by Ev Bishop
*
Mia was settled in a deep armchair in Jo’s cozy office, with Jo and Sam seated nearby. Outside the huge windows, a cloud scudded in front of the sun. The bright room darkened immediately, much the way Jo’s expression just had.
“No,” she said flatly, not bothering to sugarcoat her dismissal of Mia’s plan. The outright rejection surprised Mia, who’d started to view Jo as a soft touch. “It’s not a good idea—it’s a terrible one, in fact.”
Mia twinkled as hard as she could. “Oh, come on, Jo. Can an opinion like that truly be fact?”
Sam laughed, but Jo remained uncharmed. Apparently whatever star power Mia initially held for Jo had burned out.
Mia wrapped her hands around the mug of tea Jo had made for her. It was after one o’clock and a posted schedule near the door stated guests were on their own until seven a.m. the next day. Mia wondered if Jo regretted inviting her in and reconsidered her options in the face of Jo’s refusal to help her. She had already pointed out that Gray had visited her uninvited and argued that a reciprocal visit would be fair, even if not exactly welcome. Jo failed to be convinced and only repeated her line about how Gray was vehemently opposed to surprises, blah, blah, blah. Maybe Mia should feign outrage, tell Jo that she’d promised to keep her location a secret, yet had told Gray the specific cabin she had booked.
No, she discarded the last idea as fast as it came. She wasn’t the manipulative type and of course Jo had told Gray she was in Sockeye. He was supposed to be her self-defense teacher and meet her for lessons. It wasn’t exactly Jo’s fault the plan got botched. Okay, actually, it wasn’t Jo’s fault at all. Mia sighed heavily. Jo bit her lip and looked concerned.
Sam flashed her two thumbs up, which confused Mia, then stage whispered theatrically, “Yes, yes, that’s it. Feign deep sorrow or disappointment. That’s exactly how to get what you want from Jo. I couldn’t do it better myself.”
Mia laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’m not . . . that wasn’t . . . ” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jo. I really wasn’t trying to—”
Jo rolled her eyes, quashing Mia’s apology. “I know you weren’t. My darling sister here sometimes forgets that normal people don’t live life as one big emotional con.”
Sam pouted prettily and didn’t look a tad remorseful. “It’s not my fault people like helping me or enjoy it when my favor shines down on them—”
Jo harrumphed.
“And you have to admit, I’ve gotten better.”
“Maybe. Slightly. But on that related note, when is Charlie due back? You’re better when you get regular—”
“Oh baby, yes.” Sam waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I’m much, much better when I get regular—”
“No,” Jo interrupted with a groan. “Not that. Regular reminders to be a decent human.”
“Yeah, yeah, Charlie hands those out consistently too,” Sam grumbled, but her tone was affectionate. “Spoil sport.”
Something in Mia panged. As much as she knew she needed to learn to live outside the safe shadow of her loyal bear-like mother and sister, she sure missed them. There was nothing more fun than being silly with people who knew you and loved you, no matter what.
Jo sipped her tea and studied Mia over the rim of her bright yellow mug. Whatever she saw made her sigh. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Mia. I just . . . well, Gray’s not the most predictable guy in the world. I want to protect you.”
The feelings of warm camaraderie floating through Mia deflated and crashed.
“What?” she croaked. “What are you saying? You think he could be dangerous?” She could hardly make sense of it. Why would Jo suggest him for the job if he posed any risk at all? He’d been in her cabin. In her home. And it hadn’t even fussed her too much—which had surprised her—because of Jo’s endorsement. Her breathing grew rapid and uneven. Why, why, why—
Sam and Jo exchanged a look as Mia fought to slow her racing heart, then Jo rushed to explain. “Gray’s not dangerous. Not at all. Not in any way.” Jo stood and moved to Mia’s side, then froze as if unsure what to do next, press a comforting hand to Mia’s shoulder or keep away. In the end, she maintained a physical distance and Mia was glad. “I chose my words poorly. I’m sorry. By ‘unpredictable’ I only meant that if you caught him on a good day, he might welcome your company, but on a bad day—”
“He’ll bite your head off,” Sam completed Jo’s sentence, then winked. “But don’t worry—not literally.”
