by Jody Kaye
“Eat up, Cees. I’ve got plans for you after this.”
My eyes drift to the bedroom, remembering the way his body cocooned around mine last night. I am surprised at how comfortable it was sharing a bed when I’m used to sleeping alone. We were up late and a mid-morning nap after nookie sounds pleasurable.
However, Dusty’s plans aren’t quite as provocative as his words lead me to believe. We’ve hardly placed the dishes in the sink when he’s bundling me up with extra socks, wrapping a scarf around my neck, and pulling a pink and purple striped stocking cap over my ears.
“Is this Sylvie’s?” I touch the intricate crown embroidery.
He smirks, tying his boots, and grabs what looks like four tennis rackets from the closet, putting two under each armpit.
“Take these,” he instructs me, relinquishing the skinny trekking poles. “Not going far, but you may need them.”
“Me?”
“Novice. Hence, why we’re staying in the woods around the per-rimiter. Don’t need as much gear and less likely to get lost. Outside.” He points to the door when the velcro on my gloves is secure.
There’s a rustic country feel to being out in the middle of nowhere. The darkness last night hadn’t given me a good glimpse of Dusty’s property. Returning from the store this morning, the house sitting dwarfed in the center of a wide field surprised me. This mountain home isn’t a cabin, and it’s definitely not one of the cookie-cutter gabled suburban boxes found in Kimber and Trig’s neighborhood. Inside and out, it’s comfortable with contemporary lines, and I can visualize how beautiful it will be with the addition.
It’s mild and sunny, but a slight wind whips at my pants. Let’s face it, I’m a wimp when it comes to winter weather and am thankful for the short season on the other end of the state.
“Cold?” Dusty caught sight of my fists and spine tightening when the breeze blew over the field. “Had it snowed overnight, I would have broken out the ski pants.”
Swirls of white cover the field with interspersed patches of grass showing dormant tips. A few areas the sun glints off of and I can tell it’s icy. Others, closer to the tree line, have deeper mounds where the snow has built up over the past months and the overhanging conifer boughs haven’t let the light in.
“I’ll be okay once we’re hiking around.” I muse in a cheerful tone, up for the adventure.
“We won’t be out too long. Plus, I got a way to warm you when we’re through.” Dusty winks with a devilish promise, dropping the snowshoes on the ground. He lifts my left boot, sliding the first one under like a slipper, and instructs me on how to tighten the straps. Much like at Royce’s, he’s using one-word cues and counts the steps with his gloved fingers. Once it’s secure, he makes me do the right snowshoe myself while he dons his own pair.
We walk around the house first. It’s built with a sloped backyard, and I’m stunned at how high the porch off of the back actually is. From the living room the expanse of white yard had given the illusion of being much closer to the ground.
“Know what a flag lot is?” he asks.
“Nope. But I’m sure you’ll fill me in.”
“I have an easement between two other lots to get to my land. This whole side,” he swoops an arm, “is a straight line boundary all the way back. The other, where you can make out the back of the neighbor’s house, comes in at an L-shape.” He maps it out with his hands. “Most people want property adjace-nt to the road.”
“It didn’t bother you.”
“I come here for seclusion.” He chuckles. “Jake joked I should build a compound.”
“Like the mill isn’t one.”
“No kidding.”
“Has he been up here?”
“No. He set me up with the right people to get the sale and permits approved.”
My brow furrows.
“Jake’s a man of hidden talents. If anyone mentions his golf game needs work, it’s a hustle. He knows what he’s doing.”
I shrug and leave it at that.
With my feet set wide apart, walking toward the straight tree line is harder than it looked on the YouTube video I watched after Dusty invited me up here. He gives me a pole to steady my balance in the frosty thicket, mentioning he’s keeping the second for himself out of an extreme amount of caution in case he hits an icy patch.
“Rehab from breaking a bone, it makes you never want to break anything again.”
