WISHBONE

by Brooklyn Hudson

  “Down…Calme toi!” Julien ordered sternly, but the dog only grew more excitable with each syllable. It circled him and lurched back and forth, landing in a bow to the left, and then the right with the precision of a trapeze artist.

  “Stop, stop... il est vraiment à l'ouest!” He compared its routine to a Wild West show. He wanted to be angry, sound authoritative, but found himself amused and showing it. He had never seen a dog so gleefully out of control. The harder Julien tried to calm it, the more the dog went berserk, its clumsy rear legs skidding between his front paws, slipping onto its side with a hard thud, then leaping back up unscathed.

  “Mon Dieu! You are very crazy.”

  Without rationale, the dog suddenly changed its course, darted past Julien through the open door and headed rapidly into the tree line.

  “Il a son quart d’heure de folie.” Julien referred to its fifteen minutes of madness, shaking his head in wonder, before returning to his original plan to find Rachael.

  “Rach…” He called out as he walked toward the kitchen. He came to a halt at the archway, a strange feeling washing over him instantly; the air felt heavy and still.

  Something is not right.

  He looked around the room. The table was at an odd angle and slammed up to the sink. One chair lay on its side below it. On the counter, a featherless, butchered chicken sat on a plastic cutting board.

  It had become somewhat of a joke between them, that neither he nor Rachael could ever eat chicken again—duck would certainly be out of the question—not as long as they were keeping the birds on their property.

  “Rach?” He called out. He was about to turn and head upstairs looking for her, when he noticed the mudroom door was closed.

  That door is never closed.

  He went to it and jiggled the handle—it was locked.

  “Rachael, are you in there?” Though there was no response, he could feel her presence behind that door.

  He rattled the door handle again. “Open the door!” he demanded then pressed his ear to the wood.

  The room was silent. He stepped back and rammed his shoulder against the heavy antique wood.

  “P’tain.” He winced.

  He leaned back and braced himself for a second try. This time the wood made a slight crackling sound, but the pain in his shoulder suggested he not try again.

  Looking around the room, he remembered the junk drawer.

  “Rachael, please open the door.” He spoke loudly across the distance as he rummaged through toaster manuals and appliance warranties, magnets from pizza parlors miles away in the city, a tangled ball of mostly unraveled string, a hammer, a wire cutter, and finally, a screwdriver.

  On his knees, he fiddled with the tiny screws on either side of the knob until it came away in his hand. The door swung open and he got to his feet.

  In the room the air felt stagnant and humid. He looked around before stepping in; a beam of sunlight, millions of minute particles of dust dancing in its glow, cut the room down its center. He stepped in further and peered into the open closet where he found boxes of art supplies and a folded easel. He moved slowly, turning around to face the worktable. On the floor, a large sculpture lay twisted, drying in a disfigured heap. He crouched beside it and slowly reached for the dangling drop cloth. Like a magician pulling a never-ending handkerchief from his sleeve, he reeled in the crumpled material until he had gathered it into a large ball. There, exposed below the table, he found Rachael, clutching herself and mumbling.

  Rachael stared past him; her eyes were vacant. She rambled incoherently to herself with inaudible words.

  Julien could not make sense of the scene. “Rachael… What happened? What is it? Come here.”

  He reached for her arm and she screamed a shrill wail that terrified him, though he refused to let go and quickly pulled her from her hiding place, dragging her forcibly toward him.

  “Okay, okay… You are okay, Rachael. It’s only me.” He attempted to reassure and calm her as she fought him angrily, punching and trying to yank herself free.

  The medication…it was too soon for her to quit.

  He continued to hold on, eventually getting her closer to his body, pinning her flailing arms and ceasing her punches.

  “Rachael, please. It’s me, it’s Julien. What happened? Talk to me. Tell me what is happening?” After several moments of fight, he felt her exhausted body give in and she went catatonic.

