by Hart, Alana
Catherine bent down, wrapping her arms around her huge Grandfather. Henry Calhoun, or Hank as most of Blackrock called him, was a giant of a man. He stood 6’6,” and was built like a fire truck, with a face just as red. His thumb alone was the size of all Catherine’s fingers combined. He was in his seventies now, but still sporting a bushy full head of hair, now accompanied by matching salt and pepper beard.
“What brings you here?” He asked.
Her grandfather’s Maine accent turned the word ‘here’ into ‘heeyuh,’ and she smiled to hear it again after all this time.
“Yeah, what brings you here?”
Catherine glanced at Uncle Bodie. Apparently he did recognize her.
“I was actually hoping to come up and stay for a little while, if I could. Wanted to get away.”
“What? Of course you can! You’re always welcome, ain’t she, Bode?” Grampy was still squeezing her hand, shaking it excitedly.
Uncle Bodie didn’t speak.
“We got an extra bedroom,” Grampy Calhoun said, his voice booming with both a welcome excitement, and his hearing aid being set too low. He shifted in his chair, groaning as he hoisted his huge frame onto his feet. He stood over her to give her another proper hug. It felt like being hugged by a bear.
Grampy sauntered into the kitchen. “It’ll be nice havin a woman around again. Haven’t had a proper meal in this house since your grandmother died.”
He was looking a little thinner than she remembered. Bennett and Catherine shared a glance. It was common knowledge that Grampy Calhoun was still living in the fifties when it came to political correctness.
“Bodie, you want another beer?”
Bodie grunted his approval, something Catherine was sure Grampy couldn’t hear, but he appeared with another bottle, nonetheless.
“Hey, Catie. Why don’t you tell him why you’re looking to get away,” Bodie said, sipping at his Corona.
She swallowed.
“What’s this now?” Grampy asked, his lazy eye searching the window as he looked her over.
Bodie smiled. “Oh, I bet he’d love to hear all about it.”
Bennett appeared at her shoulder, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“You want to tell him, Catie? Should I tell him?” Bodie asked.
Grampy couldn’t hear a word of this, and was already ensconced in the episode of Gunsmoke they had on television, again.
Bodie turned toward her. “You know they have a warrant out for you down there?”
“What? Holy shit, Catie. What’d you do?”
Catherine closed her eyes. “They dropped the charges. The warrant’s been removed.”
Bodie ignored her comment. “Yeah, Catie. What’d you do? Let us all know. You know, before you settle in for a long stay and all.”
She took a deep breath, exhaled, then turned for the door.
Catherine arrived in Falkirk’s Seat twenty minutes later. It had taken only a moment’s cajoling and a promise that she would spill the beans as soon as she returned for Bennett to let her take his truck. Now, she was pulling up to the old dirt road that led to what many in the area called ‘The Fenn Compound.’
The dirt road, a route she’d walked down a hundred times as a kid, was now blocked off by a massive metal gate. She pulled the pickup along the shoulder of the main road and hopped over the gate.
Two miles. That’s how long the Fenn ‘driveway’ was. Two miles of winding dirt road, riddled with divots and massive pot holes, as much due to lack of upkeep as a desire to keep people from careening into the Fenn property at high speeds. It was early still and though the skies remained gray, the rain had let up. She’d be at John’s old house within forty minutes, maybe less if she hauled some ass.
She couldn’t bring herself to stay at the Calhoun house a minute longer. Sure, she’d done some things she wasn’t proud of back in New Hampshire – or maybe she was, the bastard deserved it – but Uncle Bodie’s holier than thou attitude was just too much.
The Fenn property consisted of an entire peninsula of land that jutted out into the Atlantic, bordered on two sides by the Indian Reservation. Patrick Fenn owned this land when she was young, but from what Bennett said, he now owned the woods on the opposite side of the main road as well – hundreds and hundreds of acres. What the hell was he doing with all of it?
From the looks of that dirt road, Catherine was pretty sure he wasn’t doing a damn thing with it.
Forty minutes into her walk and the Atlantic Ocean came into view between the trees. A few yards later, so did Janice Fenn.
Catherine recognized her instantly, despite the silver hair. Janice shot her a sideways glance, clearly startled to see someone coming up the path. Catherine waved and the woman’s face brightened.
“Catherine Calhoun? Are you kidding me?”
John and Deacon’s mother came storming out of her garden toward Catherine, arms wide. She wore a floral coat and gardening gloves to match, her gold and silver hair covered by a wide brimmed hat.
“Look at you. God, I haven’t seen you in so long! Does John know you’re here? Oh he’ll be over the moon.”
Catherine couldn’t help but smile at this as the woman hugged her tight. “He does. I saw him last night, actually.”
“Come inside, come inside. Do you want some lemonade?”
She couldn’t help but smile at this. It was nice to know that some good things in this world would never change. Catherine smiled and nodded.
“Is John coming by today, Mrs. Fenn?” Catherine asked as she followed the silver haired woman into her home.
“Janice, honey. He is. Should be here any minute, actually. Your timing is uncanny.”