Before this past week, we knew nothing about each other beyond the carnal. I like Dusty’s honesty, his willingness to open up to me, and his humor. I find the stutter endearing because it shows how hard he tries not to give up on the person he was. Dusty values those ten cent words, wants them to flow the way they used to, and isn’t afraid to put in the efforts so they will. He’s proving a much more whole human being than I am. The more time I spend in his company, the more it highlights the flaws in the hard-lined schedule I’d sketched out for my life.
We weave in and around tree trunks, never venturing far from the clearing. I concentrate too much on my footsteps and he encourages me to look up into the canopy. The air we breathe is icy, warming as it enters our lungs, and creating foggy puffs with each exhale. My heart pounds and I lose my breath laughing when we make goofy smoke puffs. Dusty’s practiced to entertain his little girl and creates the circular ones with holes in the center.
“Could you do this someplace more rugged? The resort a few miles down the road has cross-country skiing too.”
“You could persuade me to figure it out. Another time?”
A glow radiating from his face outshines the one he’s put on mine. It’s hard to hold hands with thick gloves on, but our outstretched arms connect, anchoring us together on the way back inside.
We shed everything covering our feet at the door and hang our coats and gloves. The heat of the wood stove sends prickles over my skin. My muscles are warm underneath. Zips and shocks run through my system. The odd cozy and sleepy sensation you get after Thanksgiving dinner takes over.
“You okay?” Dusty snakes a finger into the belt loop in my jeans, stopping me from toppling over as I take off my sock. The bottom got wet when I stepped in a puddle at the entry.
“Only winded.” I place my palm on his forearm. I love the way they feel around me, keeping me safe from the smallest mishap. I swear he’d hold the safety net, ready to catch me, if I fell from a high wire. “Who knew that a month of no dance practice would leave me so out of shape? My clothes are a little more snug in the rear if you get my drift.”
“Can I say something and you take it the way it’s meant?” His lower jaw juts out and his tongue finds his back molar, tentative and pensive about what he’s revealing.
“Sure.”
“Warning you. I’m gonna blow this.” He apologizes in advance. “I didn’t know Beth’s body before she was pregnant.”
His palm glides over the bell of my hip and I look to where it stalls with a soft thumb rub over my belly button. Then I glance up at Dusty. His lips part as if he wants to take back bringing his ex up, but his meaning is clear before he stumbles to explain. And what’s more, while it’s still far off on my timeline of events, this is the first instance in my entire life the idea of having a baby isn’t overwhelming.
“Beth always commented about what her ap-pearance was like before Sylvie. I had nothing to compare it to. She was perfect and you’re perfect. An extra pound or lump doesn’t change anything.”
I turn and wrap my arms around his neck, brushing my fingertips across the scruff of his beard as I do. He leans into my touch. His hands grab my ass, squeezing, before settling his beefy palms at my waist.
“I might show up for a rehearsal or two at Sweet Caroline’s. It’s how Kimber stays in shape since she stopped dancing.”
“Either way, do what’s right for you. I’m not complaining.”
I nod as Dusty’s face lowers to mine, rubbing our noses together before the gentlest kiss.
“You didn’t blow it bringing u
p Beth.” I don’t get the impression Dusty wants me to live up to a standard she set. The few times he’s opened up about his past have had more to do with his own experiences.
“Thank fuck!” He tosses his head back and lets out an enormous growling sigh, lifting me off the floor.
“Were you that worried?” I tuck my ear to his chest, listening to his huge heart beating.
“You’re the only person I’ve felt like this about since her, so yeah.” He scrubs his beard. “Not supposed to say that so soon either, am I?”
I tighten my grip at his middle. “I feel it too.” I stop and let out a self-conscious laugh. “Not the second time around part, though.”
I don’t take solace in the fact that I’ve been on my own so long this can’t hurt when it ends. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything other than puppy love or lusty obsession. Of course, they never live up to the fictionalized image of what I expected a man to behave like. I’ll admit what’s happening now is different. Sure Dusty’s got rough edges, but he’s so gentle, so caring, mine are more likely to stab him in the heart.