Jo winced. “Yeah, what Sam said. Exactly. Callum and I have known Gray for years now, and I’m so used to him that I forgot how he comes across when you first meet him. He goes into extreme jerk mode when he’s worried or anxious, especially about anything safety related, but he lightens up once he knows you a bit. I should’ve prepared you better. That’s all I meant when I said I want to protect you—that I should’ve done a better job of explaining what he’s like.”
“Jo’s right,” Sam piped in again. “Gray’s a weirdo, but he’s a safe, helpful one.”
“Are you . . . feeling a bit better?” Jo asked hesitantly, a few seconds later.
“Much. Thank you.” Mia sagged in her chair. “I’m sorry. I know I’m bonkers. Things just spiral out of control really fast in my head sometimes. Believe it or not, this is me waaaaaay better than I was.”
Sam set her empty mug down and stretched languidly. “I don’t know why we’re all so stressed about ‘getting better.’ It’s our quirks that make us interesting.”
“Maybe,” Mia said, “but it’s also nice if our ‘quirks’ don’t get us stuck in some nuthouse somewhere—oh, sorry, some rehab center.”
Sam laughed. “Point taken.” She stood up and slipped her feet into impossibly cute—and impossibly tall—spiked heel ankle boots. “Anyway, I sadly have no clue as to where the hunky hermit lives, or unlike scrupulous Jo here, I’d have no qualms about telling you. I am, however, the person to take you up on the other part of your scheme. Jo’s a terrible shopper, but I’m . . . well, let’s just say it’s my special skill set.
“Great,” Jo and Mia exclaimed at the exact same time.
Jo darted a glance at Mia as if to see if she felt offended at being pawned off on Sam. “I’d love to hang out with you, but honestly, if you have your heart set on getting more comfortable in public places, Sam’s your girl.”
“I really appreciate it,” Mia said, feeling shy. It was a lot to ask of someone: please take me up town on shopping field trips or occasional lunch dates, but be aware I might have multiple breakdowns for no obvious reason.
“Don’t thank me. You’re a wish come true. Jo would be happiest if she never saw hide or hair of the real world again, but I need to go to town occasionally or I’ll go insane—and then, hey, you and I will match.”
Jo glared; Mia giggled; Sam carried blithely on. “Although, just so you know, referring to Greenridge as ‘town’ is overly generous. ‘Village’ is better, or hick hollow, or hobbit hamlet—”
“Sam,” Jo said.
“What? She’s going to see it for herself soon enough. Greenridge makes a peach pit look big. It’s not a secret.”
Jo shook her head like Sam was hopeless, which made Sam grin happily. Mia grinned too, well aware that she’d smiled and laughed more in the past half hour than she had in the previous month. She repeated her thanks for the tea and said her good-byes.
She was across the parking lot, about to start down the trail to her cabin, when Jo called, “Mia, hey. Sorry. Wait up.”
Mia paused and waited with some curiosity, noticing Jo held a pen and notepad.
“I can’t tell you how to get to Gray’s place, just like I’ll never tell anyone you’re here. I have to respect his wishes for privacy. He has reasons for why he keeps to himself and I can’t—”
“It’s fine, Jo. Seriously.” If the only reason Jo ran after her was to repeat her original apology, she was wasting her time—but then again, Mia had nothing but time, so it was all good. “I really
do understand.”
Jo held up the notepad. “I’m glad, but here’s the thing. I realized I do have a way for you to contact him—one I don’t think he’d object to or that would make him feel I’d broken any confidences.”
She went on to explain that in the months that Gray didn’t come out of the bush, he and Jo had a system for communicating, involving a hollow in an old tree. “It’s really for in case his extended family or friends ever have an emergency and need to get in touch. They’ll call me, I’ll write the message and put it in the tree. Gray checks it every few days. Sometimes I leave baking. . . .”
