by Jake Irons
There’s a big stone fireplace in the massive living space, with custom eggshell cabinets on either side. The floor in the living area is covered in soft-looking beige carpet. There’s a long, distressed leather couch positioned parallel to the fireplace that sort of acts to define the space. There’s also a worn leather chair, a large, flat coffee table, and small end tables on either side of the couch.
Eli hangs my bag on a row of hooks beside the door and leads me to the couch, where I sit. He stacks two pillows on the cushion beside me and carefully helps me lift my ankle onto them.
“I’m going downstairs to get my first aid kit. Here.” He grabs two remotes from a drawer in the end table by the couch. One is small and gray with three black buttons. He pushes the middle button, and a cabinet just to the right of the fireplace opens, revealing a large TV. He turns it on with the second remote, changes the channel from ESPN to a channel that broadcasts local weather, and hands me the remote. “Be right back.”
I strain my neck to watch him descend the stairs, then turn my attention back to the room. For a moment, I just sit still, stunned I really found him. This is Eli. I’m in Eli’s house. What are the odds? I really did it! I have an impulse to text Frankie, but I realize that’s a low priority right now.
I focus on the end table closest to me. I open the drawer he pulled the remotes from. There’s a third remote, to a Blu-ray player, two coasters with pictures that seem to be from Scotland or Ireland—a crumbling castle on the first, a long-haired cow chilling in a super green field on the second—and a pack of AA batteries.
I try to read the spines of the books on the shelves. I don’t see any pictures there…or anywhere. I didn’t notice anything personal on his fridge when we passed it, either, although I took it in fast, so I might have missed something.
I turn my attention back to the television, and turn up the volume. The weather woman is tall and beautiful and dressed in an expensive-looking black dress with the right amount of fringe. She’s circling her hand over a big, scary-looking vortex on the screen—our snowstorm. I listen as she says, “…second system could dump up to fifteen inches on the metro area, while the high country could see twice that much.”
My heart thuds. Thirty inches of snow?
Is that—I mean, are we in the high country? Thirty inches of snow is gonna be up past my knees! I’m 5’4 exactly, which means I’m…64 inches? Yeah, so thirty inches is almost half of me! And my ankle is messed up!
Eli reappears, although he moves so quietly I don’t even notice till he’s right beside me. I startle, but his eyes are fixed on the television. He’s frowning.
“Are we in the high country?”
He shakes his head. “When people around here say ‘high country’ they’re referring to the High Rockies.”
“What’s the difference? Do we have to be higher to officially be in high country?”
He shrugs. “Kind of. But it’s more about location.”
“Oh.”
“I take it you’ve never been there.”
I shake my head. “This is my first trip to Colorado.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You picked a good time for it.”
“I know, right?”
“Right.” He’s frowning, still—but I think at the weather. Although the frown stays on his face when he glances at me. “You got any friends or anyone you need to call? Anyone you came up here with?”
I try to keep my face neutral. Inside, I’m all wide-eyed and nervous. He seems more than just curious. But maybe that’s just my imagination. It is a relevant question.
“No. I’m out here on my own.”
“You’re here alone?”
I nod.
“Just for fun?”
The only reason I came out here, and up here, was to find him. And I know I gotta come clean, and I should do that right now. But….agh I just can’t. He’s looking at me with such an attractive and serious face, and well…I want to wait till he wraps my ankle, at least. I shrug. “Yeah. Just looking for adventure.”
“You found a little bit.”
“Yep. I’ll be telling this story for a while.”
Eli sets his first aid pack on the coffee table and pulls the table closer to the couch. When I know he can’t see me looking, I let my eyes wander over the notches of muscle on his back, down his slim hips, and to his ass. God, he’s got a nice ass.
“I’m Eli by the way,” he says as he kneels beside the couch.
“I’m—” NOT TARA! “Chelsea.” He probably visits The Watcher from time-to-time, right? He might recognize my byline. That would be—Oh fucksicles there’s a picture of me up on the staff page! It hasn’t been updated in two years, and shows me with short hair compared to my current long locks, and also wearing glasses and not the contacts I’m wearing now, but how much do a haircut and contacts change a person? I have the same picture on a press pass in my wallet. I need to compare in the mirror. For all I know, Eli checks the site every day, and he’s going to go there while I’m in his house, and on a whim he’ll check the staff directory and—
“Nice to meet you, Chelsea.”
“Nice to meet you too. Eli.”
“So, you hiked all the way up here?”
“No, no, I, ah, a friend gave me a ride up.”
He frowns over my ankle. “I thought you were here by yourself.”
“Huh? No, I—I mean yes.” He looks up at me, blue eyes narrowed. “I mean, I came with some friends, but they already left. I wanted to spend a couple of days out here just by myself. Hiking. A Lyft driver named Chris gave me a ride up. He told me he’d take me down for free if I ended up needing a ride. I told him I wouldn’t—I didn’t expect snow. Obviously.”
