Sierra Hearts (Part One)

by Ash Elko

  Sierra Hearts

  Part 1

  Ash Elko

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  © 2015 Ash Elko

  For T.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Your body never forgets the cold, she thought.

  Even after all the time away, all the time she swore she would never return, she never forgot the piercing cold of the mountain air. Underneath her heavy winter coat, Jenn focused on the crisp inhales filling her lungs, holding it a pause longer than she needed to, and then, finally, exhaling until her body felt completely deflated.

  She pretended her footsteps crunching in the snow and ice sounded like left, right, keeping time as if she were in a high school marching band.

  Left, right.

  The sky above was a dark inky black. No stars tinkled above. Ahead of her was the bright white light of the MacKenzie General Store. How many times had she been in this spot as a young girl? How many times had she been walking home just like tonight feeling the cold and dark envelop her with her thoughts focusing on the warm fire her father had going, the soft orange glow it produced almost nuzzling her? Jenn shook the thought away. That was when she was a girl.

  Stop being nostalgic, she thought. You are a grown woman who ran all the way home because your boyfriend dumped you.

  She was suddenly very aware of the fact she needed to remind herself that Max was now her ex-boyfriend.

  At the store steps, she unconsciously took the steps up to the porch two at a time as she always had. The MacKenzie General Store was just that. It was a tiny one-stop supermarket, post office, saloon, and all-purpose hang-out for the citizens of Bear Lake to come in from the cold and chat with others who were tired of the four walls of their homes of the tiny village in this part of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. At the top of the steps, Jenn stomped her boots on the well-worn welcome mat that said Get a Warrant. Her dad’s joke. The porch to the General Store was just wide enough for a person to sit in a chair with their feet up on the railing. This time of year it was just virgin snow bank where the overhang of the roof didn’t quite cover the wood planks with the occasional small critter paw print.

  Jenn hesitated before she reached for the door. Deep breath. She turned the knob and heaved the door open. Immediately she could feel the warmth of the room on her face. She could feel the heat push up against her nose. With it came the savory smell of the woodstove and the fire in its belly. Almost as immediately, she could feel the eyes of the room all shift to her. She could see her dad, Mick, behind the narrow bar leaning in to speak with Big Paul with intense, almost terrifyingly focused eyes, paired with a disarming grin. This was the look her father had when discussing something at once trivial yet of the utmost importance, perhaps who was the greatest football player of all time or which brand power tool was the best or what qualified as the worst winter experience or some such nonsense. But, with her entrance, the conversation was paused so her father and Big Paul could turn around to get a look at her. It wasn’t just them, either. All the other regulars were there too, all reeking of cheap booze. About a half a dozen locals with nothing better to do besides get drunk. All men. All had known her since childhood. All eyes were on her. None dare do any more than ogle her with her father in the room, but Jenn knew, knew, that every single one of these men was undressing her in their minds. Jenn shuddered.

  This, she thought. This is why I left this town to begin with.

  She didn’t bother taking off her jacket despite the warmth of the room. She didn’t want to fuel the twisted old imaginations of the men in the room.

  “Come on in daughter o’ mine and take a seat by the fire,” Mick said. “Did you have a good phone call?” he asked. He signaled for her to take a seat near him at the bar.

  Jenn approached the bar and took a seat next to Big Paul, a man who, despite the nickname, was average sized. He was Big Paul and his son was Little Paul. Last time she checked, Little Paul was in jail. Big Paul was the only gentleman in store. He wasn’t staring at either her behind or her breasts.

  “What are you doing trekking all the way to the ridge for phone reception for?” Big Paul asked.

  “I called my friend from LA to let her know I got in fine. With the storm coming and all, I figured I would give her a call while I could. People from LA don’t know what real weather is.” Jenn grinned.

  Big Paul muttered something about how much he hated LA sports teams.

  “Can I—” Mick started to say but was interrupted by the sound of the local news coming back on. Mick made it a habit of keeping the TV tuned to local news. Odds were someone in the store knew someone who appeared in a news segment, plus given the fact most customers didn’t have access to internet or even so much as a regular newspaper, it was the one source for news besides the usual gossip.

  “Can I get you anything?” Mick asked. Jenn shook her head.

  “No, thanks. I think I’m going to head up and turn in early.” Jenn was tired, sure, but she also hated the local news. To her, the local news broadcast was a reminder of her childhood. Of how alone and isolated she felt growing up in a tiny mountain town with a thousand other people. Of how scary it was that this could be her whole life. Living and dying in this place. The whole world out there, but the most important thing to report who was having a bake sale this week or who had died. A constant, daily reminder that there was no escape to this tiny insular world. Jenn hated the local news.

  “OK,” Mick said.

  Jenn started for the door marked Private at the end of the bar which led to a small hallway next to the staircase that separated the General Store from the MacKenzie home. In the hallway, she carefully removed her jacket, placing it carefully on a hook. Next her boots, which felt cold and wet. She undid her scarf, feeling the soft wool against her neck as she untangled it from her hair. There was something so satisfying about shedding all of these layers, especially away from the penetrating stares of the saloon regulars. Pulling off her sweater and stepping out of her snow pants, she felt so much lighter, renewed somehow. She began to tug off her knee high socks when she heard footsteps on the staircase coming down. A shiver of panic rippled up Jenn’s spine. No one was supposed to be back here. No one. Here she was getting undressed with a person casually coming down the steps.

