I licked my lips and tasted something sweet. Grape. I was eating a bagel.
“My bagel?” I asked. What was I even asking? Why was everything so confusing?
“How do you feel?” the paramedic asked.
The ride decelerated; the room around me spun slower and slower. “Um.” I closed my eyes and willed the ride to completely stop. When I opened my eyes, the room was still. The paramedic’s face came slowly into focus. Blue eyes. They were nice eyes. And concerned eyes at the moment.
I looked around me and saw the blue walls. My mom’s bedroom. My brow furrowed while I tried to recall what had happened.
“Miss?” the paramedic asked.
Panic started sliding through my body, though I couldn’t figure out why. My hands grasped out and gripped the paramedic’s arms. “Please. I need to sit up.”
The paramedic seemed reluctant to help me so I pulled myself up into a sitting position and immediately winced, my head pounding.
“Just stay still,” the paramedic urged, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Ow.” It was all I managed to say before I closed my eyes and lifted a hand to the back of my head. What had happened? Another hand moved to my forehead as I rubbed my fingers into the pain. I pushed harder, hoping that aggravating the pain would bring on a memory of what had happened. I bent my head forward and breathed through the pain. A lyric popped into my head from nowhere. “I know it’s up for me, if you steal my sunshine.”
My eyes opened, resting first on my wet jeans. Why were my jeans wet? My hand touched them to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. My fingers came away wet and cold. It was solving a puzzle without having a complete picture to reference.
I felt the cold then, the wet of my shirt against my skin so I reached down and pulled on the loose fabric. It was pink. What an odd color. I didn’t own any pink shirts.
I heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie and turned my head in the direction from which it came. There was another paramedic in my mom’s bathroom talking to a police officer.
I ran a hand down my face. WAKE UP, my subconscious yelled. My head wouldn’t stop pounding, bruising my skull. I knew the paramedic was still talking to me but I slowly shook my head and put my hand up, a silent plea to give me a minute while I looked down at my shirt.
Above my left breast was a purple stain. Grape. The jelly. The lower half of my shirt was stained pink and the top half was dry and white.
It was then that my brain clicked, that the shock wore off and I realized my shirt was stained with grape jelly and my mother’s blood. I leaned forward and vomited on the paramedic. It was then that I remembered what had happened. The before.
I had just gotten home from school and popped a bagel in the toaster in the kitchen before sliding my backpack to the counter and switching on the radio under the cabinet.
I was in seventh grade, all gangly limbs and frizzy hair, a mouth full of metal. I was a walking cliché of awkward. My jeans had holes from overuse, not from style. My tees were the free tee shirts firefighters tossed into crowds during a fourth of July parade, or the tees given away on the radio station – not stylish. My looks didn’t matter to me then. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, especially then, especially before I became the loneliest I’d ever been.
I smeared grape jelly on my bagel and took a large bite while my foot tapped along with the radio. My head bopped to the beat of “Steal My Sunshine.” I didn’t catch the glob of jelly that fell from my next bite until it stained my tee shirt, this one saying “Heart of Hanover 5K.” I didn’t run that 5K, but this was one of the few white shirts I owned that I hadn’t stained yet so I plopped my bagel on the counter and ran up the stairs to my bedroom, singing along to the radio.
I bounced down the hallway, the carpet eating up the sounds of my footsteps. My bedroom was at the end of the hallway. I had to pass my mom’s office, my bathroom, the linen closet and my mom’s bedroom before I reached mine.
I stopped when I got to my mom’s door. It was closed. My mom never closed her door, not even when she was sleeping. We often joked about removing our doors from their hinges; we shared everything, never hiding anything from each other.
I didn’t know what to do. Knock? I’d never been faced with a closed door before. I turned the brass handle slowly and pushed. The door had expanded in the summer from the humidity, so it took a bit of a shove to get open. I shoved hard enough that I nearly fell into the room and gripped the brass handle for balance. The bedroom was empty, her bed made and tidy. I walked around the armoire on the wall opposite her bed and saw the bathroom door was closed. That wasn’t unusual. Everyone needed privacy when they were in the bathroom.
