by A. J. Wynter
“But this could be a way to help others, if they want to do what you’re doing.” I sighed. “Marion, thank you for asking, but no.”
“Maybe just a few quotes Jack?” she persisted.
“Marion. Don’t make me yell in the library,” I forced myself to laugh as I walked away from the conversation.
“It’s too bad. You’re more inspiring than you know, young man.” I was a thirty-five-year-old man living in the woods avoiding people, I didn’t know what was inspiring about that, but I let her comment go. There were two other regulars on the computers, and I nodded to both of the men as I sat down. I didn’t check in on the outside world very often, but there had been far too many coincidences in my life lately to ignore.
I sat down and searched a few beekeeping articles, but curiosity got the better of me and I typed in ‘Camilla Titan.’ Hundreds of articles came up, the most recent was memorial posts, her icy blue eyes staring at me from the screen. Another site had posted photos from her memorial service. I zoomed in on one of the photos, and sure enough, there was the woman I had seen in Windswan that day. It was Sadie. In the photo, she was wearing a black overcoat and was standing next to Liam. I clicked on Liam’s name and a slew of articles came up, the first one almost knocked me off my chair.
Was it a hoax? I leaned in to stare at the screen, trying to see if the photos were doctored. I continued scrolling through the articles and couldn’t believe what I was reading. My brother, Mr. Player-never-gonna-settle-down, had married Sadie Conway. It didn’t make sense.
There were photos of them kissing. Photos of them on the beach doing... Jesus Christ! Thankfully, their nakedness was blurred out, but it was plain to see what was going down on that beach. It didn’t make sense. Liam was known for dating models. They were his ‘thing’. But my suspicions were quashed when I saw the ring in a close up of Sadie’s hand. It was my grandmother’s diamond.
My stomach tightened and my legs started to shake. The temperature in the library seemed to have shot up about twenty degrees and I peeled off my sweater and hung it over the back of the chair. What the fuck was he doing?
I couldn’t stare at their smiling faces any longer. I stood up and paced among the rows of books, shaking my hands. Liam saw what dad’s cheating did to mom. He was going to hurt Sadie, just like dad had hurt mom. I ran my hands through my hair and returned to the computer. How did he get to marry a woman like Sadie? He was supposed to marry some bimbo who would look good on his arm and then cheat on her like it was going out of style.
The three of us had grown up together, and if there was any woman in the world that my little fucking brother should respect, it’s Sadie. I scrolled through a few more pictures, but they didn’t help to settle down my rage, every smile, every happy picture of those two, made my blood fucking boil.
I stood up, pulled my sweater and jacket on and grabbed my backpack. My hands were still shaking as I shoved the stack of books waiting for me at the counter into my backpack. I turned and briskly walked out the door while I fumbled with the zipper on my backpack. The blood pumped through my veins driven by the thought of why did he get to be happy? The zipper was stuck and struggling with it fueled my anger. I tugged on it harder as I rounded the corner of the building and doubled over as I barreled into something or someone short. My bag went flying, the books scattering over the freshly plowed sidewalk, and I landed with a thud on the ground. I swore under my breath as I pushed myself up until I was standing, scanning for the kid I had just taken out.
Only it wasn’t a small child, it was her. The blonde girl, Emma, from yesterday. She was on her hands and knees, gasping. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” I reached out my hand to help her up and was surprised that it met the familiar leather of my own gloves. She looked up at me and groaned as I pulled her up from the ground.
“That was a hard one,” she said and rested her hands on her knees, breathing as if she had just completed a marathon.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said and grimaced as she stood up straight.
“Were you running?” I asked.
“No.” She brushed the snow off the back of her jeans. “Well, maybe fast walking,” she said through raspy breaths. “Were you? I mean, we hit hard.”
“It was more like fast walking,” I shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“Here in town?” she pointed to the ground.
“Well, actually I was thinking more, here, the library. Not too many out of towners come here.”
She hesitated and then crouched down to pick up my books.
“You don’t have to do that,” as I said it, both of our eyes trained on the bright pink romance book amongst the non-fiction. As I reached down to grab it, so did she, and the white light that flashed in my eyes told me that we had just clunked our skulls together.
“Ow,” we said in unison, but she moved to snatch A Second Chance at Love from the snowbank.
She held her hand to her forehead as she flipped the book over in her hands and proceeded to read the back headline. “Will small-town life be the second chance Abby needs?”
“Gimme that.” I snatched the book from her hands. “I don’t know how that got in there.”
She grinned at me, a perfect smile. “Sure.” She handed the book to me. “Do you think Abby will be able to adapt to small-town living?”
“I told you, it’s not mine.” I shoved the pink book, along with all the other ones back into my backpack and held it shut with my grip. I didn’t want to fight with the zipper in front of this woman.
“You know, this is how they meet in those books.” She put her hand on her hips and tilted her head at me.
“They give each other traumatic brain injury?” I rubbed at the throbbing spot on my forehead that already felt like a golf ball.
Her laugh was surprisingly husky. “Touché.” She reached up to touch her own forehead.