  “Who’s there?” Jenn called. The footsteps hesitated. Jenn waited, unsure what to do.

  Should I try to cover up? she thought.

  Suddenly, a voice from the staircase. “Oh. Sorry. Mick said I could borrow a cardboard box… for groceries. I didn’t mean to intrude.” The voice was embarrassed, shy even, but definitely male. Whoever it was, they hadn’t moved on the stairs, which was something Jenn noted. There was something about the voice that Jenn couldn’t place. Almost familiar but not quite.

  Suddenly Jenn could feel the door behind her open. Glancing behind her, she could see it was her dad.

  “Jenn, I forgot to tell you—oh, I guess you’ve already discovered for yourself. Danny, stay where you are for a moment. Don’t move.”

  “No problem, Mr. MacKenzie.”

  Danny? Danny Williams? Was that who was on the staircase? Jenn thought, of course! That shy voice. It wasn’t shy now, but it had to be him. It had to be Danny. The last time she had laid eyes on Danny must have been… years? Was that even possible? He was only a few years older than Jenn.
He would tag along when his mom did the grocery shopping for the family, and as a result spent a lot of time in the General Store. Quickly, she pulled on her snow pants. Not sure what to say, she said, “OK. All clear.”

  All clear? What did that even mean?

  The sound of the footsteps resumed, slowly at first.

  The pace made Jenn think of the word tentative.

  “Did you find the box, Danny?” Mick asked. Danny held up a squat red box marked Budweiser in answer.

  “Yes, sir. Thanks for letting me take it. I think I have too many groceries just to carry myself.” He smiled. Mick smiled. Jenn thought, what am I missing here?

  “Hello Jenn,” Danny said. For the first time since Jenn arrived, Jenn felt like she was actually being addressed as a person. “Long time no see!”

  “Hi Danny.” She blushed. Could this really be Danny Williams? The scrawny scarecrow of a teenager who liked to build model rockets and fire them into the sky? Not that Jenn as was a winner at that age, either. With a bowl haircut and braces, add to that her red hair, she wasn’t exactly on the top of the list of middle school boy’s crushes. And even now, she didn’t exactly consider herself to be a supermodel.

  Danny the scarecrow had filled out. He was tall. He was… He was… strapping, rugged, handsome. He was gorgeous. He was wearing a red flannel shirt with specks of green that seemed to stretch over his shoulders and torso. The top two buttons were undone revealing a white undershirt and just a hint of some serious muscle tone underneath it. He held the cardboard box propped up on his forearms with his hands cupped around the front corners, but Jenn could see even from that angle that they showed a kind of sinewy strength that comes from working with your hands all day. His hair was that same auburn it always was, only now instead of the buzz cut he favored in high school, it was straight and long with a part just to the left of center of his forehead. There was a few days’ worth of dark blue stubble on his taught cheeks that perfectly framed his face.

  How long have I been staring at him? Should I say something?

  “How are you?” Jenn asked, afraid she might be tomato red from blushing at this point. She was doing her best to ignore the urge to throw herself at him.

  “Good, good. I heard you were back in town,” he gestured with the box at Jenn’s father. Jenn traced the motion back to her dad, who gave a shrug. Were he and Dad close now? How come he never mentioned Danny when they spoke?

  “We should catch up sometime. It’s been forever.”

  “Yes!” Jenn said, a little too loudly. “That would be great.”

  “Great,” Danny repeated with a smirk. “Thanks for the box Mr. MacKenzie. I wouldn’t want to lug all those groceries without it.”

  “Not a problem, Dan,” Jenn’s dad said. “Anything else I can get you?”

  “No, no, this is fine, thanks. Great to see you, Jenn.” Danny angled himself sideways to walk past Jenn and her father as he lifted the cardboard above his head. From this angle Jenn could see that with his arms raised, the bottom of Danny’s shirt lifted to expose a strip of skin on his abdomen, which from the look of it might as well be carved from solid stone. A new wave of blood rushed to her cheeks.

  “You, too, Danny,” Jenn could hear herself say but didn’t remember willing herself to say it.

  Jenn floated, not quite sure her feet were actually touching the ground as she climbed each step up to the second story to her room. Once inside and door firmly closed, Jenn took off her snow pants she had so hastily put on just a few moments earlier. She took a good look at herself in the mirror. She stood up straight and let her hair drape over her shoulders. She turned to the side to see her profile. She posed. Her mind drifted. She pretended she was at a bar—no, a nightclub—and standing alone on the dance floor. She swayed her body to an imaginary beat, looking at herself in the mirror. Watching herself move her hips. Enjoying her body, feeling confident in front of the mirror as she fake-danced. She imagined someone coming up to her, offering to by her a drink. Her imagination sketched a face: Danny’s. Imaginary Danny’s eyes twinkled… She realized her legs were cold and starting to goose bump. She climbed into bed and tucked the sheets under herself.