“It’s more than what we were doing.” I turn, resting my chin. This close I can see the gorgeous gold flecks in his brown eyes.
“So… Much… More.” In between words, Dusty kisses my forehead.
Something inside of me swells and my world shifts. I have this moment where I know next weekend, the weekend after that, and a month from now, it’ll be as amazing. I picture myself confiding in Sloan about how this man makes me feel. My mind’s eye rushes on fast forward. I’ve got her and Carver along with me and Dusty meeting up with Trig and Kimber at the hole-in-the-wall Mongolian Barbecue—a restaurant so far on the other side of the dine-out spectrum from eating at Royce’s—and running into my brother as he’s grabbing takeout. It’s all so normal, and so within my grasp, I can almost hear the sizzle of the grill and taste the food set in front of me.
I don’t remember this insane happiness or contentment, even when I walked across the stage for my diploma. Although methodical, I can’t help wondering how worthwhile the stages of my plan are. If I shouldn’t have thrown caution out the window, admitted my attraction to Dusty, and see where it led. My friends don’t dislike him. The reservations I had were a combination of my own insecurities and unwillingness to check off the “fall in love” box before the “become a PA” one. The sequence didn’t matter in the end. But I was too narrow-minded to recognize they both fulfilled the dream.
I have my legs tucked up on the sofa criss-cross with my laptop open on my lap. The heat from the battery has my bare, happy toes wiggling underneath and the fire across the room allowed me to shed my sweater a half hour ago when Dusty left to find the toolbox he keeps here. We’re both tackling our to-do lists so we can go back to the good parts.
I hit save on the second to last chart. While waiting on the slower than molasses internet to open the next, I take the last big gulp of cocoa in my mug. The chocolate slides down my throat. Filling the kettle was not what I’d expected when Dusty said he’d “warm me up.” He likes teasing me. But I yawned, tucked to his chest as we waited on the water to boil and he promised a naked nap in our future.
My cell rings next to me on the cushions, and pretty much the worst interruption ruins the rush of positivity coursing in my veins.
“Hi, Mom.” It’s better to answer than ignore. She’ll keep hitting redial until I pick up. She must be making up for all the times over the years she hasn’t called all at once.
“I saw your graduation picture on Facebook.” She starts without any term of endearment. Would opening with some sort of congratulations have killed her? “You’re a doctor now?”
“No. I’m a pediatric physician’s assistant.” My chin tips up, defiant. I hope big words throw Mom off, and I’m racking my brain as to how she wound up with the information. I have an unused in ages account. Someone at the ceremony in December must have tagged me in a photo. I’d stopped logging on for that reason. Everyone felt compelled to share news stories about my brother’s sentencing. It was as they’d forgotten I was front and center to the hell the legal system forced Morgan to endure.
“Same difference,” she pshaws. “I saw a PA at the emergency room last month.” She’s begging for me to bite and be sympathetic to her plight. Too bad I’m onto what she’s after.
My mother didn’t use when Morgan and I were young. The first time I saw her drunk I was in middle school. Strung out happened a year or two later. The older we got the deeper her habits seemed to stretch. The more time alone with my bitter father, the more apparent her means of escape became. However, Morgan and I weren’t in a position to intervene and call her on her habits. It was the point when we realized the only support network we had was one another.
It doesn’t matter that we were adults when Morgan went to prison. I’m not sure how to forgive her for abandoning my brother and I when we needed a parent to lean on during the tough times. I also don’t think I should have to.
On a scale of one to ten, my dad didn’t start out as a complete zero. I remember him shooting hoops with Morgan, building my brother’s skills early on. Although, it was before he realized my brother was a decent enough player to go anywhere. He got a partial scholarship to the big-name university my dad obsessed over as his team, and had a shot at a better life.
We never had much. Mom—whose lack of education and skills made a series of fast food jobs she was fired from for missing work, her sole option for income—went along with everything he said like it was the gospel. She lost herself to him and, when Dad refused to be there as Morgan’s dreams fell apart, Mom let Dad extinguish any hope she had left. I’ve come to the conclusion they stay married because neither is interested in the effort it takes to separate.