“You’re going to want to put some ice on that,” I reached out and brushed her hair away from the red swollen spot on her forehead, then crouched down and scooped up a handful of snow, pressing it together in my bare hands. “Here,” I presented the cold iceball to her.
“Thanks,” she plucked it from my hand, but instead of lifting it to her own face, she grabbed my arm and stood on her tiptoes, gently pressing the ice to my forehead. The melting ice ball felt good on my goose egg, but also started cooling down the rage that had been boiling inside me.
“Jack.” A voice yelled out from behind us. Emma pulled the ice away from my face. A trickle of water slipped down my temple and she quickly brushed it away with her thumb before we both turned to see who was yelling my name.
“You forgot this,” Marion had charged into the snow in her sensible librarian shoes with my hat in her hand. She smiled as she approached us.
“Oh, lovely. It looks like you two got the chance to meet after all.”
“Meet?” I took my hat from Marion’s hands and said, “Thank you” as I pulled it onto my head.
“Yes, the reporter, the story I was telling you about,” she grinned at both Emma and me. “This is Emma Hunter, the journalist from the Times-News Source. Marion shivered and rubbed her arms. “I’m so happy.” She clutched her sweater tighter around her floral blouse. “I hope that you do the story,” she looked past me to Emma. “I tried to talk him into it,” she said.
“I see,” Emma said quietly from behind me.
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Marion shivered. “Take it easy you two.” She waved as she turned and ran on her toes around the corner back to the heat of the drafty old building.
“A witch’s tit?” Emma repeated.
“Never heard that one before?” I turned to face her. “What are you some kind of reporter?”
She put her hands on her hips and squared to face me. “I’m a journalist.”
“And you’re here in town to write a story on off-grid living.” Marion’s line of questions was starting
to make a lot more sense.
“I am.” She crossed her arms in front of her but didn’t say anything further.
“Is that why you’re stalking me?” I rubbed my hands together and got the zipper on my backpack to finally close and slung it over my shoulder.
“I heard that you would be a good person to interview, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah, and who did you hear that from?”
“Your girlfriend there.” She pointed to the footprints that Marion had left in the snow. “She said that you would be able to provide some good background for the article. I only need practical information, and maybe some anecdotal quotes about what it’s like to live off the grid.”
I started to walk away. “Not interested.” She followed beside me.
“Just a few questions.” Her short legs were almost doubling the steps I was taking, and she had broken into a light jog to keep up with me.
“Nope.” I tucked my chin down into my coat as I reached the main town circle, stepping into the northern wind.
“I won’t quote you.”
“Look, I...” I took a deep breath and clenched my hands into fists at my side. I was about to snap her head off, but her fawnlike eyes stopped me in my tracks. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at. I stopped walking. “I just don’t do that kind of thing.”
She held her hands up stickup style. “I can appreciate that.” She stepped back from me. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
I didn’t owe her anything, so why did I feel like I was letting her down? “Emma.”
“Yes,” she turned.
“Are you hungry? Have you had lunch?”
Her brows knit together, and she tilted her head to the side, “Starving. And no.”
My stomach growled. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” She opened her mouth, but I continued, “On one provision.”
“What’s that?” she crossed her arms across her puffy coat.
“You ask me all the questions your little heart desires for one hour.”
“Mmhm.”
“And then you leave me alone. For good.”
Her smile lit up her face. “Deal.” She stuck out her hand and we shook on it.
Chapter 7 – Sadie
THE RAILCAR RESTAURANT was exactly that. An old red passenger car from a decommissioned train that had found its home on a side street of Windswan. To my surprise, unlike the rest of the town, the place was hopping.
Chase gestured to the only empty booth and as I pulled off my damp jacket, I felt a pair of strong hands on the collar and shivered at the unexpected touch. I looked over my shoulder as Chase pulled my jacket from my arms and hung it on a coat rack by the door along with his heavy canvas work coat.
We opened up the laminated menus and while Chase perused the mostly deep-fried selection, I took the opportunity to get a closer look at his face. Underneath his thick brown beard, I could see a chiseled jawline, stronger than his brother’s. He was only five years older than baby faced Liam but looked like he’d had a hard life, his skin weathered with crinkles beside his eyes.
I was so busy studying the man across from me, that I hadn’t noticed the waitress, a pretty woman who looked to be in her fifties, approach our table.
“Coffee?” she asked.
Chase looked up from his menu and right into my eyes. Shit. I quickly glanced down at the menu and then to the waitress.
“Thank you.” Chase slid both of our cups to the end of the table.
“Are you ready to order?” she asked, pulling a pen from the bun in her hair.
“Ladies first,” Chase said.
Shit, instead of reading the menu, I had been checking out Chase’s fricking bone structure. “I’ll have the special,” I smiled at the waitress who noted it on her pad. Chase raised his eyebrows at me and ordered the lumberjack burger. The waitress gathered up our menus and hurried off behind the counter.