I nearly turned back and headed to my room, assuming my mom was in the shower, but something stopped me.
I knocked once on the door. When there was no reply, I knocked twice. When there was still no reply, I laid my ear on the door. “Mom?” I called softly, tapping the door with my fingernails. “Are you okay?”
Silence. I didn’t hear water running or my mom’s voice on the other end. Odd.
“I’m coming in,” I hollered.
I grabbed the handle and turned it. My eyes took in her clothing on the floor in front of the pedestal sink. I lifted my eyes up and saw my mom leaned back in the claw foot tub, eyes closed, her face serene. “Mom?” I asked, tip toeing further into the bathroom.
The fabric curtain partially obscured her body from my view, so all I could see was her head, her facial muscles relaxed. As I neared the tub, the water came into view and my stomach filled with lead.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had whipped the curtain back and jumped into the tub behind my mom, shaking her limp body, screaming for her to wake up while my hands searched for the open wound.
My mother’s body was cold, her pallor unnatural, but I refused to listen to the rational part of my brain that told me it was too late. That I was too late.
I lifted one of her arms out of the water and saw it. The cut from wrist to the inside of her elbow. It was wide enough that I saw a flash a white beneath red muscle.
I dropped her arm and climbed out of the tub and didn’t look back. I picked up the bedside phone and dialed 911.
“911 Dispatch, what is your emergency?”
“My mom has a cut. On her arm. I think she’ll need some stitches.” My voice felt robotic, foreign.
“What is your address?”
“1320 Rosewood Drive. There’s a red car in the driveway.”
“Okay sweetie. How is your mom doing?”
“She isn’t talking. She’s asleep in the bath tub.” And then I blacked out.
After I awoke from the nightmare, I restarted the Bruce Willis movie I’d fallen asleep to. I don’t think I slept for more than thirty minutes at a time after that. Every time I looked at the clock after awakening, I hoped to see that an hour had passed since I last looked at it. Instead, it was never more than thirty minutes. The last time I looked at the clock, it had read 4:45 AM. I wouldn’t have the energy or alertness to run that morning, so I resigned myself to a book, hoping sleep would pull me under until I had to get up two hours later.
Unfortunately, I finished the damn book and made it into Rosa’s dining room on Monday morning at the same time as the ranch hands. I noticed that Dylan kept glancing my way, but nothing was said as we all ate strawberry pancakes and bacon. I tried to avoid eye contact from everyone, as I knew the bags under my eyes were so exaggerated that they were reminiscent of Halloween makeup for a corpse.
Clint ate next to me in silence as he read the newspaper. There were no other guests on the ranch, besides Julian. I had heard his car pull in at 11:47 PM the night before. It was during one of the many times I looked at the clock. His lights were off when I left my cabin this morning, so I assumed he was sleeping off his long day. Lucky guy.
After clearing my plate, I brought it back into the kitchen and set it in the sink and began to wash the other dishes. The kitchen was completely e
mpty and the ranch hands had long since departed for their chores.
I heard Rosa come up behind me, setting her empty plate on the counter beside me. “Annie honey, you look like hell.”
I turned my head in her direction and gave her a dirty look. “That’s not very nice.”
She put a hand on my shoulder. “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them. Go back to bed for a few hours.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m leaving you by yourself Thursday, right before the family reunion pulls in. I shouldn’t even take Tuesday off.”
Rosa walked to the side of me and leaned her back against the counter. “First of all, you are not taking Tuesday off. It’s your scheduled day off. I don’t want you here that day. And second, what else is there to do that can’t be done before you leave on Wednesday?”
