by Gerri Hill
“Surely you don’t cut wood for everybody, do you?”
“No, no. Most of them heat with propane now. Those who don’t buy wood and have it delivered. I suppose one day I’ll do the same, convert my wood stove to propane. But now, while I’m still able, I enjoy it.” She waved out at the vastness. “We have seven hundred acres. There are always dead-standing trees to cut. In early fall, when it’s cool, I like to go out. I love being out in the forest like that. Angela goes with me sometimes. She doesn’t have a truck, so I haul hers back for her.”
Erin was quiet for a moment, then turned to her. “Why don’t you have friends to keep up with?”
Melanie let out a quiet sigh. “I never really had a lot of friends to begin with. I would sometimes try to surround myself with people to combat loneliness, but I realized that didn’t really help. Being lonely had absolutely nothing to do with being alone. I’ve learned that living out here.”
Erin said nothing, waiting. After a while, Melanie stopped the motion of her rocker. She took a drink of her tea, then turned to Erin.
“Adam caught me with Courtney, the woman I was having the affair with. He was supposed to be away, for work. He came back a day early. We were…in bed. He’d stood outside the bedroom—listening as we made love.”
“Damn,” she whispered.
“Yeah. He said he knew right then that I…that I had never really been into him like I was her.” Melanie started rocking again. “He wasn’t really all that angry. In shock, more so, I think. Courtney, of course, left. I wanted to talk about it with him. I wanted to explain. But he…he didn’t want to. There was no yelling and screaming. We had a few words, that was it. It was quite civilized.”
“How old were you?”
“Um…twenty-five. About to turn twenty-six, actually. Three days,” she finished in a whisper. Another deep breath. “Adam was crushed. He wouldn’t talk to me about it. And then, on my twenty-sixth birthday, he…he killed himself.” The rocker stopped abruptly. “He shot himself. In our bedroom. On our bed. I found him when I came home from work.”
“Oh my God,” Erin whispered. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but that wasn’t it. Melanie’s words were quiet, calm, but she could hear the emotion in her voice. She didn’t know what to say to her. Didn’t know if she should say anything at all.
“He didn’t leave me a note. He didn’t need to. He left something for his parents, though. They blamed me, rightfully so. And I did too. He apparently told them enough so that they knew what had happened.” Melanie leaned her head back, her eyes closed for a moment. “I was a mess after that. Adam and his family, they were really all I had. And they were gone. And I couldn’t reconcile the fact that it was all my fault. Grief counseling, therapy—that helped some, but I still couldn’t get past it. I had nightmares…when I slept,” she added. “I was on medication for depression. I couldn’t sleep without a pill. I started drinking a lot. Wine first. Then vodka. Gin. I lost a ton of weight.” She looked over at her. “When I first saw you, I recognized myself in you. Yet your eyes—while you looked lost—weren’t filled with despair like mine had been.”
Erin shook her head. “No.” She took a deep breath. “Go on. Tell me the rest.”
“After three years of therapy, I was dependent upon meds to get me through each day, each night. Dependent upon them to keep my job, keep my sanity. And then my mother started coming around again. Long story short, she broke into my house one day—she and this guy she was living with—and stole everything of value and my medications.” She blew out a breath. “A week later, she came back, asking for more drugs. And I looked at her and I saw myself. I saw myself becoming what she was…not able to function without drugs or alcohol. I was becoming my mother. I was so close to that line.”
Melanie startled Erin by standing. She moved to the edge of the porch and leaned against the railing, her eyes looking skyward.
“I…I was lost, Erin. Completely. I was a stranger in the mirror. I knew I had to do something. I had to get away, I just didn’t know where or how. Would moving to a new city, new job, change anything? My therapist didn’t think so. She was afraid for me to be alone, actually.”
Erin raised her eyebrows. “Because?”
“Because I had talked to her about suicide.”