  * * * *

  “Really, I’m fine. I feel like an idiot, but now I’m fine,” Rachael said as she sat on the couch next to Julien. She sipped the tea she clutched with both hands, her elbows resting on folded knees.

  “I think you should call the docteur in the city. Get a referral for someone up here, locally.” Julien insisted for the third time, still considerably shaken by the state in which he had found his wife. He could not trust her rapid recovery to be one of permanence.

  “Jules, I said I’m fine.” She borrowed his cigarette, pinching it from between his fingers and allowing herself a long slow drag before handing it back. “Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. The music had stopped and I was deep in thought and… really Jules, I’m fine.”

  “I will stop to talk about this, but you were not fine thirty minutes ago. That was very big, Rachael. It was very bad. You were right back to the start….maybe worse.” Julien eyed her suspiciously, but as if the relapse had never happened, she was back to herself again.

  “It’s all over now.” She rubbed his arm, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I took a pill, Jules.”

  One pill was not enough of a reassurance for him. “Maybe you should take the pills for a few days, just to be sure,” Julien suggested, knowing this was a losing battle.

  Rachael pouted; her heart went out to him.

  Julien threw his hands up in frustration. “I am not saying anything more, Rachael…I am saying alone that your reactions…it was big. Too big to pretend it did not ‘appen.”

  She understood that Julien was afraid. She could see the panic in his eyes. Seeing her once again in that way had been terrifying for him. Their lives had only recently returned to some semblance of normalcy. She placed her tea on the table and crawled into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He tensed instantly and looked away, chewing at the inside of his cheek.

  “I’m sorry I upset you, Jules.” She rested her head on his shoulder, but he remained aloof.

  “Hey…talk to me. Don’t be angry.” She hooked his chin with her finger and forced him to face her. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I promise you, we’re never going to live that way again. I got scared and overreacted, but it’s over now.”

  He gave her a sideways glance and asked, “Will you take the pills for a few days?”

  “I will take the pills if there is any residual problem. But I honestly believe this was a solitary incident and I will not need a pill again tonight…or tomorrow.” She gazed into his eyes. His furrowed brow was unwavering.

  She decided to change the subject. “What are we going to do about that dog?” she asked.

  He grinned and explained, “It is very crazy, this dogs.”

  Rachael smiled. “It’s crazy, and it knows how to open doors.”

  Julien’s eyes grew wide. “No, I think the door was left open by your friend, Sarah.”

  Rachael scoffed, “Sarah?”

  “Yes, the chickens on the counter. Her handy-job, no?”

  “Handy-work.” Rachael tried not to laugh at his inadvertent, near-erotic mix up. “What chickens?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

  He repeated himself. “The chickens. Did you see it?” He motioned for her to get up from his lap. “Come…”

  In the kitchen, they stood gawking at the carcass.

  Rachael was appalled. “That’s disgusting…” She shivered. “Oh my God! I feel like we’re eating the family pet.”

  Julien scoffed, “Oh, but this is not the family pets.”

  “Jules … we feed th
ese things. They’re out there … alive … wondering where their friend is.”

  Julien laughed, “Do you know, my grandfather raised one pig every year. I would play with it and watch it grow, even name it, and then…Whack! We would ‘ave fresh bacon one day.”

  Rachael grimaced. “That’s cruel,” she whined, her eyes instantly glassy, as if she might actually cry.

  “Ah, but it is how it is on the farms.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Cook it,” he offered. “I bet it’s the best chickens you ever eat.”

  Rachael looked down at the plump bird, tiny hairs poking from its dimpled pale flesh. “But, at the grocery store we said—”

  He cut her words short. “That was when I thought I would have to kill it. This is already dead. Why waste it? That would be cruel, no?” He poked her in the ribs playfully. “Do you want for me to do it?”

  She glared at him. “I’ll cook it. I can’t promise I’ll eat it, but I’ll cook it.” She grabbed the pepper mill, her nose crinkled in disgust; she seasoned the bird.

  “Good girl. When you are done, come with me to the loft. I need to shut down the computer and close up for the night.”