It sounded beyond fun, like something Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn would get up to—except for the emergency part. Every few days seemed like a lot of time to elapse in case of a true problem, and what if it was Gray who had the emergency? Mia thought of how isolated she felt here, especially the first few days, and that was in a rented cabin with caretakers nearby! She shuddered a little.
Jo misread her body language. “Yeah, maybe it’d be weird.”
“No, it’s perfect.” Mia grabbed the notepad and penned a quick message before she could chicken out. Then she tore off the sheet, folded it in half twice and handed it to Jo. “Thank you.”
Jo grinned. “It’s kind of fun, hey? Like I’m Nancy Drew and he’s The Recluse in the Shadowy Woods.”
Mia laughed out loud. “You don’t even know how close that is to exactly what I was thinking. Definitely story bookish.”
Jo was halfway toward the big house when she turned once more. Mia had been watching her departure and surprised herself by yelling in a teasing voice, “Good grief, what now?”
“You know how I called Gray unpredictable?”
“Yeah?” Where was Jo headed now? She’d already explained away that comment too.
“In a more important way he’s also completely predictable.”
Mia waited.
“He’ll always do the right thing. The helpful thing.” Jo paused. “Even if he curses you out the whole time he does it.”
Chapter 10
Although it was still plenty warm, even in the deepest shadows, and Gray was comfortable in his shirtsleeves, there was a definite tang in the air now. The breeze carried a brisk note that the sun’s heat couldn’t totally camouflage, and an earthy, damp scent rose to his nostrils as he kicked along the rough trail. Fall’s annual decomposition had begun, regardless of how balmy the weather was. When this teasing, prolonged summer finally ended, Gray bet the season’s change would be abrupt. Wouldn’t even be surprised if he went to bed after working around his place in a T-shirt one evening and woke to snow. But for now? For now the day was magnificent, not quite swimming—or skinny dipping—temperatures, but close.
That last thought made him simultaneously smile and cringe.
Wolf sprang from a rosehip covered snarl of wild rose canes and slowed to a panting walk at Gray’s side.
“Nice to see you again, old sport,” Gray said. “But I’d like to know where you get off to. You’re gone longer and longer these days.” The truth of his words made Gray pause for a second and he rubbed Wolf’s thick neck. The dog was always something of a wanderer, but he really had been disappearing for unusually long stretches.
“You got a new person feeding you extra meals or something?”
Wolf just smiled and let his big pink tongue loll.
“Fine, don’t tell me.”
Wolf grinned even more broadly.
Ahead of them, the path opened up. First, the tree cover grew sparse. Then there were no trees at all, just a wide expanse of loose round stones as they neared the river. The bank still showed telltale signs of the heavy skid of goods Gray had winched up from the rocky beach and hidden in the bush. Then, over the course of the past week, he’d transported item by item to his homestead, with the help of his trusty wheelbarrow. Right now the path he’d forged—going the opposite way he’d just come—was obvious, but over the next few days, the long grasses, small saplings and shrubs would spring back and make his trail invisible again to all but the most practiced eye. Out of habit he glanced toward the tree he kept his winch rigged to all year long. Even looking for it, it was difficult to spot.
He nodded with satisfaction then rolled his pants above his knees and peeled off his boots and socks. Stepping gingerly because he didn’t go barefoot very often—couldn’t risk cutting his foot or getting a bad sliver—he waded into the shallowest part of the river. The icy water stabbed like knives at his poor feet and calves, but he only had another month at most to take advantage of reaching the Secret Keeper—Jo’s name for their tree, which he had to admit he found very fun—by this route. The majority of the year, the river was too treacherous to cross and he’d have to take the long way, down and around to the much smaller creek with its makeshift bridge.
When Gray got to the Secret Keeper and reached into it, he smiled. He had mail! There was a time when that might have caused anxiety—the tree was supposed to be for emergencies, after all—but in the years since he’d gotten to know Jo, it had become a source of treats and the odd invitation. Now if it ever bore bad news, Gray figured he’d have to reread the note ten times to get it through his thick skull that it wasn’t an “enjoy these new dessert bars” kind of message.
