. If you don’t like the terms, you can leave now before we even start.”

  Mel snapped her mouth shut and thought the situation over. Really, she had no choice. If he didn’t want to be interviewed, then there was nothing she could do about it. Slowly she nodded, an idea already forming in her head. He wanted control over the questions he answered and his two friends, but she could still ask the other residents of Stump River for information. He’d lived here for five months. Surely in all that time, he’d let things slip to the local merchants.