Oh God. Oh. My. God. I crumple to the floor, holding the paper in my hand. Tears are on the brink of spilling out. Fleece scratches against my face as I swipe my sleeve across my eyes. No. I can’t cry in front of the kids. The floor is cold under my thin running pants. I take a deep breath and stand up to make breakfast.
Frosty air hits me when I open the freezer for sausage. I hear the cardboard tear, and I dump them onto the stove. Crap. I need a pan. Metal clanks as I search for the right one. Frozen blocks of sausage clunk into it. I stare at them until the hiss breaks me free.
I reach into the refrigerator for milk and eggs. Cold penetrates my hands and seeps into my veins. Yolks drop one by one into a bowl, and I whip them up with a fork. I forgot milk. As it pours over the eggs, white envelops the color, and I stab the fork in to mix again.
I lay two towels from the linen closet in front of the children and tell them it’s a picnic. Keeping my phone in my sports bra because I lack pockets, I nearly scream when it vibrates against my chest. Rushing into the kitchen, I read what Blaine wrote. “Clara is alive. Looking for Tim.”
Clara. She must have seen Tim be swept away. I can’t even imagine. Tears force their way out of my eyes and roll down my face. I’m sure she’s a mess, and I can’t be with her. I text her.
“I’m with J and B. Eating a breakfast picnic by TV. Blaine is with S&R. They’ll find him. I’m here for anything you need. All my love and prayers.”
They will find Tim. Only he’ll most likely be dead, because it’s next to impossible to survive an avalanche. The force uproots trees and takes out anything in its path. Similar to an undertow in the ocean, it rolls with fierce determination, and the pummeling breaks bones and rips tendons. The friction from the snow is so great that it melts, and once the avalanche stops, the huge mass becomes frozen like a glacier within seconds and traps its victims in a vice grip.
Helplessness overwhelms me. There is nothing I can do but wait.
It’s a long day. I make a game of cleaning the house, and when we’re done, it’s spotless. Clara’s refrigerator wasn’t this clean when it was brand new. She has no expired food, and her linens are organized by color. I find the dirty sheets she had taken off in preparation for Blaine. I put them back on the bed so she can sleep with the smell of Tim. I wonder how long the odor can last.
I call Janet. She assures me Clara has a job whenever she wants to return and that she’ll stop by with a check in a few days. It makes me wonder how Clara will pay the bills, because I know they live on a tight budget.
It’s late in the afternoon when I get the text from Blaine. “We found Tim’s body. I’m bringing Clara home.” My heart breaks as I look over at Jenny and Benjamin. Cartoon laughter plays as I think about how their world is about to be so different.
They searched for hours. The search and rescue team knew who they were looking for, because he was one of their own. Every member would have stayed out all night until they found him. I wonder if Clara saw Tim. New tears come. I’ve got to pull myself together because both Blaine and Clara need me.
The slamming of car doors announces their arrival, and the kids race to the door. “Mommy! Daddy!”
Clara’s face is pale. Her greasy hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, as if exhausted hands did all they could. The dried stench of her fear and the salty residue of adrenaline wafts toward me as she takes two steps through the door and drops to her knees. She pulls the children in with silent tears running down her cheeks.
I step out onto the back deck to give her privacy. There is a small patch of snow left on the lawn, and I walk to it. Tomorrow, it will be gone. Crocuses poke up in the garden. They should bloom in a week. How does life go on when yours is shattered?
The sliding glass door scrapes against the metal frame, and I turn to Blaine. My arms open, and he comes to me. He sobs uncontrollably. His weight is hard to support, and we sink to the ground. Cold, damp earth soaks my running tights. I don’t even bother to wipe my tears away. I watch them drip onto Blaine’s fleece. They bead up for a moment before being sucked into the fabric.
Staring out toward the Continental Divide, I am blinded by the snow in the afternoon sun. I drop my eyes when sunlight bounces off a bank of spring snow. Like tiny bits of glass, kernels of ice glisten with the reflection of non-color.
Blaine rolls away from me and lays his head on my lap. Looking up at me, he reaches a finger to wipe away a tear. In a raspy voice, he says, “Casey, I can’t do this.”