And that was how he felt right now, rereading the letter for a third time—that it would take another seven reads to confirm what he was seeing.
Dear Gray,
I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion on your privacy, but I would like to see you. Jo volunteered to deliver this note and said she’ll give me your reply. (If any.)
Thank you,
Mia
I would like to see you. The words repeated in Gray’s head even after he had refolded the note and shoved it into his jeans’ pocket. What did she mean by that? He knew enough from listening to Jo and Sam that “seeing” a person was another term for dating, but surely . . . no. That wasn’t what Mia meant. It couldn’t be. She could barely stand making eye contact with him. Also, he was a confirmed hermit. Ask anyone. And hermits don’t date—er, see—people. Shit. It was like he was trying to convince himself.
Gray withdrew the note from his pocket, unfolded it again, and reread it once more, though he already had it locked away cold, word for word, in his memory. She probably just wanted to see if he’d changed his mind about self-defense lessons. And maybe he had. He’d thought a lot about her tight, fearful expression and her out of control raging panic.
Heart pounding like a jackhammer, Gray reached into his pack and grabbed the waterproof marker he always carried. Then, before he could change his mind, he filled the back of Mia’s note with a black scrawl:
M,
Get Jo to tell you how to find my place and come any day this week after noon.
G
*
Two days passed, then three. Gray spent a lot of time chopping wood and pulling out the last of his vegetables—except for his cabbages that liked a hard frost before being harvested—and finally decided that Mia had changed her mind about “seeing” him.
You’re not disappointed, he lectured himself. You’re irritated that she bothered you in the first place.
Yeah, right. Even with his finely-honed self-delusion tools, he didn’t buy his own line. But why was he so distracted by the notion she might come by? Why was he so eager for a visit? Because he’d been seeing too much of people lately as it was, that’s why. He was getting soft.
Gray stepped back from his woodpile and wiped his sweating brow with his forearm, just as Celine spoke soft and clear near his ear. “You’re lonely,” she said point-blank.
Gray jumped and a shiver ran down his back. Then he gritted his teeth. “No effin shit, Celine!”
Auditory hallucinations. That’s what one of the many shrinks he’d seen after the bombing that stole his family called these once common, now rarer, visits from his deceased wife, but Gray had never been sure that’s all they were. Even now the hair tickled on the back of
his neck, exactly the way one’s did when warm breath, close by, touched skin. During his appointments, he’d still thought he might want to return to the job one day, so he’d been loath to share that he not only heard Celine and Simon, he saw them too. They popped by in the late hours of evening, woke him with chatter in the morning, or darted away in parking lots, hurrying to do whatever errands the afterlife called them to.
“A perfectly normal phase in the grieving process,” the same shrink had reassured. But Gray was skeptical. He knew full well the lies a person told themselves to keep madness at bay, to explain the unexplainable, to try to rationalize the irrational. There were countless events and phenomena that humans couldn’t satisfactorily answer for, yet the world continued to turn and in order to survive, people continued to strive to make sense of the things that befell them.
In the end, Gray decided for himself that Celine’s and Simon’s drop-ins were figments of his imagination, if only because of the language he used with her now—like effin shit, for example. She never would’ve stood for that back in the day. But even in this, it was possible he was fooling himself. Celine’s death could’ve changed her; it certainly had him.
Her voice came again. “Maybe—”
“No!” The word exploded out of Gray. Whatever Celine was going to say—he knew the gist—he didn’t want to hear it. He’d heard it all from her before.
“Well, someone’s in a mood,” she teased lightly.
“No,” he croaked. “Don’t joke. I can’t. You. Our little boy. That’s all I’m strong enough to love. To lose.”
“Oh, hon . . . ” Celine’s voice was heavy with sorrow, and Gray felt the weight of her hand rest fleetingly on his shoulder, then drift off.