The Cold Kiss

by John Rector

  Sara opened the door and stepped back.

  “Oh, God!”

  I went inside, then straight to my bag by the side of the bed. I grabbed my pills and tried to open them but my fingers were frozen and I couldn’t work the lid.

  Sara took the bottle and tapped two pills into her palm then handed them to me.

  I swallowed them dry then said, “More.”

  She tapped out two more.

  I took them, then sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you okay?”

  She kept her voice soft. She knew.

  I told her I was, then leaned forward and tried to untie the laces on my boots. They were caked with snow and ice, and my fingers wouldn’t bend.

  “Get my boots.”

  Sara bent down and knocked the snow away then untied the laces. She pulled off my boots then my socks. They were soaked through, and my feet were numb.

  I tried to stand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Bath,” I said.

  She helped me up then grabbed one of the candles from the nightstand.

  “No light.”

  “It’s just a candle.”

  “No light.”

  Right then, any light was too much.

  Sara put the candle down then helped me to the bathroom. Once I was inside, she asked if I needed help.

  I told her I could do it.

  She stood in the doorway for a moment longer, then she stepped out and shut the door.

  With the door closed, the bathroom was black except for a small frosted window, high up next to the ceiling. The light leaking through the glass was cold and gray, like a dying moon.

  I leaned down and turned the water to hot then started taking off the rest of my clothes. When I was naked, I crawled over the side and sat in the tub and let the water cover me.

  I kept my eyes closed until the stabbing pain in my head started to fade, then I looked up and focused on the window, hanging in the steam.

  The water burned my skin, but I still couldn’t stop shivering. I could feel the familiar haze that came along with my pills. It pulled at me, removing me from the world one step at a time.

  I welcomed it.

  Once my headache was gone, I closed my eyes and slid under the water. The silence was glorious, and I felt like I could hold my breath forever.

  When I opened my eyes again, the water had turned cold. I reached over and pulled the plug on the drain then got up and grabbed one of the towels off the rack and wrapped it around my waist.

  I stepped out, bracing myself against the sink.

  The room was dark and the tile floor felt cold and slick under my feet. I stood for a while, staring at my reflection in the mirror, but all I could see was a shadow, hunched forward, breathing.

  Every time I closed my eyes I saw Syl’s face staring up at me from the bottom of the ravine. Someone told me once that freezing wasn’t a bad way to die, that eventually your brain just shut down and you fell asleep.

  Nice and peaceful.

  I wanted to believe it was true.

  I grabbed the sides of the sink and squeezed. I could feel my pulse in my jaw, and I knew the pain in my head was still there, hidden under my medication, waiting.

  The image of Syl wouldn’t go away.

  I could still hear his voice, calling for me to help.

  I wondered if he was already dead.

  His voice got louder. I couldn’t escape it.

  I bit the insides of my cheeks, hard, then stepped back and slammed my fist against the mirror. The glass shattered and dug into my knuckles, but there was no pain.

  Syl’s voice was gone.

  I stood for a moment, breathing hard, my heart beating strong in my chest. I could feel blood running over my hand and dripping onto the tile floor.

  Somewhere far away, Sara was calling me.

  I reached down and opened the door.

  She was sitting up in bed, naked, and when she saw me she said, “What happened? Are you okay?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I crossed the room and climbed on top of her, pushing her back on the bed.

  “Nate?”

  I kissed her.

  She fought me at first, then she kissed me back.

  I reached down and moved her legs apart.

  “Wait, your hand. You’re bleeding.”

  I held her down and pressed into her.

  Sara inhaled, sharp, and dug her nails into the back of my neck. I drove into her, hard, over and over.

  I felt her breath against my skin, hot and sweet.

  “It’s ours, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s all ours.”

  There were tears on my face, running down, mixing with my blood, covering us both.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s all ours.”

  She moaned, and her legs squeezed tight around me.

  I thought about the ocean.

  I thought about blue skies and lazy palm trees leaning softly into a smooth yellow sun. I thought about warm nights on an empty beach, Sara next to me, staring up at a shatter of stars.

  We had more money than I’d ever imagined.

  We could do anything we wanted.

  We were free.

  Yet I couldn’t stop crying.

  Part II

  14

  I woke up sweating.

  Someone was knocking on the door.

  I sat up and tried to clear my head. My heart was beating hard, and I could taste something sour at the back of my throat.

  The knocking came again, louder this time.

  Sara rolled over and said, “Who is that?”

  I started to tell her I didn’t know, then she pushed the covers away and ran toward the bathroom with her hand over her mouth. I didn’t think she was going to make it in time, but she did.

  Whoever was outside knocked again.

  I looked at the gun on the nightstand then got up and reached for my pants on the floor. I took the gun and slid it into the back of my belt then opened the door.

  Butch was standing outside, smiling.

  “Good morning, Minnesota,” he said.