Erin’s breath caught. Melanie seemed so strong, so in control, so…together. She would have never guessed that thought had crossed her mind. But again, she said nothing, waiting for Melanie to finish.
“It was another six months, though, before…well, before I’d finally had enough. I came home from work and found my mother leaning against my door, passed out. I thought she was dead. I remember looking at her, wondering if I could muster any tears for her. Turns out her boyfriend dumped her there after they’d scored a hit and she’d collapsed.” She turned back around, facing her. “So that was it. That was my slap in the face. I saw myself lying there, slumped against the door. Not my mother, but me. And I knew then that I didn’t want to die. I was lost—and stuck—in this…this vortex that I’d created and I didn’t know any way out. The only thing I could think of was to run away. My plan was to get away for a couple of years, live off my savings or get a part-time job or something. Anything.”
“Where did you work?”
“Law firm. I was a paralegal.” She smiled. “I hated my job, actually. The work, I hated, not the job,” she corrected. “One of the attorneys thought of me as a daughter and he tended to favor me. He was there for me during all of that, he stood by me, even when I missed a lot of work. When I told him what I wanted to do, when I’d found Stella and this place, he helped me sell my house, helped me with some investments when I had cash left over.” She moved back into the rocker with a sigh. “He was really the only one who I would have wanted to keep in touch with. But I made a clean break. I was thirty. I’d spent four years existing on medications and booze and therapy and I wasn’t getting any better. I was getting worse. So I made a clean break.”
“You came out here to heal?”
“Yes. Instead of medication, I did meditation and yoga. And honestly, I think the diet helped too. Probably the most. Everything was healthy. Everything was peaceful. Now…the garden is therapy. I don’t look at it as work.”
“Does Stella know about all that?”
Melanie shook her head. “No. She knows about my mother, about my childhood, but not about Adam, no.”
“Why did you do it? I mean, if you weren’t in love with him, why?”
“I felt…safe with him and I was afraid he’d leave. He was familiar. He was family. Being a foster child…he was my family.” She shrugged. “All those things. All those selfish things.” Melanie looked at her in the shadows of the porch. “It’s a guilt I’ll always carry. Adam was such a sweet, gentle boy, and he grew into the same kind of man. And I…I ruined him.” Her voice turned into a whisper again. “I killed him as surely as if I’d pulled the trigger myself.”
Again, she got up abruptly, keeping her back to Erin. She could hear the tears that Melanie was trying to hide and she didn’t know if she should offer some comfort or if it would be rebuffed.
Is that why Melanie was out here, living alone, in solitude? As penance? Punishment for her deeds? Perhaps trying to make atonement for Adam’s death somehow? She’d obviously reconciled what had happened. She appeared strong, in control. Erin had a hard time picturing her being depressed, being dependent upon prescription drugs to get through each day. Melanie seemed so healthy, both physically and mentally.
But not right now, though. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t in control. Erin got up, going to her. When she would have reached out to touch her, Melanie turned.
“I’m sorry, Erin. It’s been so long, yet it still seems so fresh sometimes.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Erin took the cup from her fingers and set it down, then tugged her closer into a hug. She felt Melanie stiffen, felt her try to pull away, but Erin wouldn’t let her escape.
After what seemed like minutes, she felt Melanie’s hands touch her, felt arms circle her waist. She closed her eyes, offering what comfort she could as she heard quiet tears against her neck.
It occurred to her then that this was probably the first time in seven long years that Melanie had had someone hold her. Comfort her. Touch her. Seven years without intimacy? Without another’s touch? She closed her eyes, pulling Melanie even tighter, bringing their bodies into contact. She rubbed her hands across Mel’s back, hoping to ease her pain somewhat. She had no right to be doing this, of course. She had invaded Melanie’s space without asking. But Mel seemed to sink against her and Erin continued to hold her, letting Melanie take from her what she wanted—needed.
Melanie pulled away rather quickly, though, wiping at her eyes before turning away. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m your host. You’re the guest. You shouldn’t have to—”
“I’m not a guest, Mel. Don’t apologize.”