My nails dig into the flesh of my palms, reiterating to myself she’s an ignorant product of her environment and knows no better. But Morgan and I were too, and we didn’t roll over and give up. He’d never lay a hand on Aidy and I’d never allow addiction to stop me from loving.
She babbles on incoherently about an aunt whom I only know by name. “Did you hear me say I br..ke my arm?”
I’ve gotten off the couch and am pacing by the slider wearing a pattern in the carpet. The call has gone staticky and her voice choppy and robotic.
“No. You didn’t mention it.” I make the get on with it motion.
The call continues cutting in and out. “The doctor at the ER gave me pills for the pain, but he w..n’t give me no more and it hurts so bad I can’t h..rdly sleep.” Mom suggests I report him to the state medical board.
“I can’t, Mom,” I remark, bored.
“Well, then can y…refill the pres…iption? The pharmacist s…”
The line goes dead right as I’m about to snap and give my mother a piece of my mind. It’s not as if I hadn’t figured out what she was after, but how dare anyone ask me to risk my license?
I stare at the screen incredulous. The low-battery icon flashes red from trying to hold the connection and drains the last drop of energy. My voicemail box will be full when it’s juiced up again. But at least I have a valid reason for not answering.
I hit save and close my laptop. Unable to complete my task until I’ve cleared my head, I go fish through my purse for the charger and find it missing. Fuming at my stupidity for not packing it, I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a few calming breaths. Regaining enough composure to act normal, I venture through the house to find Dusty in the bathroom.
“Hey,” I wiggle my cell. “Have an extra phone cord by chance?”
Dusty is on his back under the sink. He peers out. “Not that brand.”
“Awesome. It’s dead and I forgot to pack mine.”
“Happens out here. Shut mine down. Weaker signals.”
“What if something happens while you’re gone?”
“You mean with Sylvie? Renata and I have a deal that I check in every so often.”
I nod at the sensibility of his
plan and he offers to take a ride to the store to get a new cord.
“Nah.” I slide down the wall to sit on the edge of the tub. The bright side of admitting defeat is putting my past behind me. I set my phone to the side.
“Done with charts?”
“One left. It’s quick. I lost motivation and can have it finished before Monday.”
Dusty nods, saying his own task is almost accomplished.
I pick up the empty box from the faucet he’s installing. There’s nothing wrong with the original one. He found one he likes better. It’s pretty and rustic with white hot and cold disks on the handles.
Dusty’s quiet, focused on his task under the sink. I’ve noticed he doesn’t hold conversations while he does anything. In the beginning, it seemed as if he needed to concentrate, but then I realized how adept he actually is. His actions are no more delayed than mine. It’s only obvious when he talks that anything is wrong. It takes him longer to form sentences. Sometimes, when they’re more complex, he gets a thoughtful expression on his face. Not confused, as much as contemplative or deliberate, and there’s an undeniable attractiveness to an intelligent man. During those moments, my patience with him increases because I honestly want him to say what’s on his mind. I’m not sure if it will be smart, sexy, or comical. What I do know is it gives me more insight into how this man ticks.
“Why didn’t you stay an engineer?”
It takes him a minute to speak. He stutters through it and there’s a slight echo from his upper half resting inside the cabinet. Yet, having been around him most of the past few days, his words are as easy to understand as having a heart to heart with anyone else.
“The accident changed me. Realigned my priorities realizing nobody’s guaranteed tomorrow. I went back for a while when I got off disability. I hadn’t fit the mold to begin with. It wasn’t worth the pressure trying to be the person everyone else needed to peg me as.”
“How so?”
“Some, who’d given me credit beforehand, were overzealous. They didn’t like thinking they’d been wrong. My brain injury had them recalculating. Others, who believed there was no way a guy who looked like me could be smart, felt vindicated. I was the butt of the joke.”