I added some cream to my coffee and took a sip, ready for rocket fuel, but was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t good, but it was definitely better than the sludge I’d had this morning at the Coffee Mine. I glanced around the restaurant. It appeared that everyone was going about their business, but I still caught curious eyes glancing over to our booth.
“Is it just me, or is everyone staring at us?” I asked quietly.
“It’s not just you,” Chase sighed and leaned back in the booth. “They’re a tight-knit group. Outsiders make them uncomfortable.”
“But you live here. Shouldn’t that give me some credibility?” I was still whispering.
“You’re the stranger. I’m the recluse. The two of us together... this is going to feed the gossip circles for days.” His huge hand made the mug look like a dainty teacup as he sipped the coffee. “I live here, but I keep to myself. People have accepted that and leave me alone.”
“You didn’t grow up here?” I asked. I had to remember that Chase, or Jack, was a stranger to me.
“No.”
I let his one-word response linger until the gap in the conversation became awkward. “When did you move here?” I reached into my messenger bag and pulled out a tape recorder and my tablet. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?” I pressed record and set it between us.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He pushed the recorder towards me. “Turn it off.”
“Sure.” I pressed stop and slid it to the end of the table beside the salt and pepper and napkin holder. I wanted him to see that it was out in the open and that I wasn’t secretly recording our conversation. “Do you mind if I take some notes?”
“If you have to,” he grumbled. “I was hoping we could just have a conversation.”
I pulled out my notepad, something I rarely used anymore and set a pen on top of it. “I’ll leave it here, in case there are some technical details.”
“Alright,” I folded my hands on the table in front of me. “Where were we?” I smiled at him. “You were talking about moving to Windswan.”
He shifted on the bench seat. “I thought your article was about off-grid living.”
“It is. Part of my article will discuss ‘why’ people are choosing to live...” my voice stammered, “like you.”
“Like me?” he leaned back against the bench seat. “Lady. With all due respect, you’re starting to piss me off. I already told you, I don’t want to talk about me. Now, if you have some questions about batteries, generators, or homesteading, I suggest you lead with those.”
I nodded. “Right, I was just making a little conversation, that’s all.” I lied. I had totally been fishing for details.
“Here’s something for your story. I could be going out on a limb here, but I’d say that most people who are living like me,” he emphasized, the ‘like me’ part, “don’t like idle chit chat.
“Fair enough.” As much as he was being a dick, he was likely right. I had to get my head in the game. If I truly was interviewing a recluse about his lifestyle, I probably wouldn’t have led with such a personal question. I took a sip of my coffee while my brain whirred a mile a minute, switching from spy mode to reporter.
“Alright, Mr... I don’t think I got your last name.”
“It’s Smith.”
“Mr. Smith. If someone were just starting to plan their off-grid home, what advice would you give them.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s a tricky one. I learned on the fly. I started off with nothing. Kerosene lanterns and a fireplace.”
“Sounds like camping,” I smiled. He smiled back and I felt my shoulders relax. We were on the right track.
“It was, and like camping, it was fun for a few weeks, but I quickly realized that if I was going to make it my home, it needed to have a few comforts.”
“Such as...”
He laughed. “Oh, you know. Hot water, a way to keep food from freezing, that kind of stuff. The things that you just take for granted when they’re there.”
I nodded. “What was the biggest thing for you? What did you take for granted?�
�� I knew full well that Liam had come from a thirty-five thousand square foot mansion complete with staff to do everything for him.
“I would say it was the opposite. It’s not the big things, it’s the little things. Picture your house when the power goes out. What do you still do automatically?”
I imagined it. “I flick light switches.”
“Right,” he smiled. He leaned forward onto the table. “Do you still open your fridge and turn on the hot water tap?”
“I do,” I smiled, picturing the last time I had been without power for a day.
“Now, picture that, but indefinitely.”
“I guess you would get used to it and stop reaching for the switches, eventually? Right?”
The waitress arrived at our table and set down the oval plates. Chase’s had a giant burger with toppings spilling out from under the bun and a mile-high pile of French fries beside it. She set mine down and I stared at an unidentifiable chunky gravy smothering a piece of thick white bread.
Chase cut his burger in half and popped a French fry into his mouth. “Eventually. But in my case, I wanted to reach and flick a switch. I wanted to turn on the tap and have hot water, so I started with a generator.”
“Tell me more,” I urged. Chase was picking up speed. I needed to keep him talking, to gain his trust.
“Eat.” He pointed to my plate with his knife. “My first generator was diesel...” He continued talking about the boring details of his generator while I stabbed a piece of the meat and cut through the bread. I shoved the bite into my mouth and was instantly transformed back to my childhood. Liver. I grimaced and continued chewing, willing myself to swallow. I finally got the first bite down and realized that Chase had stopped talking. I looked at him and he had a grin on his face. The first genuine looking smile I had seen from the man.
“You didn’t know the special was liver, did you.”
“What gave it away?” I asked.
“Here,” He picked up one half of his burger and set it on my plate. “I won’t be able to eat it all anyway.”
“I couldn’t.” I shook my head. “I feel so bad wasting food, but it’s a childhood thing, I was forced to eat liver.”