  The sheets were cool against her skin. A shiver ricocheted up and down Jenn’s spine and put an end to her fantasy. She looked up at the ceiling. Well, girl, here you are, she thought. Back at home, in your childhood room. Single, broke, and broken-hearted.

  She pictured Max, her ex-boyfriend. Max, the photographer. The man who would always order the same meal for lunch in that tiny café Jenn waitressed near her crummy studio in Venice Beach. Pastrami on rye with a side of fries. Max, the man who one day left a fat tip with the note.

  Dinner sometime? No pastrami I swear!

  He took her to a sushi place, something Jenn never would have picked, and showed her how to hold chopsticks for the first time. He taught Jenn about the Magic Hour, that special time in LA when the sunlight was just right to photograph everything.

  Max, who would take her on long walks at the beach and just hold her hand, taking her picture when she wasn’t paying attention. The man who was such a romantic he explained she was more beautiful that way, when she was just in the world and not posing or mugging for the camera. After a few whirlwind months, he asked her to move in with him. Jenn had agreed, her lease was almost up on her studio anyway, and she dreaded the idea of having to pay even more in rent. Still, she had never lived with a man before. The way he kissed her, though, he must have been for real.

  Max, the charmer. He could take such beautiful pictures, so beautiful in fact, a magazine asked him to do a spread on the latest beach fashions.

  Jenn laughed. How LA!

  Max, who eventually spent more and more hours away from home on photo shoots.

  But sweetheart, they want pictures at dawn on the beach. It is for work.

  I thought the Magic Hour was in the afternoon, Jenn would say.

  You’re right, but that is just what they want.

  Max, the man who would be gone all night without an explanation.

  For her birthday, Jenn’s friend Dominique took them both to get their nails done. Dominique, always the rascal, wanted complete control.

  Trust me. I am French, am I not? she would say in her deep, accented voice.

  She picked out the nail polish for both of them. For herself, Dominique picked a deep maroon that she said would make her black skin radiate. Whatever that meant. For Jenn, she picked a fire engine red color—a garish color that seemed way over the top.

  It will photograph well, Dominique teased. It’s the same color as your hair.

  Max, the man who said he had to work during the day but would take her to a nice Italian restaurant for her birthday dinner, promising red wine and candlelight. They could meet at the restaurant. He would come straight from his latest photo shoot. But then, when he arrived, he was in a sour mood. He complained about work and about how nothing went well. He asked if maybe they could just take it easy tonight and skip the pressure of being romantic. She understood, didn’t she? Jenn did, of course. She was of course a little disappointed. It was her birthday, but he had had a rough day. That was why he forgot to wish her a happy birthday. It wasn’t a big deal.

  When they had lived together for a little while, there were some hiccups at first, but those were normal, right? After all, even the best couples are allowed to sometimes get irritated at each other from time to time. Max would sometimes forget to do his share of the housework. Dishes piled up in the sink. Dirty clothes accumulated. Max said he was never good at those sorts of things. Plus, he worked irregular hours compared to Jenn’s predictable schedule at the café. When he got home he was just too tired. Could Jenn take care of them? When Jenn said maybe they should talk about dividing up chores so Max could maybe do grocery shopping or something, he said sure that sounded fair. And Max did do the grocery shopping, a few times anyway. But he complained that he wasn’t the one who cooked so he wasn’t ever sure what to bu
y.

  You work in a café, he said to Jenn, you know more about cooking than I do. Besides, I’m usually too exhausted from my job.

  But when Jenn said she was a waitress, not a chef, and that she was on her feet all day and exhausted, too, when she got home, Max wanted to change the subject.

  There were a few other things. Jenn couldn’t remember a time when Max agreed to watching a movie she wanted to watch. She had seen plenty of shoot-‘em-up action movies, though. It was boring. It always came down to a fistfight between the good guy and the bad guy. Didn’t matter what else was happening. It would always look like the bad guy was about to win, until at the last moment the good guy would punch or kick or stab his way to defeating the bad guy.

  He used to joke to his friends in front of her that she didn’t like music. He would tease that when they were driving around in the car, she would ask him to turn down the radio, no matter what song was on! But it wasn’t true. She did like music. He always left out the part that he only ever listened to the same radio station that played classic rock. And even then, it only played a handful of artists. Jenn was tired of hearing the same songs over and over. She liked music. She just didn’t like the music he liked. When she was in the car alone, she would listen to whatever she wanted. Top 40 pop hits. R&B and disco oldies. Something with a hook and she could sing along to. That was her kind of music. She wouldn’t worry about how bad her voice was, she just sang. Max would ask for her to change the station if he was riding with her. And Jenn would quietly comply. That was how she found herself dealing with Max.

  When he climbed into bed and asked her to get him a glass of water, she would slide out from under the warm, cozy sheets and get him one without saying a word. When Max was happy, he was a great guy. It just took a lot to keep him happy. She rationalized it. No one was perfect, right? So putting up with his fussiness was worth being with him, right?