I huffed a breath, blowing the long tendrils framing my face away. “I need to air out all the cabins and change the bedding, bring in fresh towels. I need to clean the pond and spray the weeds, especially around the paddock. I have to finish the paperwork and call the insurance agent to go over what needs to be insured and what can be dropped…”
“Ah,” Rosa said, holding a hand up in interruption. “Airing out the cabins will take all of twenty minutes to open the windows. You can do that Friday morning. It’ll be better weather that morning anyway. I’ll have Dylan show Farley what to do with the pond and weeds, since he doesn’t need to mow until next week. Call the insurance people today and we will discuss what they say over dinner tonight.” She gently tugged me to face her. “You need not worry. You’ve got enough on your mind, so don’t bother making yourself sick over a few weeds and some pond scum.” She pushed off the counter. “Just hurry home so I don’t have to train Farley on the computer. I don’t think my heart could take it.” Rosa clutched her chest dramatically, and I laughed.
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t even want to imagine that.” I set a clean dish on the drying rack. “Six sent me the itinerary last night. We will be back early Friday morning.”
Rosa nodded before gently whacking me on the arm. “Now, scram. I didn’t buy these fancy dishwashers to waste your talented hands scrubbing strawberry off my steel pans. Get in the office and make those phone calls.”
I dried my hands on the dish towel and did exactly as she’d instructed.
Hours later, I’d finished talking with the insurance agent, and my hands cramped from the note taking I’d done on the scratch pad next to me. The sandwich Rosa had delivered two hours before, at lunch, sat untouched, the bread growing hard and stale.
I leaned back in my desk chair, arms over my head, stretching the tension out of my shoulders. No matter how far I pushed the upcoming trip back into the recesses of my mind, it sprang forward stubbornly.
“Think fast, Shorty,” came a voice behind me. I spun in my chair and caught sight of Julian right before seeing the backpack that was flying at my face.
“Shorty?” I asked after I clumsily caught the bag. “What kind of nickname is that when I’m an inch shy of six whole feet?”
“It’s just my temporary nickname for you. And technically, you are four inches shorter than me, which makes you short from my perspective.”
“Yeah, well what should I call you then, Jolly Green Giant?” I asked, while looking over the tactical-looking backpack in my hands.
Julian walked towards me and crouched down, putting him at eye level with me. “I’m afraid the concept of nicknames is too complicated for you. The idea is that it’s supposed to be shorter than the person’s actual given name,” he replied sarcastically.
I sized him up. “Jules?” I asked, sweetly, a smile curving my lips.
“Oh, God no,” he groaned. “My mother calls me that. That is not a sexy nickname.”
“And Shorty is?” I huffed.
“Like I said, it’s temporary,” he said, before unzipping the front pocket of the backpack. “This is for our next date. Tomorrow.”
I looked over the bag curiously, taking note of the dozens of zippered pockets. I saw an insulated pouch with stretchy bands attached. “Is this for water bottles?” I asked, confused.
Julian reached in and tugged on one of the stretchy bands. “Yes. It will fit two Nalgene-sized bottles in here and keep them cool. And underneath-” he started, before flipping the backpack to reveal the attached straps on the bottom, “-are straps that are made for attaching a sleeping bag.”
Realization hit me in an instant. “We’re going camping?” I asked, biting my lip, trying to hold in a grin. The glee that filled me reminded me of being a child.
Julian was watching my face for my reaction. He wasn’t disappointed. “Yes, we are.” He smiled, before sliding his thumb on my bottom lip. He left it there for a moment before tugging my lip out from behind my teeth. My stomach clenched with desire. His face wasn’t even four inches from mine. My grip tightened on the backpack.
“Thank you,” I whispered to him, searching his eyes. If he wasn’t going to make the first move this time, I was. I put both hands on the sides of his face, leaned down, and brushed my lips against his, feeling the bite of his stubble on my palms. He didn’t move to grab me back, and just accepted my tender gesture of appreciation. I pulled away and tamped down on my disappointment.
He smiled softly at me and brushed a ubiquitous tendril behind my ear. “My pleasure,” he replied, gruffly, before standing back up and making his way to the door, presumably back to his cabin.
I exhaled loudly before turning back around in my chair, fingering all the zippers and straps of the bag. I heard him walk outside, his steps eating up the distance from my office door around the deck, quieting in their departure.