  “You’re quitting work early?” She asked while slicing a lemon.

  “Well, I thought maybe you want for me to stay in the house with you for the rest of the day.”

  Rachael stopped slicing to face him. “Go work, Jules. I promise you, there will not be another incident.” She turned her attention back to the bird.

  Julien watched her cook for a moment. He did have work to finish and she seemed surprisingly well-recovered from the incident. He had watched her swallow the Xanax, which would keep her on an even keel for the rest of the day, regardless.

  He grabbed an apple from a basket on the table. “I won’t be long,” he assured her. “A few hours at the most.” He motioned to the chicken. “Call me when that thing is ready.” He kissed her forehead and left her to prepare dinner on her own.

  * * * *

  Once again, Julien looked up to find the sun setting behind the mountains. Awestruck by the picturesque beauty of the panoramic view and the serene soundtrack of chirping crickets and leaves rustling in the warm breeze.

  How lucky are we to find this place?

  A gift from God, perhaps.

  For what we have been through…in exchange.

  He thought about the scare Rachael had given him earlier. How she had both crumbled and recovered so quickly. Part of him wanted to continue to urge her back into therapy, but another part of him relished the idea of sweeping the incident under the rug, to live a normal life without constant reminders like pill bottles and psych appointments. He questioned if he could ever truly believe her recovery would be one of permanence.

  Too good to be true, no?

  That’s not nice.

  Don’t think in this way.

  He glanced at his watch. Rachael had not called him in for dinner, but he had been gone longer than he suggested he would. He shut down the computer, closing up shop to spend the rest of the evening with his wife.

  Julien came over the loft’s edge onto the ladder just as the coop’s door slammed shut behind him. Holding on tight, he looked back over his shoulder down at the coop. Once again, there was nothing to see and no sign of Sarah. The door to the coop seemed untouched and the chickens inside were silent.

  She’s in there now.

  She must be.

  Still clutching the top of the ladder and determined to catch her this time, he rushed to descend. He heard the crackling sound, but before he could react, a loud snap followed and the rung broke beneath his weight. By the time, he realized what was happening, his right leg had slipped through the ladder, catching him in midair and slamming him upside down, his back slapping against the rungs below him. He froze motionless, trying to regain his bearings as he dangled high above the ground. Braced only by one bent knee and trying to not look down, Julien inched his arms slowly to his sides. The wood continued to creak, echoing in the silent barn as he attempted to grab hold of the ladder’s frame. Without warning, another loud snap sounded and several more rungs gave way, dropping Julien to the floor below.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Too bright…

  The intense fluorescent lighting stung Julien’s eyes.

  “Julien… Julien wake up baby.” Rachael held his hand and gave it a light jostling.

  Julien’s eyes fluttered and Rachael cupped her palm above his eyes to block the light until he could adjust.

  Rachael rambled nervously, “Oh Jules, I was so scared. How do you feel? Are you okay?”

  Her words came at him too quickly; her voice was an irritation. He pulled his hand away from hers and motioned for her to stop. He attempted to focus, blinking and looking around at their surroundings. Someone else was there, moving around the room and coming closer.

  “Mr. Grenier, I’m Dr. Lind. The sedation will wear off pretty quickly now.” He chuckled.

  What is he laughing at?

  Who is that?

  The words slowly registered. Julien’s tongue felt like thick-wadded cotton, obstructive and dry in his mouth.

  Docteur…?

  He narrowed his eyes and tried to get a good look at the man. He was older, heavy-set, easily in his mid-seventies, with stark white hair grown to his shoulders and a frizzy white beard resting halfway down his broad chest.

  Rachael took Julien’s hand again. “I was so scared, Jules.” She pressed her lips to his knuckles.

  Oblivious, Julien attempted to lift himself onto his elbows but succeeded only in teetering awkwardly to the side and nearly rolling off the table. The doctor and Rachael scrambled to grab him, forcing him to lay back.