I touch my fingers to his mouth and say, “Shhh.” I shake my head, with nothing to say. Soft hair slides through my fingers as I comb his hair repeatedly in slow motion. He closes his eyes, and fresh tears slip out.
* * *
It’s been a month since Tim died. It’s my day off, and I persuade Clara to have lunch with me. Tara has made up a picnic basket for us, and I’m taking Clara to a park where you can’t see Peak 6.
The gravel of her driveway crackles under my tires when I pull in. I know she’s seen me, and I wait in the car. Clara walks toward me with a smile on her face and a present in her hands. She’s thin but healthy. Fresh spring air surrounds her as she slides into the passenger seat, and I say, “Clara, you look beautiful today.”
“Thank you, Casey. I have a little something for you.”
“Why?” I take my hand off the gearshift.
“It was your birthday last week, and I didn’t get a chance to celebrate with you. Here, open it.” She hands me a gift bag.
Thin tissue rustles as I remove it. My fingers are caressed by soft mohair as I pull out a deep-emerald-green scarf. I can tell it’s hand knit. “Did you make this?”
“I sure did.” She has a smile on her face, and it warms my heart.
I wrap the scarf around my neck and look at myself in the rearview mirror. “Oh, Clara, the color is perfect! Look what it does for my eyes.”
“That’s why I picked it.”
“Thank you.” I reach over to hug her. She kisses my cheek and places a whisper-soft hand on it as she pulls away. “Casey, my beautiful friend, do you have any Eagles on that iPod? Because I think we need some singing music.”
I find the songs and crank it up. I pop open the sunroof, and a gentle breeze blows the stray hair around Clara’s face. We both put on our sunglasses, and I back out of her driveway. We head out of town toward Fairplay, singing our hearts out.
Twenty minutes later, we’re at a small park. I have a camping-style folding table and two chairs we set up. Birds chirp, and the musty odor of thawed, dead leaves is released with our movements. I put the picnic basket at our feet, and we pull out the contents. Grapes, plums, a variety of cheese, crackers, sliced meats, and sparkling water make up the lunch offerings, with two oversized cookies for dessert.
I spread Brie on two crackers and hand one to Clara. She takes a bite and savors the buttery cheese. With a full mouth, she says, “Oh, is that good.” Taking a sip of water, she clears her mouth.
I say, “I’ve missed you.” Boy, have I. Cleaning without Clara is awful. My other partners hate the job too and do nothing to make it tolerable. But more importantly, I ache for Clara’s loss.
I lean forward and take Clara’s hands. “How are you?”
“I have good days and bad days. They say it gets better with time.” Her eyes fill, and I release her hands. “I guess I’m waiting.” She pulls a tissue out of her pocket, and we sit in silence.
She asks, “I was wondering if you would like to house-sit for me this summer.” Sunlight plays with the red highlights of her hair.
“Of course I will, but where are you going?”
“I think the kids and I need to get out of Dodge for a bit. My parents moved to Arizona a few years ago. They live up in the mountains, and it’s beautiful there. We could go there for a month and then stay with Tim’s parents in California for the remainder.”
“That sounds wonderful. You should go.” I slice a piece of pepperoni, and sadness cuts into my heart.
“I’m so proud of you. You’re being so strong.”
Her smile falters. “I have my moments. Honestly, it’s Jenny and Benjamin. They deserve to have a mom who’s happy and teaches them to enjoy life. It’s what Tim would have wanted. It’s what I would have wanted for Tim.” She sniffs and sits up tall. “I’m not going to cry. I think I’ve used up my allotment this month.” She lets out a weak laugh. “So what’s happening with you and Blaine?”
“We’re kind of in a holding pattern right now.”
“Why?” She nibbles at a cracker.
I sigh. “He doesn’t want to be with me. I can’t put my finger on why, but I think he can’t enjoy anything right now. I’ve tried, but I won’t push. He deserves all the space he needs to heal.” I pop a grape into my mouth and bite. Sweet and sour juice explodes.
