by Freya Barker
“I suspect you have something called Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, or PCOS for short. We’ll do a few more tests to confirm, but it’s clear from the ultrasound that there are a number of cysts on your ovaries. What you’ve experienced is a ruptured cyst. It can be very painful, but most of the time is not something worrisome. It tends to resolve itself, within a few days, as your body reabsorbs the tissues. What I’d like to do is send you home with some painkillers to get you through the next few days and make an appointment to see you soon, so we can get going on a treatment plan.”
“Is there someone a bit closer to home?” Ben pipes up, and the doctor looks his way with an eyebrow raised. “No offense to you, Doc, but with winter coming, I’d feel a lot better if my girl had someone looking after her in Cortez. Someone who is not a two hour drive away, on the best of days.”
“Fair enough,” he says, smiling first at Ben and then at me. “Cortez? I can refer you to someone there.”
“What about kids?” I blurt out, shocking myself. I’ve heard of PCOS, heard of people having a hard time getting pregnant. Not that I was necessarily looking to have kids, but it would be good to know if I could. If I wanted one. Maybe.
I already suspect the answer when I see the doctor glance uncomfortably from Ben to me. “That’s something we perhaps should address when we’ve confirmed with testing?”
Ben’s hand pulls mine closer, and he rests them against his chest, looking at me before he says to the younger man, “Just answer the question, Doc.”
“When it’s diagnosed early and treated, the chances are better. Age comes into play, level of damage done to the ovaries. I think it’s fair to say the odds are slim.”
I close my eyes. The answer doesn’t really surprise me, but the reality of what he’s saying is poignant, especially since I’m holding hands with the first man to ever put the thought of kids in my mind. I force the burning tears back, but I guess one slips underneath my eyelid. I don’t notice it until the rasp of Ben’s thumb wipes it away.
“Not something we’ve had a chance to even consider, and already the option is gone,” I whisper into the palm he presses to my face.
“Shhh,” he hushes and I open my eyes. The doctor must have snuck out because it’s just Ben and me. “I never thought about kids before. Never had reason to. I do now. But I also know jumping the gun does no one any good, so let’s make sure all the information is in before you declare your option gone.” I warm at the smile in his eyes, and watch as they start to twinkle. “There’s more ways to skin a cat.” I haul back and punch his shoulder.
“We’re talking cute little babies and you bring up skinning cats? What’s wrong with you?” I scold him, not quite able to keep the grin off my face at his attempt to lighten the mood, which was clearly successful.
He leans over the bed, wipes the hair off my forehead before pressing a kiss there, on the tip of my nose, and finally to my lips.
“I just needed to see that smile, Pixie.”
CHAPTER 7
Ben
“Mornin’!”
Jim is standing at the edge of the large hole, waving me over. I just followed the big concrete trucks up the new road when I saw them come by.
“Everything ready?” I ask, when I join him on the edge of where the foundation is going to be poured.
“Pretty much,” he says, “boys are just bracing the wall on the south side. The framing shifted a little overnight.” I follow the direction of his finger, where a couple of guys are working on the wooden boards that hold back the dirt on the edge of the hole. “Soon as they’re done, we’ll start pouring.”
“Gonna run and grab Isla then. Be right back.”
She told me this morning she was feeling a lot better, and this might lift her spirits. The physical pain she was in, she seemed to able to manage, but I’m not so sure about the rest. The past days she’s mostly stayed in the trailer, only occasionally coming outside to sit at the picnic table and stare out at the water. She’s not talking much, and I don’t know how to make her—or if I even should. All I know is that I miss her almost constant smile.
I find her in the trailer, watching YouTube videos of cute animals. Again.
“Enough.” Her head shoots up at my stern voice. “You’re coming with me. Get some shoes on.”
“I’d rather...” she starts, her eyes drifting back to the screen.
“You’d rather watch video clips that make you miserable? That’s not you. We’re going to talk about this giant fucking elephant sharing the trailer with us, but first you’re coming with me.” I reach past her and close her laptop. Then I grab her hands and pull her out of the chair; ignoring the dirty look she throws me. Cupping her face, I tilt her head back a little and lean my forehead against hers. “Our future is being built out there. You’re missing it.”
Her eyes are swimming as she stares up at me, but finally she gives a sharp nod before turning to grab her shoes.
“You’ll need something other than flip-flops or those Converse for the winter. Some good boots,” I point out.
“I’ve got a pair of UGGs somewhere.”
“Those are not boots, those are confused slippers.”
“They’re warm,” she counters, biting back a little smile.
“Not for long if you wear them outside.”
The tension disappears with the lighthearted bickering, and Isla is smiling by the time I have her loaded in the golf cart. I hand her the camera that is normally fused to her body, but has been gathering dust for days now. There’s a flash of guilt in her eyes, but she takes it from me and fits the strap over her head. I get in beside her, even though it still goes against my religion to drive the senior wheels, but I don’t want her having to walk up. I swear we have to rock back and forth to get it the last fifty feet up the mountain.
