Chapter 13
Dex
I wish I could hold Korren’s hand on the way back from the bakery. But that wasn’t one of the dares, and why the fuck am I wanting to do that anyway?
It’s the way I felt talking to him there, when I told him what I did—which I’ve never admitted to anyone else—and it didn’t change the way he looked at me.
Fuck, I didn’t even tell my dad the whole story, because he doesn’t believe in making excuses and would’ve left me to rot in jail if I’d tried to blame my mistakes on my ex.
I mean, I know there’s something dark in Korren’s past, so maybe he’s a hardened criminal and stealing something for a laugh means nothing to him. But that doesn’t even matter to me. I just want him to look at me like that again, as if I’m worth something.
Once again, I realize how fucking lonely I’ve been. I honestly love the idea of living with Korren.
He doesn’t say anything on the walk back, and I don’t open my mouth, because I’m worried about what will come out if I do. It’s a relief when we make it to the cabin and we can turn our attention to the mess inside.
“So, what has your uncle said about all this crap?” Korren asks, pulling open the off-kilter door and kicking a rock into place to hold it there.
“All of his junk can go into their garage,” I say. “And there should be enough materials there to fix the roof and everything.” Uncle Rhodes has given me a couple hundred dollars to get ourselves set up here, since most of the furnishings are ruined—he called it payment for repairing the cabin.
We spend the rest of the morning clearing everything out and dumping it in the meadow so we can sort the building materials from the general junk.
There are boxes of books, toddler-sized life jackets, a lampstand shaped like a dick, a whole collection of princess crowns from Disneyland, and of course the kayak.
Which we have to carry between the two of us back to Uncle Rhodes’ house.
“I’m getting some interesting insights into my uncle’s life,” I say as we maneuver our way back down the trail.
“You mean the dick lamp?” Korren asks.
“Among other things. Can you imagine that family prancing around Disneyland wearing princess crowns?”
Korren laughs. “No. Absolutely not.”
Uncle Rhodes is outside splitting wood when we get back, and he calls out, “How’s it going?”
“We haven’t even started on the repairs yet!” I shout from behind the kayak.
“Bring that over here. I’ve made space, see?” He waves his hatchet in the direction of the garage, where we can possibly cram a few more things on top of the boxes inside.
As we’re trying to jam the kayak between a hanging bike and a clear box filled with fragile-looking figurines, Uncle Rhodes comes over to supervise, hatchet swinging at his side.
“Feel free to keep any furniture you find in the house. It won’t do me any good sitting in the garage.”
“Awesome, thanks,” I say.
We’ve finally cleared out the cabin and removed the broken window by lunchtime, and Uncle Rhodes has reconnected the power and plumbing, so we cook up the last of Korren’s instant noodles, with a promise that I’ll replenish his stores. Then we eat them on the porch, looking out into the forest.
“Why did you come back here, after everything that happened?” Korren asks, glancing my way. “I think I would’ve been too ashamed to show my face again.”
“Maybe I’m an idiot, then,” I say. “But I fucking love Copper Creek.”
“What about it?”
I give Korren a flat look. “What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere if you can’t see how amazing this place is?”
Korren’s expression closes down, which probably means we’re touching on that topic he refuses to discuss. “It was the right job for me. That’s all.”
“Sure. And you’re planning to stay here long-term just because of a job? Most people wouldn’t be willing to move somewhere so remote. They’ll come up for a summer, but that’s all.”
“I’m not most people,” Korren says humorlessly. I need to steer this conversation somewhere safer or he’ll stop talking.
“Well, for those of us who do like living here, it’s the remoteness that makes Copper Creek special,” I say.
“It’s like the fucking last frontier. One little settlement, and then wilderness in every direction.
Plus, it’s fucking beautiful. Surely you have at least some appreciation for mountains and lakes and shit. ”
“I guess.” Korren still looks wary. “I’ve done a bit of backpacking. But not for a while now.”
I file that away under things about Korren that surprise me. His scowl is so practiced and his features so hardened that I’d been imagining him as a shit-talking motorcyclist or something. Maybe a mechanic. Probably a heavy drinker, with a few tattoos.
Now I’m starting to think I’ve got him all wrong. He’s obviously dealing with some shit, but underneath I think he might be a total softy.
We dump our dishes in the sink and start on the repairs, and by the end of the afternoon we have the new roofing iron screwed down, the window replaced, and the door back on its hinges. Korren hasn’t done any building before, but he knows his way around the tools, and we work well together.
Once we’re finished, it’s too late to drop by the secondhand store, so we’re stuck with a bed frame, a sagging old couch, and a rickety table for tonight.
Uncle Rhodes, Aunt Linda, and the kids come by to check out our progress on the cabin, and the boys track mud all through the front room, which we luckily haven’t gotten around to cleaning yet.
They’ve brought all the stuff I’d stored in their house while I was staying—it’s thoughtful of them, but it also feels like they’re emphatically kicking me out.
Aunt Linda gives us a couple slices of lasagna for dinner and wishes us a good night, and I hope Korren doesn’t notice the suspicious way she’s eyeing him. Then they all troop off and leave us standing awkwardly in the meadow.
“So,” I say.
“So.”
“Do you have a camping mattress you can use tonight?”
“Yeah.” Korren suddenly sounds like he’s regretting agreeing to this.
While Korren makes a trip to the campervan to collect his things, I do my best to clean up the dust and wood shavings and mud. The couch smells faintly of piss, which means some mouse has probably made a nest inside, but we don’t have anything else to sit on.
By the time Korren is back, the mosquitoes are out in full force, so we close all the windows and sink onto the smelly couch to eat our lasagna.
We start out sitting as far to either side as we can, but it’s a small couch, and the sagging cushions keep nudging us closer until I give up and let gravity press us together.
I’ll never admit it to Korren, but this is really nice. Having a house again, and someone to share it with. Someone I don’t mind spending time with at all.