Melanie went to the steps, still holding on to the railing. “I…I need a minute. Don’t wait up.”
Erin nodded, knowing she’d just been dismissed. She stood there, watching as Melanie walked out into the night, watching until the darkness swallowed her. She picked up their cups and made her way back inside.
Melanie was used to being alone, used to providing her own comfort, she told herself. She looked out onto the empty porch one more time, then headed into her bedroom, debating whether to close the door or not. After a moment’s hesitation, she closed it, not wanting to invade Melanie’s privacy any more than she already had.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It had been a very long time since Melanie had not been up before dawn. But this morning, she was feeling sluggish and instead of getting up, she rolled over and closed her eyes, sinking back into nothingness. She’d had a difficult time getting to sleep last night. So much so that after tossing and turning about in her bed she gave up and went back out to the porch, wrapping herself in one of the three afghans Rachel had knitted for her. She must have sat out for an hour or more, her thoughts bouncing around between past and present and everything in between.
She still didn’t know what had compelled her to share her story with Erin, other than… Well, she hadn’t had a friend in so long, it felt good to share something with someone. That part of her life, as painful as it was, had only been recounted to her therapist. Even when she’d gone to grief counseling—one-on-one and with the group—she’d left out major parts, especially her affair with Courtney.
Erin had been so sweet last night. And the hug? God, she hadn’t known how to react to that. She hadn’t had a hug in—well, not since Adam died. It had felt odd to have someone touch her, hold her. Odd, yes, but yet it had felt oh, so good. Erin was stronger—sturdier—than she appeared, and she had wanted to simply go limp in her arms, hoping Erin would hold her up as she burrowed against her. But she could do no such thing. How inappropriate would that have been? She was the host. Erin was the guest. She had no right to expect comfort from Erin. Stella would be appalled.
What would Erin say to her today? Would she bring it up? Would she have more questions? Friends always had questions, didn’t they? Or maybe she’d pretend they hadn’t had such a serious talk and keep everything light, normal between them. She hoped that was the case. She needed to leave the past where it belonged—locked up tight. Always in the back of her mind, yes. Always. But there was no need to bring it out front. It served no purpose other than to compound her guilt. She’d learned to live with the guilt. It was just there. It always would be, hovering around her. No matter how much she wished things were different, she couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t undo her relationship with Adam. She couldn’t undo the affair with Courtney. She couldn’t bring Adam back to life.
She could only live with her guilt. So much so that it had become a part of her, a part that she sometimes forgot about.
Sometimes.
But then it reared its ugly head, reminding her that it was still hanging around…waiting to pounce.
* * *
Erin stood quietly in the kitchen, wondering if she should start breakfast. Actually, she was wondering if she should open Mel’s bedroom door and check on her. She was always—always—up by dawn. Even in those first days, when she’d stayed in her room, she could hear Melanie in the kitchen at ungodly hours of the morning.
But this morning? No. All was quiet. She’d gotten out of bed at the first light of dawn, going out to the kitchen. Melanie’s door remained closed. After a moment’s indecision, she started coffee, then went back to her room to shower. After she’d dressed, there was still no sound from the other bedroom.
She glanced out the kitchen window, seeing the sun creeping over the bluff already. She could hear the chickens clamoring in their coop, ready to be let out for the day. With one more glance at Melanie’s door, she poured a cup of coffee and took it with her.
It was a still, cool morning and the sky was a brilliant blue. She heard—or felt—a buzzing of wings, and she turned toward the hummingbird feeder, watching as some early customers vied for position. She heard the now familiar calls of the magpies as they danced along the top of the fence, hopping away from her as she headed to the shed. A hoarser call was heard and she glanced up, seeing two ravens soar past. Behind the shed, she heard Bandito braying, welcoming the new day.