As I started to play around with the bag, I heard those same footsteps clomping back and I turned my chair just as he entered the office.
With determined eyes, he strode to me and cupped my jaw with his hands before kissing me, hard. I sighed into his mouth and brought my hands up to his forearms, trying to hold him in place, while his tongue explored my mouth. His thumb and forefinger tugged on my left earlobe right before he lightly bit on my lower lip. The sensations were overwhelming, and I couldn’t prevent the moan that left my mouth. Warmth spread all over my body, rendering me unable to think about anything but of what kissing Julian felt like. He pulled back, breathing heavily, and touched my forehead to his, keeping his eyes closed as we both tried to regulate our breathing. “I forgot something,” he said, still cupping my jaw.
“Hmm?” I wasn’t yet capable of forming coherent words, it seemed. It felt like an Olympian feat to open my eyes and keep them open.
“Camping,” he said, opening his eyes and pulling back to look into mine. “Tomorrow. Tuesday.”
I laughed, but before I could reply, he quickly kissed me again. “I’ll pack the tent and food. Pack your clothes and whatever girl shit you need.”
I started to open my mouth to argue that, wondering at what kind of fancy food he’d bring, but he stopped me with yet another kiss. “I’ll take care of it all,” he interrupted, before kissing me again. “I’ve got sleeping bags, too.”
As much as I loved camping, I liked sleeping too, and didn’t know that I could trust him to bring the right kind for me. But, of course, when I started to interject, he stopped me with another kiss, this time a longer, deeper kiss. “They zip together, to form a big enough sleeping bag for two people,” he whispered, caressing my cheekbone with his thumb. I met his gaze and knew the desire reflecting in his eyes was present in my own. I wasn’t going to argue about the sleeping bags anymore.
“I’ll pick you up at five tomorrow morning,” he said, grinning, knowing full well I was just a few cabins down from him.
I laughed out loud as he started walking away, before realizing he said five, as in before sunrise.
“Five?” I asked. He turned around and walked back towards me as I continued talking, “but that’s too-”
He kissed me, again, effectively stopping my argument. “I’ll make
it worth it,” Julian said against my lips. Though I knew what he was talking about, I couldn’t help but think of his earlier declaration that I was a challenge for him. I was really going to miss him when this was over, I knew. Instantly, my mood changed.
As if Julian read my mind, he kissed me softly, tenderly, before moving his kisses up the side of my face to my forehead. “Stop frowning,” he whispered, before kissing my mouth again.
“I’m not frown-” I started before he cut me off with his lips again.
“Stop arguing.”
“I’m not arg-” he cut me off with another kiss. I stood up and held him back with a hand. “You can’t use kissing as a weapon,” I said, not completely seriously.
“I’m not attacking you, Andra.” He stepped closer. “And you’re not exactly fighting me off,” he said, grabbing my hands and pulling one up to kiss, while keeping eye contact with me. “And besides, it’s better than arguing about things that are going to go my way anyway.”
I laughed. “You’re so sure about that, aren’t you?”
He tilted my chin up with one hand before leaning down. Just before kissing me, he spoke against my lips. “I’m sure about you.” He kissed me again, softly, running his hands down the sides of my neck, over my shoulders and down to my hands, linking our fingers together. I was completely limp under his touch and let myself be pulled under while he kissed me again.
“Tomorrow, five in the morning. Be ready,” he said, looking directly into my eyes, before walking back out of the office.
After going over the insurance renewals with Rosa over dinner, I said my nightly prayer in the grass before going into my cabin and tossing things into my new backpack. I packed everything practical for a day of camping and packed my favorite cast iron skillet too. I knew Julian had said he’d take care of food, but in the interest of keeping our meals low maintenance, I wanted to cook with cast iron.
My cabin wasn’t decorated with any significant personal touches, but along one wall in my kitchen were a dozen hanging cast iron pans. They provided décor and function, as my kitchen didn’t boast a ton of cabinet space.
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