Clara says, “I kicked him off my couch last week. Do you know he’s slept there every night since Tim’s death? He thinks he needs to replace him.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want that. I’ll be fine. He forgets I was an independent woman with a mind of my own before I got married.” She puts a piece of prosciutto in her mouth.
“I had my suspicions. Last week I let myself in to his apartment, and it looked abandoned. I cleaned out his fridge, and the only things that were still good were condiments and a couple beers.”
“Does he call you?” She sounds concerned.
“No. I haven’t spoken to him in over a week.” I put a piece of cheese in my mouth.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ve been so...” She waves a hand. “Well, you know.”
I reach over and touch her arm. “Don’t. You are in no way responsible for this. We’ll work it out. Everyone needs to grieve in their own way. Give it time.”
“Okay. I can’t help but worry.” She sits back and bites into a plum. She lets a small moan escape. “Divine. I don’t know why everything tastes so good today. It must be the company. I’ve missed being with you.”
“Can I come make dinner for you and the kids this week?” I don’t want to push, but I think she may be lonely and ready for a distraction.
“We’d love that.” Clara flashes a genuine smile. Then she sobers. “I’ll invite Blaine too. Maybe he’ll come.”
Maybe. But I doubt it.
13
I know Blaine is grieving, but I decide it’s time to intervene. Instead of seduction, this time I’m going through his stomach. I have two subs, chips, soda, and cookies from his favorite deli. I know he isn’t working, and I hope I catch him at home. He declined dinner at Clara’s and hasn’t answered a text or a phone call in two weeks. I’m beginning to get worried.
Feeling a bit like a stalker, I go check his Jeep. The windshield appears dusty. How long does it take a car to get dusty inside? I have no idea and abandon any idea of joining CSI. I walk around to the front of his building and start up the steps to his door. My cowboy boots clunk on the concrete. I’m not exactly stealthy and decide I won’t make a good private investigator either.
Maybe I’ll be a good predator? I think if he won’t answer calls and texts, he won’t answer the door, either. I tiptoe up and press my ear against it. Cold metal chills my cheek. I can’t hear anything and wonder if I would if there was something to hear. This looks so much easier on TV.
Moving to the window, I plan to peek inside, but the blinds are drawn. I suppose I could knock and say, “Pizza.” I snort at how ridiculous I’m getting. My back thumps against the door, and I slide down to sit on the cold concrete. I take my phone out of my back pocket and text him.
“At your door and I have lunch.”
I watch for it to say “delivered.” It does. My fingernail taps against the screen as I wait for it to say “read” like the others he has read but not responded to. I get an idea. I have a “find my phone” app, and I know his Apple ID. Yes. I feel clever now. Maybe hacker is my next job? I chuckle and look at the screen. “Read.”
I’ve got you now, Blaine.
I plug his Apple ID into my app and wait. Bingo. The blue dot is on the other side of the door. I’m so excited by my amazing detective skills, I bounce right up and knock hard. I jiggle my leg. I hate waiting. He doesn’t open the door. I text again. “I have a key and I’m not afraid to use it.” I wait.
“Read.”
I pull out my keys and look for it. Just as I put it in the lock, the door opens, and I say, “Hi.”
He makes a sweeping motion with his arm. “You may as well come in.”
I’m hit in the face with a stench worse than my ski boots. I crinkle my nose. On the kitchen counter, pizza boxes are stacked up. At least he’s eating. Next to them is an array of soda and beer cans. Through the stinky-sock smell, I detect something moldy, and I don’t want to know where that’s coming from. Blaine has retreated back to his couch and flips off the TV.
I hold up the bag. “Lunch?”
He shrugs his shoulders. If this man has learned anything about me, it should be that I’m persistent. I want to go get plates in the kitchen but quickly change my mind. Instead, I clear space on his coffee table by sliding the glasses over. I plop myself down on the floor across from him. “All right. I have here your favorite roast-beef-and-cheese sub with onion. I brought condiments galore.” I’ve opened his sandwich and spread out the paper. Onion wafts up, and I hope the smell makes him hungry. I tear open the chips and pour them onto the wrapper. “Soda?”
