by K. A. Tucker
“I lived in this little apartment for nearly thirty-seven years.” Ginny’s eyes roll over the place. “It’s just been sitting here, doing nothin’. I thought it may as well be put to use.”
I struggle to keep the burn in my eyes from developing into full-blown tears. “This is perfect.” I turn to face her. “Thank you.”
She peers at me with her lips pursed together, as if deciding whether to say what she’s thinking. I get the impression that Ginny doesn’t censor herself much. Finally, she points a thin finger to the corner opposite the bed. “Bathroom’s over there. Nothing but a few old tractors and a mouse or two down below. But Felix just had young’uns, so they’ll take care of those quick. She’s a good mouser.”
I lift a brow. A female cat named Felix?
“I’ve left you a spare set of keys for the truck, in case you want to drive yourself into town. It’s old, but she’ll get you there. You know how to drive, right?”
Good question. I shrug. Maybe? “I don’t have a license.” I don’t have any sort of identification. “Sheriff Welles . . . I mean, Gabe . . .” I frown. Calling him by his first name just doesn’t settle well. I decide on a middle ground. “I mean, Sheriff Gabe is going to help me get one.”
She dismisses my words with a wave. “No matter. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. There ain’t no people out on these roads anyway. And if you get pulled over, just give them Gabe’s name. It’s the least he can do for not finding the person who hurt you. Dinner’ll be ready at six p.m. on the porch. Don’t be late.”
The way the old woman strings together thoughts—bouncing from the mundane to the serious, and back to the mundane—is mind-boggling.
I listen to the stairs outside creak as Ginny leaves.
“Last week was the first time I’ve ever been up here in my life,” Meredith, who has remained quiet since following me into the apartment, admits. “Not bad, right?” She takes slow steps through the space, her boots clomping over the faded plank wood floors. “It’s a little sparse. We’ll get some more comfortable furniture in here as soon as we can.”
“It’s more than enough for me.” I don’t know how I’m used to living, but right now I don’t care about fancy furniture. I’ve been in limbo for months. I’m finally standing in a place that I can begin to call home.
She makes her way over to open the old, round-edged refrigerator. “Good. Amber got some fruit and yogurt . . . juice . . .” She adds absently, “If it had been Jesse stocking this, you’d be living off frozen pizzas and Coke.”
“So both your children live with you still?” I ask as casually as possible. She doesn’t ever bring her son up in conversation.
She pushes the door shut slowly before shifting over to the stove, turning this knob and that as if testing it. “No. Only Amber. Just for now, and she’s rarely home, she works so much.”
“And your son?”
“He lives in Portland. He’ll come for the odd weekend, though. He stays in the apartment above the garage.” Tapping the back left burner, she adds, “Gabe says this burner is temperamental, so just avoid it when you cook.” Much lower, she mutters, “Because I’m sure you’ll need a break from Ginny’s cooking sooner rather than later.”
Me? Cook? Do I cook?
I wander over to the bed to take in the colorful spread. And my feet falter. “Hey, this is . . .” My voice drifts off as my fingers trace over the red and yellow and orange swirls. It’s the quilt Ginny was working on last week in the hospital. The one she crumbled and I smoothed out. The bright colors are merely a backdrop for an enormous black tree, the obvious focal point. Just like the quilt hanging in that store window in town. “Wow, she finished it already?”
“Ginny’s known around town as the ‘Tree Quilt Lady.’ I swear half of Deschutes County has one of her creations in their house. That store I pointed out to you? It sells them on consignment.” Meredith’s brow furrows. “It may be worth talking to the owner, actually. I thought I heard her say that she needed some help this summer.”
I nod slowly. A quilt store. I could handle working in a quilt store. I think? My attention shifts back to the beautiful piece stretched out over my bed. “These must take her a lot of time.”