Eli’s lips quirk as he settles onto his knees. He’s tall—even without his boots he’s over six feet—but right now we’re face-to-face, and when those electric blue eyes meet mine…
I need to get a grip.
“We always get snow in May, but not always this much.”
I nod, then confess, “Thirty inches…seems terrifying to me.”
“We might get more than that,” he says. I must be blanching, because he quickly adds, “But we’ll be fine. Promise. This is a well-made house, and I have a back-up generator, just in case.”
That’s great for him, but…wait, does that mean…? He must see the question in my eyes, because he says, “I think you might end up spending the night. I was doing some work on my truck when the snow started. I wasn’t able to finish in time. I should have been paying more attention.”
My eyes are wide.
“Or you could try to call your Lyft friend? What kind of car did he drive?”
“A Civic.” It was a Subaru.
“Hmmmm…. I wonder if he can make it up here in a Civic.”
“It seems unlikely,” I agree. “But I don’t want to put you out.”
“You won’t. It’s nice to have company on a snowy night.” I know my eyes are still wide when he adds, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He grins, baring his teeth.
“If you promise,” is all I can manage as he gingerly picks up my ankle.
He begins wrapping it, and I begin to rethink my whole plan. I can’t tell Eli right now, or anytime tonight. I am not about to spend a whole night in that awkwardness. But that means I’m going to spend the whole night on pins and needles, lying.
Argh. This is so dumb because in one sense things could not have gone better. Not only did I by some miracle literally stumble upon Eli, but I’m in his house.
In another, more realistic sense, I hurt my ankle in a freak snowstorm and lied about who I am so this guy would rescue me. And I’m still lying to him. Every moment that passes that I don’t tell him the truth, I’m lying to him.
“How does it feel?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Fine. Like, it doesn’t event hurt.” It does feel better. “Thanks.”
He waves my thanks away. “I’
m the reason you got hurt it in the first place. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t even see you there.”
I open my mouth to correct him—I was running onto the road to try to wave him down, thinking that he was driving a car, when my clumsy ass slipped.
Buuuut it can’t hurt to let him feel like he owes me.
“You’re doing a good job making up for it.”
“Oh am I?” He places my leg back on its pillow perch.
I nod. “I don’t think most people would be this nice. Or help this much.”
“Then get ready to be blown away. I’ve got Advil.”
“Advil!” I gasp.
“Advil.”
“Advil,” I sigh as he disappears into the kitchen. He reappears half a minute later with Advil and a glass of water. “I’m going to get you some ice, too, which seems weird in a snow storm, but will help keep the swelling down.”
He returns a minute later with a freezer bag full of ice, wrapped in a white dish towel.
“Put this on your ankle and leave it there for thirty minutes.”
“Are you going somewhere?” He seems like he’s going somewhere.
Eli nods. “To look for Acer—my dog.”
“To look for your dog?”
“I was looking for him when I found you.”
“Oh no.” I feel terrible. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about him. He’s a Husky mix, so he’s probably fine.”
He walks to one of the drawers on the left of the fireplace and pulls out two black walkie talkies about the size of prepaid flip phones. He hands one to me. “If you need anything, just press the gray button. These have a range of fifteen miles, so you should be able to get me.”
“Okay.” I place mine on the coffee table. “Thanks again.”
He pulls on his big brown coat and gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
About a minute later I hear the four-wheeler drive past the house. I mute the weatherwoman and listen for a few minutes. When I feel sure he’s gone, I stand and hobble toward my bag. I fish my phone out of the pocket, hobble back to the couch, settle my leg onto the pillows and the bag of ice onto my leg, and call Frankie.
Frankie’s a good friend, but if she’s not in the mood to answer, she won’t, unless you call back a couple more times. So I’m surprised when I hear her voice after the second ring.
“Tara! What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe where I am,” I whisper.
“In Colorado,” she whispers back dramatically.
“I’m in Eli’s frickin’ Murphy’s house!”
“Shut the back door.”
“I’m serious!”
“How the hell did you even…” Frankie tails off, then laughs. “I bet I know how.”
“What?”
“You fucked him.”
“Oh my God Frankie I did not!”
“Why are you whispering? Where are you in his house? Where is he? Where is his house?”
“I’m on his couch in his living room, and I’ve got ice on my ankle—”
“Ice on your ankle?” Frankie cackles. “So you really went for it.”
“No get your mind out of the gutter!” I can’t imagine what kinky shit she—no, I can imagine, because she’s told me stories. I don’t want to imagine. “I sprained my ankle because it started snowing! I tried to flag down headlights, and ended up falling on the road. I thought I was gonna get run over, but it was Eli, on a four-wheeler.”
“What’s a four-wheeler?” Frankie asks, like “four-wheeler” is a word I made up. “Is that like a truck?”
“It’s an ATV.”
“A TV?”
“An all-terrain vehicle?”
Crickets.
“It’s like a go-kart but bigger and for off-road, and if you’re interested just look it up. The point is he brought me back to his house and left to go find his dog and I’m chilling on his couch waiting for him to return!”