“Not gonna get ya very far when the snow hits.” Jim chuckles heartily as I climb out of the damn thing. “Would’ve thought an ATV would’ve been more your speed,” he adds for good measure, before he walks off with Isla.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m going into town and buying an ATV. Fuck. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. I hurry to catch up with them, and throw my arm around Isla, as we watch our foundation being poured.
The modules of the house are scheduled to arrive in a little over a week, and Jim and his crew will be back to install them. We had the option of adding on a garage, which we did. It’ll come in handy over the winter. Set back into the tree line, Jim has also framed in a large shed to move the generator into and for storage.
At this rate, we could be in by Christmas. That is, if I can get the interior work done by then.
“Are you guys going to be a while?” Isla asks Jim, fitting the cap on the lens of the camera. She’s been snapping pictures the entire time.
“Most of the day, probably, why?”
“Don’t let anyone leave before stopping by the trailer,” she says, before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the golf cart.
“Where are we going?”
“Town. I need groceries.”
I throw occasional glances in Isla’s direction as we make our way down to the trailer. She seems focused and more alert than she has been the past few days.
“Are you gonna fill me in on the plan that is clearly taking shape in your head?”
“Chili and cornbread, I think. And we’ll need beer. Lots of beer.”
“You’re gonna feed everyone,” I conclude, remembering how she’d made friends, when she first got here, by driving this damn golf cart all over the campground, delivering breakfast.
“Of course,” she says, turning a shocked glare my way. “The guys worked their asses off to get that foundation in on time. We should celebrate.”
“Of course,” I echo through a smile. I’m glad to see her hands folded protectively around her camera and some fire back in those eyes. Today we celebrate; tonight we talk.
-
It’s pretty chilly when I walk the garb
age bag to the locked container. I keep my eye out for that momma bear and cub that have been spotted. Isla had an encounter in the summer, and I want to bet it’s the same bear who has been seen by some of the hunters, hanging around the dumpster in the early mornings.
No bears tonight though, just a quiet night with a bright moon shining off the water.
The crew left a while ago. Isla had charmed every last one of them. She’d been waiting with a huge pot of chili, two pans of cornbread, and cold beer, by the time they shut down for the day. Something that clearly was appreciated by all the guys, since they hung around until it was dark outside and there was nothing left in the pot.
I’m just glad to have the Isla back who can work a smile from the most cantankerous guy with her sharp little tongue, quick wit, and playfulness.
She’s outside when I walk back up to the trailer. Tossing paper plates and napkins into the fire pit along with a few logs. A couple of beers sit on the picnic table.
“Nice night for a bonfire.” She turns at the sound of my voice and smiles.
“I thought so,” she says. “It’s still pretty cold though, would you mind grabbing the quilt off the couch?”
When I come back out, flames are already shooting up from the pit, and she’s pulling two folding chairs side by side, facing the fire and the reservoir beyond. Settling in for a cozy night.
Too bad I’m going to ruin it by talking.
Isla
“We need to talk.”
I look over at Ben, who sits down beside me, looking like he just ran over someone’s puppy.
“I know,” I confirm with an encouraging smile.
Hiding is not exactly my style. I’d rather face what’s heading my way, and I knew this was coming. Ben’s tiptoed around me this past week. I can’t blame him, I’ve not exactly been Shirley fucking Temple, but part of me knew he’d be done with it at some point. I honestly don’t know where he’s at with this PCOS thing, but I guess I’m about to find out.
He covers us both with the blanket and tucks me under his arm. I wish we had a couch out here, so I could curl up against him, but this’ll have to do.
“That was nice,” he starts. “What you did for the guys. Smart too, making sure they won’t likely forget us while we wait for the house to get here.”
Not the opening I was expecting, but it’s a nice way to head, and I let his words warm me nonetheless.
“Thank you for dragging me up there. I would’ve hated missing that.”
“I know,” he rumbles, and we fall quiet again, just staring into the flames.
“I guess I needed a little kick in the butt,” I offer, carefully opening up the floor.
“You were sick. You needed some time, I get that, but it’s not like you to hole up inside while life passes by. So I nudged.” I feel him shrug beside me.
“With a sledgehammer,” I add and he chuckles.
“A calculated risk,” he says. “Big stuff is happening. Unless we both have our heads and our hearts in it, we might lose track of what’s important.”
“What is important to you?” I ask honestly, turning my head to look at him.
“You are. My sister and Mak are. What we’re building here is,” he answers, his face relaxed with a little smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “I’m kinda finding it out as I go. I had few expectations six months ago, but my dreams grow as possibilities present themselves.”
“What about kids?” I have to force the words from my throat. Ben reaches over and runs the back of his fingers along my cheek. An almost innocent gesture, but it shows me he feels the weight of my question.
“Kids were never really on the radar for me. Not with my job. Not with that life.” He takes in a deep breath and blows it out between pursed lips before he continues. “Kids with you? With this life? The one we’re building? Fuck yes—I’d be lying if I said the thought hasn’t crossed my mind once or twice. If that opportunity had come along, I’d have built dreams around that, too.”
“I did dream,” I confess quietly. “In the back of my mind, I guess I always hoped one day... But it was never an urge so strong it was choking me, until this week, now the choice is taken away. That is the hardest part for me.”