“Ginny has a lot of time.” There’s a pause, and I turn around to find Meredith gripping the back of a rickety whitewashed chair with her skilled surgical hands. “Look . . . Ginny takes some getting used to. Don’t take anything she says personally, especially in the next little while. This is a big change for her and she doesn’t adjust well. To anything. If you haven’t figured it out already, she isn’t a fan of people. She much prefers to be alone. And she doesn’t like anyone in her space.”
“Right. Don’t touch her things.” I remember her words from the hospital. You can’t be touching my stuff, Ginny had said. Was that a warning? Did she already know that she’d be taking me in?
Meredith cringes. “Well, yes. But it goes beyond that. Until last week’s hospital trip, Ginny hadn’t left this property since she buried her father, almost ten years ago. I pick up her groceries and drop her mail off, to pay her bills. The veterinarian comes to check in on the horses. No one besides Gabe has stepped foot inside her house in over seven years, and that’s because the only toilet backed up and she refused to let a plumber in the door.” She snorts. “Gabe didn’t know a thing about fixing toilets. He spent all weekend there, with a manual and a new set of tools, cursing. The porch is the only common space under that roof. So, don’t be offended when she doesn’t invite you in. Ever.”
“Okay . . . So she’s a bit territorial.”
“And paranoid. And frugal. You also won’t find a television or phone anywhere in her house. She disconnected all the lines after her father died.”
I walk over to study the television on the dresser with a curious frown.
“That was her father’s,” Meredith confirms. “She noticed that you liked having a television in the hospital room, so she dragged it out of her storage cellar. Apparently all of her parents’ things are stowed in there. Ginny’s a bit of a pack rat. An extremely tidy and organized one.”
“But . . . does it work?” I turn the knob on the top right. Gray static fills the tiny screen.
Meredith shakes her head. “She’s making an extraordinary effort for you, believe me. But that’s as far as she got. We can see about getting you a newer one.”
I smile at the thought of the old woman setting this up here. For me.
“Gabe arranged for a cable company on Monday morning to install a line for you. You may want to be on the lookout. Ginny’s liable to change her mind and chase them away with her broom. Amber has a cell phone and an old laptop for you that she’ll bring over. You’ll be able to pick up our wireless router signal from here. Just keep it out of Ginny’s sight so you won’t have to deal with her grumbling.”
“Okay. Thanks. That’s . . . great.” Not that I have anyone to phone. And will I know how to use a computer? I saw plenty of them at the hospital, but I never actually sat down in front of one to see how much of a “learned behavior” it is for me.
She sighs. “Well, I’ve got to get ready for work. Are you okay here alone?”
“Of course.” I’ve been completely alone for three months now.
“Like I said, Amber will be over soon. I’m sure you two will be spending a lot of time together.” A warm smile stretches across her face as she squeezes my shoulders. “Open some windows and enjoy the fresh air. Everything will be just fine. You were meant to survive. I firmly believe that.”
With those final words, she strolls out the door, pulling it shut behind her. And I frown at the peephole, the two deadbolts, and the latch lock that can’t possibly be necessary out here, in the middle of nowhere.
Unless you’re the victim of a rape that still haunts you almost fifty years later.
I close my eyes against the rising panic. Will this be me one day? Will I find comfort in the locks and chains, will I wish for bars across my
windows?
I told Dr. Weimer about my talk with Ginny and the growing fears that sprouted from it. She didn’t make any sugarcoated promises or predictions. It will be difficult, she said. You will wish you didn’t remember that part, she said. You may never remember that part, depending on how lucid you were at the time, she also said. I found myself praying for that possibility. I’d like to know who did this to me, but I don’t need to relive it. It’s not like I’ll ever forget that it happened. All I have to do is look in the mirror to be reminded that it did.
But Dr. Weimer also reiterated that I am not alone and I do not have to live like I am.
I can choose not to live like Ginny.