She paused, smiling, noting how good it felt to be up and about this early. No wonder Melanie started her day at dawn. There was so much to see and hear as the world awakened around her.
She went into the fenced yard and opened the door to the coop. The chickens nearly ran her over in their haste to get outside. Much clucking ensued as they shuffled around her feet, looking for food. Before going to let the goats out, she went into the shed and got the bucket of hen scratch and tossed it out, laughing as the chickens fought for the treat. She sipped her coffee and watched them for a moment, then went to the goat’s stall and opened it. Carly and the twins came running out, the young twins kicking up their heels as they chased after the chickens.
Another new day has begun, she thought. And she felt as happy as the twins appeared to be. As she’d told Melanie, “good” seemed to be too tame a word to use for what she felt. She felt…reborn, almost. She felt different, new… As new as the day that was just blooming. She certainly wasn’t the same person who’d come here a month ago. She wondered, after three months, who she’d be. Would she be her old self…before Sarah? Or would she be even different from that? Would this three-month experience change her completely?
“Time will tell,” she murmured to herself.
With one last smile at the chickens and goats, she went back toward the cabin. When she got inside, however, the bedroom door was still closed. At what point should she worry? She knew it had been late when Mel had come inside last night. Melanie had still been on the porch when she’d finally fallen asleep—she’d heard her in the rocking chair.
So she’d start breakfast, she supposed. She’d watched—helped—enough to know how to get the spicy, fried potatoes going. She rummaged in the fridge for onions and peppers, then pulled out the cast iron skillet that Melanie always used. After a drizzle of olive oil, she had the onions and peppers browning as she cut the potatoes. She got the eggs ready to scramble and took the green sauce from the fridge, but then remembered the tortillas.
She shook her head. She didn’t think she could pull that off. But she’d watched nearly every morning. She knew how to make them. Still…
“Smells good.”
She turned, relief on her face at the sight of Melanie. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes were puffy—from crying?—and she was standing there in nothing more than a short T-shirt and black underwear. As she rubbed her eyes with both hands, Erin smiled, thinking she’d never seen anyone look quite so adorable before.
“Hey. Yeah. So…I don’t know how to make tortillas.”
“Yes, you do,” Mel said around a yawn. “I’ll supervise whil
e you make them. Let me get dressed. But I need to tend to the chickens first.”
“Oh, I already did.”
“You did?” Then Melanie smiled. “Thank you, Erin.”
“Well, they were about to break the door down. Thought I’d better let them out. And the goats too.”
Melanie touched her arm, patting it quickly as she went back to her bedroom. “You’re pretty good for cheap labor,” she teased. “I think I’ll keep you.”
Erin let out a breath. Okay, so she seemed perfectly fine—normal—this morning. Other than sleeping two hours longer than usual, that is.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Melanie was feeling exceptionally lazy. How long had it been since she’d taken the time to read? As her eyes flicked up, watching as Erin tossed the fishing line into the creek, she knew she was getting little reading done. She was sitting against a ponderosa pine, her legs stretched out, ankles crossed—fighting sleep. She yawned again, finally putting the book down.
Erin seemed content and in no hurry to leave. She’d caught two trout already but thought two more would make it a “feast” so Melanie had waved her on. She was comfortable enough where she was. And comfortable was what Erin looked. She was wearing hiking shorts and sandals, her feet wet from standing in the water as she fished. Her hair was windblown but short enough not to be a bother to her. Even as she concentrated on her fishing, there was a smile on her face. It was such a transformation, Melanie had a hard time remembering how she’d been those first few days. Now? Now she was healthy, she was smiling. She looked happy. She looked content. She looked like a different person.
She smiled then, thinking back to their breakfast and Erin’s attempt to make fresh tortillas. They were a little thick and even with the press, their shape was anything but round, but Erin had been so pleased with herself, Melanie had eaten two with their potatoes and eggs as she heaped praise on them. As she’d warned Erin then, if they were too good, she’d be in charge of making them from now on.