Ben is quiet beside me, stroking his thumb in the palm of my hand. Not saying a word, just being there—hearing me. We sit and watch as the flames slowly die down.
“We should go inside,” I suggest. I flip back the quilt and am halfway out of my chair when Ben pulls me down—onto his lap. “We’re gonna break the chair,” I protest, but he ignores me.
“I have something to say.” His voice is gruff and I twist around so I can see him. “I didn’t fall for a dream. Not for the promise of a house on a mountain, or a meal every day. I didn’t fall for fancy galleries or classic trailers.” His mouth pulls in a lopsided grin. “What I fell for is a tomboy, in the ugliest pair of cutoff jeans I’ve ever seen, covered in mosquito netting, sharing an egg sandwich with me on a dock...”
“You stole that sandwich,” I interrupt, ignoring the tears tracking down my cheek. Ben grins bigger and continues as if I never said a word.
“Who taught me how to see the beauty in a simple night sky.”
“You fell?” I slip my arms around his neck and bring my face close enough so our noses touch.
He gently rubs his along mine, before he whispers, “I think it’s safe to say I’ve fallen.”
-
The sound of a gunshot has me sitting up straight in bed.
“Son of a bitch,” Ben grumbles beside me, swinging his legs over the side and tugging his jeans on.
“Where are you going?”
“Middle of the night and some asshole is shooting a gun, babe. Gonna check it out.”
“I’m coming with you,” I announce, jumping out of bed myself.
“Pixie,” Ben says in his I’m-trying-hard-to-be-patient voice.
“Ben,” I return a lot firmer. “I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
“I’m law enforcement. This is what I do,” he argues, pulling his shirt down and grabbing his gun from the shelf above the bed.
“Not any more, you’re not,” I counter, making a grab for the shotgun still stored in the small closet. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was biting down a grin when I turn around with the gun in my hands.
“May wanna take your finger off the trigger until you’ve got something in your sights. You trip like that and you’re bound to shoot your foot off.”
“Fine,” I grumble, none too graciously. I’m ignoring the fact I have no clue what to do with the gun in my hands, or that I have no clue how to shoot the thing if it came to that. For now, holding it makes me feel better as I follow Ben outside.
“Do me a favor,” Ben says, stopping me right outside the trailer door and shoving a large flashlight in my hands. “Stay here? Aim this at the dumpster?”
Before I have a chance to protest, he disappears into the dark. I fumble one-handedly, and almost drop the light when another shot rings out and loud yelling ensues. Finally locating the switch with my thumb, I aim the bright swatch of light in the general direction of the noise. I don’t see anything at first, but then the beam catches on some movement right by the garbage bin. Two men, one of them Ben, clearly arguing about something.
My hand is shaking as I try to lift the flashlight higher, and I lose my grip. The beam hits the dark in an erratic pattern as the light crashes to the ground, before it goes dark completely. The sudden dark is blinding and I dive down, my hand frantically searching around. The sound of gravel crunching has me look up, but I can’t see beyond the subdued circle of light filtering from the trailer window. I abandon my search for the light and straighten up, lifting the shotgun I’ve been clinging to in my other hand, and aiming it in the direction of the sound. My heart is almost beating out of my chest when a voice comes from the dark.
“It’s just me, Pixie.”
Ben steps from the shadows and I immediate
ly drop down the barrel.
“Jesus!” I exclaim, bending over to catch the breath that is lodged in my throat.
“One of the guys on thirty-four thought it was a good idea to try and shoot at the bear he found by the dumpster. Second time he shot was at me. Stupid fuck,” Ben grumbles, as he bends down to pick up the flashlight that had rolled under the steps.
“I almost shot at you, too,” I confess, mortified.
“Nah, not a chance,” he says, grinning ear to ear. “Be hard to do with an unloaded weapon.”
“What?” I look at the shotgun before my eyes find Ben again. “What if it wasn’t you? What if someone had—”
My protests are cut off when he tags me behind the neck and kisses me quiet. Very damn effective.
“I...” I start back in when he allows me to draw a breath but he talks over me.
“Wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have let it happen,” he says, as he walks past me into the trailer.
I follow behind but instead of moving right, into the living space, I take an immediate left. I dump the shotgun on the floor beside the bed, strip my clothes, and crawl under the covers in a snit, my back turned to the door.
It’s not long after Ben crawls in—ignores my rigid back, curves his long body behind me, with one large hand splayed comfortingly on my stomach—that I finally fall asleep.
CHAPTER 8
Isla
“Finally!” Jen calls out when she sees me coming in. “I was this close to venturing up on that mountain of yours, even though I’m desperately unsuited to outdoor life.”
I snicker at her dramatics as I grab a stool on the side of the counter.
“Hit me up with a no-fat-skimmed, full calorie, double shots of caramel, macchiato. Easy on the coffee and heavy on the whipped cream.” I grin at her raised eyebrows.
“We celebrating?” she wants to know. “Cause if we are, I’m in.”
Before waiting for an answer, she turns to her prized espresso maker. The gleaming copper monstrosity looks more like it belongs in an old steam locomotive, instead of a coffee shop, but it produces sheer bliss in a cup.