  He had on a ripped red flannel jacket and a red hunter’s cap with earflaps. There was a wrinkled cigarette in his mouth and he smiled around it.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “No complaints,” I said.

  “Good to hear.”

  I looked past him and saw the snow had been cleared off the parking lot. I asked him about it.

  “Half of it, anyway.” Butch pointed to the building across from us and said, “My nephew has one of those snowplow attachments for his pickup. The idiot ran it into one of the concrete parking barriers and snapped the damn mounting.” He shook his head. “Surprised you didn’t hear it. I thought he was gonna wake the dead.”

  “Your nephew is staying over there?”

  “Lives there,” Butch said. “He’s lived here, on and off, since he was a kid. Helps me out around the place, day-to-day maintenance, that kind of thing.”

  I thought about the man I saw standing out there the night before, smoking his cigarette, watching me. I still wanted to believe I’d imagined it all, but I couldn’t.

  “Anywhoo.” Butch took another drag off the cigarette then flicked it into the snow. “I stopped by to let you folks know the road is still closed. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I put together a breakfast over in the office. Everyone’s invited. We’ve got a small kitchen with a few tables and chairs set up. The food ain’t much, but we got enough to get us by.”

  Behind me, the sound of Sara throwing up carried through the thin bathroom door.

  Butch frowned.

  “How’s your friend holding up?”

  It took me a moment, then it came to me.

  I smiled.

  “She’s better than she was last night,” I said. “Didn’t need a hospital after all.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “You must’ve been r
ight,” I said. “A good night’s sleep seemed to help.”

  “It’s amazing how often it does.”

  He stood at the door for another minute, neither of us speaking, then he thumbed back over his shoulder and said, “Well, I need to keep spreading the word.”

  “You get a lot of people in last night?”

  He shook his head. “Four or five, including you two.”

  “Is that a lot?”

  “These days it is,” he said. “We used to do our share during hunting season, but not so much anymore. Now, most folks stay at one of the big chains over in Harlan or back in Red Oak.”

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “It is what it is,” he said. “You know what they say, time and tide.”

  I didn’t know, but I kept that to myself.

  I watched Butch fish another wrinkled cigarette out of his pocket and light it with a kitchen match, then he waved it out and said, “Hope to see you two at breakfast, if she’s feeling up to it, of course.”

  I told him he would, then he turned and walked away.

  I closed the door.

  Sara was still in the bathroom, so I sat on the bed and waited. I noticed the green backpack lying on the floor by the bed. Seeing it made me think of Syl, which made me wonder. Soon my hands were shaking, and I squeezed them together as tight as I could.

  They wouldn’t stop.

  A few minutes later I heard the toilet flush and the water run in the sink, then Sara came out holding one hand over her stomach.

  “I hope this doesn’t last the entire time,” she said.

  “Is it supposed to get better?”

  “I think so.”

  She climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Who was at the door?”

  I told her about the food.

  “Ugh, stop.”

  “Not hungry?”

  “God, no.”

  “Probably just bananas and wet vending machine muffins,” I said. “I’m hoping for coffee.”

  “Jesus, Nate, knock it off, will you?”

  I kept talking, but I had no idea why.

  The words just seemed to roll out of my mouth. I ran through all the breakfast foods I could think of, eggs and bacon, omelets, waffles, pancakes and maple syrup.

  The list went on and on.

  I didn’t stop until I felt Sara’s hands on my face. When I looked up, she was sitting on her knees, holding my head between her hands. Her eyes were soft, worried.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wro—”

  She shushed me then leaned in and kissed me, soft. I didn’t want her to stop, but eventually she did.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, but this time there were no words.

  “Are you sure?”

  I told her I was.

  “The worst part is over,” she said. “It’s done.”

  I watched her, and for a second the desire to tell her what’d happened the night before was overwhelming. I even opened my mouth and started to confess, but I stopped myself and looked away. I knew I’d tell her someday, but not yet. She’d had a hard enough time when she thought Syl had died in the car. She wasn’t ready to know the truth.

  Sara kissed me again and I turned away.

  I reached for my shoes on the floor and slid them on, then grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair.

  “Nate?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She paused. “Was it really awful?”

  I told her it was, then motioned to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you some food?”

  She didn’t say anything right away, then she leaned back and pulled the sheet up around her neck and said, “Something light, a banana or an apple, maybe? In case I’m hungry later.”

  I told her I’d see what I could find, then I opened the door and stepped out into the cold.

  I pulled my jacket tight and started down the walkway toward the office. When I got to the end of the building, I looked out at the empty field. I could see the cottonwood tree in the distance. It stood black and skeletal, a thin crack against a white sky.

  I stared at it for a while, thinking about the night before and trying to ignore the cold feeling spreading through my chest. When I finally turned away, I told myself that what was done was done, and it couldn’t be taken back. I had to let it go.

  Syl was dead, and the snow was deep.

