14. Max
CHAPTER 14
Max
Thankfully, on the third day, I feel way better and back in the land of the living. Sort of. I have that strange out-of-body feeling you get after a bad flu bug, but at least I’m walking without pain now. No more urges to hurl up my guts. Good thing, too, because when I go out to check the cows in the south pasture, there are four new calves.
With Larry’s and Jim’s help, I get the pairs moved to a pasture with a barn. It’s where I’ve been keeping the newborns and momma cows so that I can keep a close eye on them and keep them fed.
After finishing feeding everyone for the day, I have one last chore to do: I text Nash.
Max: Charlie’s doing fine. You can tell Magnolia.
Nash: And how are you? I heard you were sick.
Max: News travels fast. Charlie must have told you.
Nash: No, Henry told Billy, and Billy called Grandpa.
Max: Good grief. Maybe they could just put out a bulletin at the end of the road. ‘Max St. James has the flu.’
Nash: Yep. You’ve definitely been sick. You’re always such a grump afterward.
I pocket my phone and find Charlie in the living room of the lodge, tearing apart a big wall.
“What did that wall do to you?” I ask her as she swings a hammer at it. She turns to look at me, slowly lowering the sledgehammer to the ground.
“If I’m still here at Christmas, I’m buying you a bell to wear around your neck.”
I smile. Sneaking up on Charlie is probably something that is just habit at this point. I’m amazed she hasn’t started to return fire with the same kind.
“Have the electricians been here yet?” I ask.
“No,” she says with a grimace.
I shake my head. “It’s only two weeks until Christmas! They should probably get on it.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You think I can’t have this place in tip-top shape by the holidays?”
“It would be a Christmas miracle,” I say with a laugh. With how long it takes contract workers to get out here, I’d be shocked if they got it done by Easter.
“It’s going to be the best darn Christmas you’ve ever seen.” She waves an arm around. “I’m going to find the biggest tree possible and put it up right over there.” She points behind me to the wall with floor-to-ceiling windows. “I’ve already found all the Christmas decorations in the attic. It’s going to be a freaking winter wonderland when I’m done with it.”
“Hmm. So it decorates, too,” I say as I eye her with wonder.
“I’m holding a hammer,” she reminds me calmly.
“It’s okay if you don’t get it done.” And this time, I mean it as encouraging, but the way she’s staring at me makes me think she’d like to sock me.
“You know what? I take back that back pat I gave you when you were sick.” She glares at me as she lifts the sledgehammer again.
I pretend to gasp. “Oh no, not the back pat!”
Her eyes narrow. “I even rescind my, ‘There, there.’”
I shake my head. “Sorry, once you’ve said, ‘There, there,’ you can’t reverse it.”
Shrugging, I lift my hands as if to say what can you do?
Charlie’s lips twitch into a smile. “I hope you realize you’re strange.”
“It’s a condition I’ve practiced for a lot of years.”
She chuckles as she swings the sledgehammer, taking a chunk from the wall.
“That looks cathartic. Mind if I try?” I ask as I step forward.
“You’re still weak from being sick,” she replies with some heavy breathing.
“Maybe you’re out of breath because you’re getting sick,” I shoot back.
“Don’t you dare say that! I am not getting sick. Absolutely not. I don’t have time for that. Besides, I know I wouldn’t get a ‘There, there’ from you.”
I grin. “I guess you’ll never know. Now give me that hammer.”
She eyes me as she clutches the hammer. “What’s in it for me?”
“You can feed the bummer calf tonight.”
She passes the hammer. “Deal. I get to feed Cecil.”
Of course she’s named it. I’m not even remotely surprised. Grasping the hammer handle, I wait for her to look me in the eye. “I would give you a ‘There, there’ if you were sick. I’d even hold your hair back for you.”
Her jaw drops at that, and I step forward to swing the hammer at the wall. It puts a decent-sized hole in the wall.
“That was pretty good,” Charlie says from behind me. Her arm brushes against mine as she reaches for the hammer. “But let me show you how it’s really done.”
I raise my eyebrows at that and watch as she hefts the hammer with a grin, swinging it in a chopping motion toward the drywall I just broke into. She rips a big hole almost down to the floor.
I scoff and step forward to grab the hammer from her. “You had help because I already started it. Step back.”
“Alrighty, bossy pants.” She laughs and steps back. “I’m waiting,” she says in a singsong voice.
I glance behind me to make sure she’s out of the way then take a big swing at the next section. The hammer crashes through a big section, ripping a large chunk of drywall away from the studs. I bend down, pick up the section, and hold it next to hers. “Yep, it’s bigger.”
“Would you like to get out the measuring tape?” she asks.
I can’t help but laugh.
“How far are we going on this?”
She takes the hammer from me and puts another hole in the wall. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s a good chance you just keep smashing walls around this place.”
“Very funny. This is the only spot. There’s something questionable in this drywall. Like someone caught it on fire.”
Now, this part of the demoing I’m sworn to secrecy on. Alexander Whitlock fell asleep in his chair one night and dropped his pipe. It caught fire, and I had to rush over here to help him put it out. Neither of us has told anyone else how this particular damage came to be.
“Maybe I should redo all the electrical in this room to be safe,” she ponders.
“The electrical is fine.” I pick up a piece of burnt drywall. “Look at this. The burn marks originate on the outside of the wall, not the inside.”
Charlie leans over and looks at the burn mark. “Oh, you’re right. Someone must have decided to start a bonfire in here.”
“It’s the only reasonable explanation.”
Charlie glances up at me. “You know what happened.”
“Of course I know what happened. I know everything that goes on around here.”
“Except that people were squatting in the house.”
“Suppose we’ll ever be able to have a conversation without fighting?” I ask her when I take the sledgehammer back from her.
She’s uncharacteristically quiet as I swing the hammer. When I turn to pass it back to her, she looks up at me with a contemplative look on her face. “I don’t think so. And honestly, I don’t mind it. You’re, like, the one person I don’t have to pretend with or be fake nice to.”
My breath catches in my throat as I watch her step forward and swing the hammer.
I never knew someone refusing to make a truce could make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But here I am.