Frankie doesn’t say anything.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Well?” I thought she’d be way more excited than this.
“I’m just trying to think of the most clever way to call you a LIAR.”
“I’m not lying.” I glance at the door. “I’m alone in his house right now.”
“Eli Murphy really almost ran over you?”
“Yes Frankie I’m not making this up!” I hiss.
“And you’re alone in his house?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want him to show back up and hear me.”
“You said he went to find his dog?”
“Yeah.”
“On a four-wheel-thing.”
Frankie was born in New York City, has lived all her life in New York City, and has only left the city by plane, to visit other big cities that, like New York, don’t have many four-wheelers. “I already told you: it’s like a go-kart but for mountains. Just Google it if you’re so desperate to know.”
“I’m trying to authenticate your story.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s true. There’s no reason—oh, hey! FaceTime.” I check my phone. No 4G. “Oh, I’ve barley got two bars and no data, so that’s not gonna work. But trust me, I’m here.”
“Wow. I—don’t hate me, but I’m really surprised. And proud,” she hastens to add. “And not that surprised. You’re a badass!”
I swell with pride, then remember why I called her in the first place. “I haven’t told him yet.”
“What haven’t you told him?”
“The reason I came out here.”
“You haven’t?” she says.
“No.”
“I guess that explains why he let you into his house.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even tell him my real name.”
“You made a fake name?”
“Yeah: Chelsea.”
Frankie cackles. “You are so not a Chelsea.”
“I know! I don’t know where that came from.”
“You should have gone with Nora.”
“Nora? F-bomb, focus, I need help!”
“With what?”
“With I don’t wanna tell him,” I say.
“Then don’t.”
“But I have to.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“Seriously, Tara, you don’t.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Just don’t tell him.”
“But that would be unethical.”
“Hmmmm. I don’t know much about ethics, but I do know that you haven’t told him yet.”
“Because there hasn’t been a good chance!” Of course, I have considered not telling him. The Watcher runs personal essays some times. Just last week Matthew posted “Lessons Learned at a Roller Derby,” which yes, was drivel, but this wouldn’t be drivel, it would be…salacious.
I confess my terrible idea to Frankie: writing a personal essay, so I could maybe get away with never telling Eli who I am. Well, not till the very end.
Frankie likes the idea.
“But it is terrible,” I insist.
“I don’t think so.
“You don’t?”
“Nope. You know what I do think?”
“What?”
“Sean likes to pretend that the The Watcher has these high journalistic standards. So do the reporters.”
I feel my hackles rise. “We cover a lot of important—”
“I know, I know, down girl,” Frankie laughs. “There are lots of good stories written by fabulous people. But remember, I came on staff while Eli’s reign was still fresh on everyone’s minds. I heard so many stories. You know, that man used to dig in the trash for leads. And I mean that literally. More than once he hopped in a dumpster outside the State Assembly’s office building in Albany t
o find stories.”
I try to imagine Eli dumpster diving. “What’s your point?”
“My point, my dear, is that turnabout is fair play.”
I consider this, then say, “Oh shit I think I hear him. I gotta go.”
“But you haven’t even told me anything!”
“I’ll tell you later gotta go bye!”
Chapter 3
Eli
I pull to the side of the road and kill the engine. The view from this particular bend is one of my favorites. The road turns before dipping into a small valley of grazing pastures and open space. And directly ahead of me, between two peaks, is Denver. I’d be able to see it on a clear afternoon. Now all I see is snow, falling fast and thick, blanketing the mountain.
To say we didn’t get much snow in Georgia is an understatement. I saw snow in NYC, of course, but where I grew up, I think it snowed five, maybe six times my entire childhood. But all the Christmas specials had snow, and they all had happy families, too. I used to daydream of warm cabins in little valleys tucked away high in the mountains. My dreams were never precise about how I ended up snowed-in in a cabin with Mom and Dad. My parents couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other for as long as I can remember. But it was my fantasy, and I was a kid, so I skipped the details. We were snowed in; we were warm; it was Christmas.
Dad died before I was old enough to really bury the fantasy on my own. I buried it with him, and created other fantasies. After a certain age, most were about fucking.
But I always had this idea in the back of my head that some day I’d have a family, and one Christmas we’d go to the mountains, and Hallmark-style shit would occur.
That was before I fucked everything up.
When I left New York, I said I was leaving to live a more earth-conscious life. And I guess I am doing that. But the real reason I left was to hide from a dude that wants to kill me and has the resources to do it.
I can’t have a family as long as there’s a target on my back. I can’t have friends. I don’t even have a priest.
I’m good at being alone, but I’m not great at it. The way I endure it is by forgetting the things I don’t have. I forget how much I enjoy talking to people. I forget how much I enjoy a night on the town. I forget how much I enjoy fucking—and I jerk off like a mad man. I forget all these things 97 percent of the time, but some times, like right now, I can’t forget.