  It would be a long time before anyone found him, and with any luck, the plows were already on their way. We’d be back on the road this afternoon.

  All we had to do was wait.

  By the time I got to the office, my hands had stopped shaking. I’d managed to convince myself that everything was okay, that I’d done what was right for Sara and the baby, and that things were going to work out. I even stood outside the office and listened for the low scraping groan of the plows that I was sure were on the way.

  Instead, all I heard was the thin, cold hiss of the wind passing over snow.

  15

  Once inside the office, I could smell fresh coffee and fried bacon. There was a piece of paper taped to the front desk with the words “Dining Room” written in thick black letters and an arrow pointing toward an open door at the far end of the room.

  I walked through.

  There were several folding tables set up around a large brick fireplace. The fire burning inside was warm and smelled like autumn. The only people I saw were an older couple playing cards at one table, and a girl in a black hooded sweatshirt at another. She was holding an empty coffee cup with both hands and staring out the window at the snow.

  They all looked up when I walked in.

  There was a lime green refrigerator along the far wall and a gas stove with a blue metal coffeepot bubbling on one of the burners. Next to it, on the counter, was a large plate stacked with scrambled eggs and bacon.

  No fruit.

  I took a step toward the food, then hesitated.

  The older woman looked at me over the thickest glasses I’d ever seen and said, “Help yourself, honey. Butch stepped out for a minute, but he’ll be right back. You met Butch, right?”

  I told her I had.

  The man across from her made a dismissive sound then said, “We think he runs the place.” He didn’t look up from his cards. “He might even own it, but who the hell knows.”

  The old woman frowned and shook her head. The gesture was both disapproving and apologetic. It made me smile and imagine how Sara and I would be in forty years.

  “I think he owns it,” I said. “That’s the impression he gave me.”

  The old man didn’t say anything else, so I walked past him and went straight for the coffee. There were mugs on the counter. I picked one up then reached for the pot.

  “Watch yourself,” the woman said. “You’ll lose your fingerprints.” She pointed to a hot pad on the counter. “Use that. You’ll thank me.”

  I picked up the hot pad and used it to grab the handle. Even with it, I could feel the heat.

  I took one of the paper plates off the counter and spooned out some eggs and a few pieces of bacon then sat at one of the empty tables.

  The eggs were good. The coffee was brilliant.

  “You’ve never used one before, have you?”

  I looked up at the woman. “Never used what?” “A percolator,” she said. “The coffee.”

  I shook my head.

  “Neither of you.” She motioned to the girl by the window. “I suppose you’re both too young. Marcus and I keep one around for camping, in case we want to make coffee over a fire, but you don’t see them too often anymore.”

  “Except here,” Marcus said. “Probably never heard of Mr. Coffee.”

  “And Mr. Coffee works great with no electricity, doesn’t it?” the woman said. “There’s something to be said about the old way of doing things, and you should count your blessings.” She look
ed back at me. “Can you believe how fast that storm hit? What time did you get in?”

  I told her I didn’t know, then added, “Late.”

  “Us, too,” she said. “He’s not happy about being here, but I don’t mind. This place reminds me of being a kid. It’s like a snapshot of the past.”

  I looked around the room. All four walls were rimmed with wainscoting and several dusty paintings of farms and Midwestern sunsets. The ceiling was spotted with water stains, and the carpet was faded and thin.

  “You by yourself?”

  “My fiancée is in our room,” I said. “She’s not feeling too good.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” the woman said. “My name is Caroline, by the way. This is my husband, Marcus.”

  Marcus tapped the side of his head with one crooked finger then took several blue and white poker chips from a stack in front of him and pushed them into the middle of the table and said, “Raise.”

  Caroline ignored him. “That’s Megan over there. She came in late, after they closed the road.” Caroline leaned close and whispered, “She’s over here from Russia, studying to be a doctor.”

  I nodded, then turned toward her and smiled. Megan smiled back, but didn’t seem to care if we met or not. I didn’t either, but I figured it was good to be polite.

  “I’m Nate,” I said. “Sara is back in the room.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “No, she’s okay.”

  “That’s good.” She motioned to my hand and frowned. “That looks like it hurt.”

  “Not too bad.”

  I’d used the gauze in Syl’s bag to wrap my hand the night before, but now several dark stains were blossoming on the surface. I made a mental note to change it when I got back to the room.

  “Are you going to take her some food when you go?” Caroline asked. “Food sometimes helps.”

  “Carol,” Marcus said. “Why don’t you just play your damn hand and stop talking the man’s ear off while he’s trying to eat?”

  “Why don’t you butt out?” Caroline looked at me, her eyes swollen behind her lenses. “Am I bugging you, Nate? If I am, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She turned back to Marcus. “You know I’m going to beat you anyway, so why do you care?” She dropped a stack of chips into the middle of the table then turned her cards faceup in front of her. “Now, why don’t you grab me some more coffee, can you do that?”