I survey my space again. There are two dormer windows facing the driveway and one overlooking the side of the property, and a glass door at the other end of the long room. I slide it open and step outside. For an apartment this long and spacious, the wooden balcony is tiny. More a perch than anything. A green-and-blue woven lawn chair that has seen better days sits in the corner. There isn’t room for much else.
I rest my hands on the wobbly railing and take in the smell of clean, crisp air; the vista of land and trees and the three peaks beyond. It’s a view more beautiful than . . . well, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything like this before. And, except for the occasional chirp of a bird, I hear nothing but the creak of the wood under my weight and my own pounding heartbeat.
A blue canopy hangs over me, the clouds fleecy and white. I imagine that it’s a dome, enclosing me in this peace, separating me from my turmoil, which continues to swirl outside.
Motion in the grass catches my attention. A black-and-white cat creeps along the green expanse, its attention zoned in on something unseen, its body hovering low to the ground, its ears flat. I assume that’s Felix, out to earn her reputation. A string of frisky kittens in varying mixtures of all black, all white, and everything in between come bounding up behind her, oblivious to their mother’s endeavors. Whatever Felix was hunting must have been scared away, because the cat eases into a stand and shoots what I surmise is an annoyed glare the kittens’ way.
I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing. It’s a low, uncontrollable sound that begins in my belly and sails from my lips with abandon.
And I realize that it’s the first time I’ve ever heard my laugh that I can remember.
Was I a person who laughed a lot? Did I laugh at myself? At others?
I make a silent promise to learn how to laugh freely because that little burst felt like a release.
But the sound must have startled the kittens because they have scattered, two bolting under the fence between Ginny’s and the Welleses’ properties. From this vantage point, I have a perfect view of the Welleses’ garage that sits to my left and farther back—a long structure that matches in color scheme the house, with a steep roof that allows for that room above, and a double garage door. It’s open, and the tail end of a shiny black car sticks out.
And Jesse is beside it.
Watching me.
The rest of my body jumps with my heart as I take him in, leaning against the back wall, legs crossed at the ankles like he’s been standing there for some time, tapping a silver tool methodically against his jeans. Even from here, those eyes feel like they’re penetrating my skin.
A strange sensation washes over me.
One I can’t identify. One I can’t say that I like.
But also one that I can’t say I don’t.
One . . . two . . . three . . . Who will win this staring contest? He doesn’t seem to be letting up. I let my hair fall forward a bit, in case he can see the red line from that distance, though I doubt it. This is just ridiculous. This is Dr. Alwood and Sheriff Welles’s—no, Meredith and Sheriff Gabe’s—son. Why would I not say hi? I hold my hand up in a tentative gesture. It’s not really a wave. And I wait.
Wondering.
For some reason, not breathing.
“Hey,” a panting Amber calls out, stepping out onto the cramped patio in her tall riding boots, startling me enough that I jump yet again. I never heard her come in. “How do you like it so far?”
I drop my hand. “It’s perfect for me.” And it truly feels like it is. Maybe this is similar to my previous life, after all. The horses, the mountains, the fresh air, the quaint little apartment . . . it feels like it fits me.
Amber grins—her typical wide, white-toothed, flawless smile. “Good. We had cleaners and painters come in this past week to fix it up. You wouldn’t believe the fuss Ginny made.”
If it’s anything like that day in the hospital, I think I can picture it. Which makes my heart instantly soften for the old woman, because that couldn’t have been easy. She really does mean well.
I can’t help but glance over at the garage, but I try to do it covertly. My smile falters when I see that Jesse is gone.
“That’s my brother. He barely comes out to say hi. He’s so in love with that stupid car.” She turns inside. I hear her mutter under her breath, “It’s probably stolen.”
My eyes flash as I trail her in. This is the sheriff’s son we’re talking about, right? “Really?”
“No . . . not really.” She sighs as she opens the laptop resting on the table. “My brother just does things that I don’t understand. Things that have made my parents’ lives harder than they need to be.”