Mrs. Fenn’s questions began in earnest. Catherine smiled and sipped at her lemonade.
How’s your mother?
Is Jacob still causing trouble?
Tell me you’re still playing violin.
Catherine answered politely as she took in the still familiar space of John’s childhood home. There were more doilies now, and a considerably larger collection of China in cabinets along the walls, but otherwise, the same photographs smiled down at her, the same smells of cooking Mussels on the stove, and baked cookies waiting in a cookie jar on the top of the fridge.
Janice caught her glancing up there, and wordlessly pulled the cookie jar from the fridge, setting it on the table before Catherine, lid open. Catherine laughed to herself softly. She was startled by how warm the familiar smell of those cookies made her feel.
“So what brings you back up to our neck of the woods then, lady?”
The front door to the house opened and Catherine turned, her face burning in sudden nerves at the thought of John finding her there. Despite her nerves, she startled to find it wasn’t John standing there.
“Who the hell is this?”
Patrick Fenn filled the doorway like a bulldozer, his shoulders nearly touching on other side. He ducked his gray haired head as he came through the door, and Catherine was on her feet, backing away from just the feel of his presence.
“Dad, this is Catherine Calhoun. John’s old -”
“I don’t know about you, Catherine Calhoun, but where I come from, it’s considered polite to call before you decide to show up on someone’s doorstep.”
Janice started in defense of Catherine, but he waved at her to be silent. Despite being near age to her own Grandfather, Patrick Fenn moved like a man in his prime, not careening into his seventies.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fenn. I used to come here all the time when I was younger. I would’ve called, but I didn’t have John’s number anymore, and it -”
“Jesus, what’s going on in here?”
John slipped in behind his grandfather, glancing from him to his mother before he even noticed Catherine practically cowering behind a dining room chair. “Shit! Hey Catie! What are you doing here?”
“She needs to be escorted off the property, Johnathan. Right
now.”
John glared up at his grandfather, who stood two or three inches taller than him. Johnathan shook his head. “Sir, she’s been here a hundred times. She has your blessing.”
Patrick shook his head. “I don’t recall giving it, and if I don’t recall, she doesn’t have it.”
Both Janice and John started, ready to defend her, but Patrick turned back out the door. “You have an hour to get her back to her truck before I come back and escort her myself.”
With that, he was gone, the room heavy with the memory of his presence.
Catherine stood frozen a moment and John and Janice shared a long look.
“Sorry, sweetheart. He’s gotten grumpy in his old age. It’s more bark than it is bite,” Janice tipped the cookie jar toward Catherine, but her stomach was in her throat now and she couldn’t eat if her life depended on it.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I don’t even know why I came down here -”
“No, no!” Both Janice and John drew closer, trying to assure her of her welcome, but she felt absolutely lost. She was antagonized in the Calhoun house and no longer welcome by the Fenns, and there was no way in hell she could ever go home. Maybe she should just run away with the god damn circus.
Catherine moved toward the door, ready to head out.
John slumped down into one of the dining room chairs, lacking any kind of urgency as he stuffed his hand in the cookie jar and pried out three of his mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies. He took a massive bite, crumbs rolling down the front of his shirt. Then he grinned at her. “Come on, you can sit. He gave us an hour.”
Janice chuckled as she turned to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of milk for her son.
After some cajoling, John and Janice managed to get Catherine back into one of the dining room chairs, enjoying another chocolate chip cookie, though with a little less fervor than John Fenn.
Despite their comfortable air, Catherine couldn’t relax. “I feel bad disobeying your grandfather. If I start walking now I can -”
“I’m driving you, silly. You’re fine.”
She fidgeted there a minute, watching him gulp down his cookie crumb laden glass of milk, then she excused herself to the bathroom.
Everything about the house reminded her of her years of friendship with John. She knew his bedroom, his basement den, and even the French Lavender soap in the bathroom was the same. The nostalgia was so strong, Catherine felt almost sad to think she was no longer welcome in this place, a place that once housed some of her best memories as a kid.
She wiped her hands on one of the embroidered towels and made her way back down the hall.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know why she’s here,” Janice was saying, her voice hushed.
“Come on, Mom.”
“No, it was the same for your father. Long distance trucker, yet simply had to come back to the middle of nowhere to find me. You know why she’s here. No wonder it didn’t work out with any of those other girls. Thank God.”
John sighed loud enough for Catherine to hear down the hall. “Come on. I haven’t seen her in ten years.”
“Exactly! She comes back after ten years and you don’t see that as fate? That girl was always meant to be yours. She even looks at you the same way she used to.”
“She does?” He asked, and there was a hint of excitement in his voice. “Well, sure it could be fate, but it doesn’t mean we need to start picking out curtains.”
Janice set the lid on the cookie jar with a little too much force, and the clang echoed down the hallway. “I think it’s time to tell her.”
John sighed again. “For fuck’s sake, Mom. I tried that once!”
“And you failed.”
“Yeah, I failed. We ended up in fucking Canada, because I thought if I drove around long enough I’d get up the balls.”