  “Give the sedation a little more time to wear off.” Dr. Lind winked and patted Julien’s shoulder. “Do you know where you are Mr. Grenier?”

  Lind’s voice was booming.

  Too loud.

  Still disoriented, Julien ignored the question.

  Rachael intervened, blurting, “You fell Jules…from the ladder in the barn.”

  Julien stared at her, baffled and struggling to translate her English; his mind reverted to thinking in French.

  La porte a claqué…The door slammed.

  La jeune fille…The girl.

  L'échelle…The ladder.

  Out of nowhere, the doctor shone a thin light into Julien’s eye and he turned away. Lind paid no mind and checked the other eye. This time, Julien shoved the doctor’s hand away.

  Lind smiled at Rachael. “Let’s give him a few more minutes to wake up and I’ll explain everything to him.” He chuckled again.

  The doctor handed a paper cup of water to Rachael. “Small sips and try to keep him still,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to fill a prescription for you to take home…get him through the night.” He stepped away, leaving the door open behind him.

  Julien motioned for the water and Rachael allowed him a few sips. The anesthesia was dissipating.

  He cleared his throat several times. “If he laughs again, I’ll kill him.” Julien grumbled.

  Rachael found this quite amusing. “He’s very nice,” she whined.

  “Now we know what Santa Claus does the rest of the year,” he retorted; his tone riddled with sarcasm.

  Rachael giggled; she had been thinking the same. She slapped a hand over her mouth embarrassed by the outburst. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Okay?

  I don’t feel okay.

  Rachael remembered him at the base of the ladder again. “I was so scared,” she admitted for the third time.

  “I don’t know what happened. One minute I am on the ladder and then—” A sudden twinge of pain cut his words short.

  Rachael’s eyes grew wide. “Are you okay?”

  Julien nodded. “I want to sit up.”

  Rachael was about to stop him when Lind returned.

  “He can probably sit up now, but stay close by him just in case.” He p
laced a small white paper bag on a counter and approached the table where Julien lay.

  Lind had obviously overheard Julien’s request and Rachael hoped he had not also heard his potshots.

  Dr. Lind pressed a button and the hydraulic table began to hum. Julien’s upper body slowly tilted forward.

  Julien looked down upon the cast encasing the entire length of his left leg. He dropped his head back against the pillows; his temples began to pound.

  “Well Mr. Grenier, you took quite a fall.” The doctor pulled up a tall stool up beside him and took a seat. “I’m sending you home for the night in what’s called a back slab—it’s a temporary cast. It should hold you together just fine until you get to Schenectady tomorrow morning.”

  Schenectedy?

  Heck of a time for a trip…

  Lind fiddled with his pen and giggled inappropriately once more. “I’m giving you a referral to see Dr. Roman Ptak.”

  Rachael interrupted, “Dr. Lind says he’s the best Orthopedic Surgeon in the area.”

  Lind continued, “You have a mild concussion, multiple fractures in the leg…” He smiled. “…and I’m sure the rest of you is pretty sore as well.”

  He jotted a note in Julien’s chart. “You’ll go home with pain medication for tonight. I would avoid any food or water after midnight…I’m sure Dr. Ptak will have to repair that leg surgically and he might want to do it right away.”

  It was Julien’s turn for nervous laughter. He looked down at himself in disbelief.

  Lind went on, “I was able to reduce some of the fractures, but he’ll need to reinforce my work with a few nuts and bolts…” He winked and clicked his tongue. “…he’ll have you up and walking in no time.”

  Julien looked at Rachael who knew immediately what he was thinking. She bit down hard on her lip to fend off a grin.

  Dr. Lind got to his feet. “Let me show you.” He turned on the light board illuminating Julien’s x-rays. “If you reach down to feel it, the front of this cast is padded well but soft, while the back is plaster and rock solid…it will allow for any swelling overnight, but be extra careful not to bang into anything and whatever you do, don’t fall.” His belly lurched as he chuckled some more. “Have you ever used crutches before, Mr. Grenier? I can give you a quick lesson.”