He shrugs his shoulders again. A Coke fizzes when I pop open the top and set it before him. “So, let me tell you about my day. Once I decided to bring you lunch, I got a little crazy. Because you won’t answer my texts and you won’t return my calls, I decided to CSI you. But I wasn’t so good at that. So I tried being a detective. Nope, not my forte. Next up, Peeping Tom. But darn it, you closed your blinds. Then it occurred to me. What am I good at? Texting. That was the chink in your armor, buddy. I’m crafty with a phone.” I grin, hoping to break through.
He cracks a smile. Yes! He looks like crap. He has a good week’s worth of beard growing, and I guess his last shower was a few days ago, with laundry being last month. I’m not even going to get close enough to find out about the teeth. Well, yes, I probably will. I reach across and take his hand. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
Since humor seems to work, I go with it. The couch lets out a whoosh and a sour odor when I plop next to him. Man, he stinks. I open up our text conversation and show him my phone. “Let me show you something.” I type in “hi” and hit send. His phone vibrates. I pick it up. “And now this is what you do.” I type in “hi” and hit send. My phone vibrates. “Oh, em, gee! I got a text!” I pick up my phone and look at it in mock surprise. He snorts, and I say, “It’s good to hear that.” I drop the teasing tone. “What’s going on, Blaine? Do you need help?”
“I don’t know.” He drops his head into his hands. “Maybe.”
“Will you let me help you? Please?” I reach out and touch his arm.
He nods.
“Will you eat?”
“I’ll try.” He picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. He chews as if it’s cardboard. He swallows it down with a sip of cola. “I’m not going to eat alone.” He nods toward my sandwich.
“Good, because I’m hungry.” I’ve never seen him eat so slowly. I itch to clean but control the urge. I don’t think a whirlwind of activity around him is a good idea right now.
He manages half his sandwich, and I’m satisfied. “How do you feel about a shower? Or maybe a bath?”
“Shower.” He stands and shuffles to the bathroom. The door clicks shut; I snatch up my phone and Google “depression symptoms.” Feelings of sadness, loss of hope, loss of interest in normal pleasures. I think he needs to see a doctor.
I clear the coffee table and attack the mess in the kitchen. I don’t
get very far before I hear the water stop. This isn’t going to work. I text Janet. “I need a favor. Can you send a cleaning crew over to Blaine’s apartment, 5 Forest Street, this afternoon?”
“Yes. 2? We can settle up later.”
“2 is perfect. Thanks!”
The bathroom door opens, and Blaine comes out wrapped in a towel and a cloud of steam.
“How did that feel?”
“Okay.”
I can tell he’s trying, but this is hard for him. “Would you like me to shave your face? I have years of practice with knees and ankles. I promise not to cut you.”
“Sure.” His eyes look dead. My heart aches, and I want to fix this for him.
I enter the bathroom and fill the sink. Steam rises from the hot water, and I drop in a washcloth. I find his razor in the cabinet along with a new blade cartridge and switch it with the old one. I close the toilet lid and instruct him to “sit.” His shoulders are slouched, and his eyes are sad. I shake the shaving cream can and am overcome with the desire to kiss him. I’m sure that isn’t a good idea. Water splashes as I wring out the washcloth. I place it on his face, and he closes his eyes, accepting the warmth. I remove the washcloth, lift his chin with a finger, and lather his face. The razor scrapes hair off his chin stroke by stroke. Submerging the razor in water, I watch as tiny snips of hair float away and cream dissolves into cloudy water.
Aftershave is in his medicine cabinet. I let a couple of drops fall into my palm and rub my hands together. His face is smooth and warm as I dab my hands against it. With the last bit, I hold his cheek for a moment as I will his pain to enter me through my hands. Of course, it doesn’t.
Looking in the mirror, Blaine turns his head from side to side, inspecting my work. “Nice job.”
“Thanks. I used to watch my dad.”
He grabs deodorant and rolls it on under his arms. The spicy scent I associate with him wafts over to me. My fingers ache to touch his chest. He seems exhausted by the simple chore, so I take his comb and slide it through his hair. “Let’s get you dressed.”
Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology Page 8