“Language!”
John groaned. “Pardon my French.”
Catherine listened as Janice moved about the kitchen. “Well, you have another chance. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. And neither do you. I can tell.”
Catherine coughed softly, then made a point of reclosing the bathroom door with a bit more force. Their conversation hushed instantly and she made her way back down the hall. “You ready to go?”
John smiled at her and hopped up from his chair. He was blushing.
The ride down the dirt drive was silent. It was late afternoon now and the gray sky still offered little to brighten Catherine’s mood. When John pulled his pickup to the metal gate, he parked just in front of it.
“Alright, thank you for the ride,” Catherine said.
“What’s up with you? You’re not upset about Pa Fenn, are you? He just needs a little persuasion, it’ll be fine.”
Catherine shook her head. “No, no. I remember him being a bit of a hardass. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
They sat in silence a moment longer as Catherine thought about her answer. “I just don’t feel like I have anywhere to go. Feeling kinda lost.”
John shut down the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition to keep it from dinging at them. He didn’t speak, just waited.
Catherine took a deep breath. “I shot my stepdad.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”
She let her head fall back against the truck seat. “I didn’t kill him or anything. Hardly even winged him, but I shot him.”
“Holy shit, Catie!”
“There was a warrant out for my arrest when I left New Hampshire. They’ve dropped the charges now, but – yeah.”
John started laughing heartily. “Good grief.”
“I don’t appreciate you laughing at me.”
This didn’t stop him. “I had no idea I was sleeping with an attempted murderess last night.”
The memory of waking that morning with him almost cracked a smile on her face and she swatted at him. “I’m not an attempted murderess. If I wanted to murder him, he’d be dead. I’m a damn good shot, thank you very much.”
“Oh I remember. So why the hell are you on the lamb for shooting at your stepdad.”
She made a face, crinkling her nose. “Cause he’s a drunk abusive asshole, obviously.”
John touched her arm. “Yeah, I remember that, too.”
“Yeah, well. It got worse. Mom finally kicked him out a few months ago and life was great. Come Spring, he was back, and by my birthday they were drinking and fighting again.”
“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe she’s still with that guy after all this time?”
“Yeah, sadly. I came home about a week ago to him choking my mom, wouldn’t get off her no matter how hard I hit him. So I grabbed my Dad’s old 1911, and I shot the fucker.”
“Holy shit. Where’d you hit him?”
Catherine shrugged. “Shoulder. It was meant to be a graze, really. Teach him a lesson, kind of thing.”
“Damn fine lesson.”
Catherine frowned. “Not really. He told the cops I’d shot him unprovoked. Then Mom lied, backed him up.”
John’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Wish I was,” Catherine said. “Guy tried to kill her and she told the cops I was the attempted murderer.”
“So she’s gonna let her own daughter get in trouble instead?”
Catherine glanced at John, frowning. “At first she was, yeah, but then Jacob told the cops what really happened. They ended up dropping the charges. Sobered up and decided to ‘admit’ it was an accident.”
The two of them sat in silence a moment, Catherine inspecting the lines at her knuckles.
“Your Dad was such a cool guy, how does she end up with someone like that?”
This hurt Catherine’s heart. It was true. Her Dad really had been a great guy. “Wish I knew.”
John reached over, squeezing her thigh. The touch sent shivers down her spine.
“Woul
d you think less of me if I told you I find you unbelievably hot for it?”
Catherine bust out laughing, smacking John’s arm as the smile overtook her face. “Yeah? The criminal element does something for you?”
“You know it!”
The two of them laughed, taking a moment to let the silent comfort return. She was in no rush to get out of this man’s truck. In fact, she’d happily curl up in the bed of it with him again and live on an air mattress and sleeping bags. Didn’t sound like a terrible way of life.
John checked his phone, then glanced in the rear view mirror. “Does Hank know?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, but Bodie does.”
John exhaled out his nose. “Well, then.”
With that he was out of the truck and sauntering over to the metal gate. A moment later, they were on the main drag heading north.
Catherine had her window down and the wind in her hair. John blew down the quiet roads of Maine like a local, which equaled a ludicrous speed. Catherine simply settled into the passenger seat, bobbing her head along to the Jethro Tull thrumming through the speakers.
After a few long circles through Addison and Columbia Falls, John veered the truck back toward Falkirk’s Seat, heading down toward the back side and the rez.
“Where we heading now?” She asked.
John smiled, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel to Locomotive Breath. He shrugged. “Wasn’t really thinking about it.”
She smiled. “You always did love this road.”
John rolled up to a stop sign and turned to look at her. He smiled, watching her a moment longer than she could handle, and she looked away.
“Well, there’s something to say for the tribal ways.”
“Mhmm, with their sky spirits and their shapeshifters -”
“Hey! You never know!”
Catherine laughed. The very same words he’d said a hundred times before. “Oh, I know.”
“You don’t! How are their myths any different than the myths of white people?”
Catherine raised an eyebrow. “White people have myths?”