“Your mom said he comes home on weekends sometimes?”
She starts hitting a bunch of keys, her fingers moving fast. “Yeah. Over the last few months, he’s been doing it more often. Before that, I hardly saw him.” Click-click-click. “I think something happened, with a girl he was dating. He told my mom that he was going to marry her, which is weird, coming from Jesse, who’s never gotten serious with anyone. I guess it didn’t work out.”
So he was in love with a girl. Is he still in love with her? “What was she like?”
Amber sighs as she scribbles some letters down on a pad of paper lying next to her. “Don’t know. Never met her, and good luck getting any information from him. Jesse isn’t much of a talker. All I know is that she was from Portland.”
Portland. “How far is that?” Have I been there before?
“A few hours. I did my nursing program there. Here . . . I used this laptop for school, but I have an iPad now so I don’t need it.” She pushes a scrap of paper forward. “I wrote the passwords and some basic instructions down, in case it doesn’t come naturally.” She stands and stretches her arms over her head in an exaggerated yawn, her checkered shirt riding up over her taut belly. “I’ve gotta run now. I picked up an extra shift tonight.”
“You work a lot, don’t you?” When I was in the hospital, there was hardly a day that went by when she didn’t stroll into my room with her scrubs on.
Her hands slap against her thighs as she drops her arms dramatically. “For now, yeah. I don’t have a boyfriend, most of my friends moved away from this town, and my father’s the almighty sheriff, so . . .” She throws her hands up in the air. “What else am I going to do?”
I wonder what it’s like to have Sheriff Gabe as your father. He’s only ever been pleasant toward me, but if being married to the sheriff is sometimes difficult, as Meredith said, then I can’t imagine what being his child must be like.
“Bamboo,” Amber suddenly fires at me. It takes an arched brow for me to clue in.
“Panda?” I finally answer, feeling silly. Dr. Weimer has me playing word association games with Meredith and Amber. They say a word and I say the first thing that pops into my head. It’s part of my therapy, to see if something will trigger a memory. I’m supposed to keep a journal of all the word combinations and bring them with me to my weekly sessions. “Why bamboo?”
Lifting the small fabric-bound notebook that Dr. Weimer gifted me—the cover smattered with colorful hummingbirds—off the table, she opens it and scribbles down the words for me. “Because the end table beside your bed is made of bamboo.” That’s how this game usually goes. Random, meaningless
words plucked from my surroundings as much as out of the air.
So far, I have half a journal’s worth of words that have enlightened me about nothing.
Except that apparently I’m aware of a panda bear’s dietary preferences.
When Amber’s gone, I head back out to the deck. I take a seat in that rickety lawn chair and simply absorb the peace and quiet while I wait. Because I have nothing better to do.
And, in the back of my mind, I admit that I’m waiting for Jesse to come out of hiding. Imagining what kind of girl he would have fallen in love with. She’s beautiful; I’m sure of it.
I’m also sure that I’m jealous of her.
He doesn’t poke his head out again.
The round white-wicker table is already set for two, the cutlery and glasses lined up tidily on either side.
“I hope you like chicken.” Ginny slaps a rectangular casserole dish in the center of the table. The dog, who was lying on the old whitewashed porch floor with its eyes closed and seemingly not a care in the world when I first arrived, leaps to its haunches, its nose twitching at the scent of meat.
“Chicken’s great,” I confirm, pulling the zipper on my fleece jacket all the way up. It’s April and, with the sun well on its way behind the mountain ridge, it’s far too cold to be eating outside on the porch, screened in or not. “Can I help you with—”
“Nope.” She waves an oven-mitted hand my way as she passes me. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, girl.” When I reach for the closest chair, she quickly adds, “Not that one.”
Of course. I take the other seat as she disappears into the house, the door slapping shut with a clatter so quickly that I can’t even sneak a glance inside. It’s as if she intentionally removed the hinges on it.