Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
LEAF
I’m standing in the middle of the yard, contemplating what kind of trap would be best to set for Michael that he wouldn’t be able to chew his way out of, when I hear a car rolling up in the distance. I’m not expecting anyone…am I?
I don’t actually know anymore. My days have all started to blend together, punctuated by either Michael taunting me on the video feed or fooling around with my random, not-quite-stalker, who isn’t here for once.
And who made it perfectly clear we were more than friends, so maybe he’s not even a not-quite-stalker.
Either way, when I woke up, he was gone, which made me feel slightly annoyed. I’m currently trying to ignore it, my stomach feeling the weight of the bagel and smoked salmon I’d choked down before moving on to plan…shit, I don’t even know anymore.
H? I? Maybe J?
I drop my shovel next to the galvanized steel fence and walk around the side of the barn, where I spot Mellie’s truck pulling up.
Not the food truck, of course, though that might have been nice.
I desperately need to go grocery shopping.
I’m down to bread I’m lucky hasn’t molded yet, smoked fish, and whatever I can harvest from my garden that doesn’t have fucking rodent bite marks in it.
As Mellie rolls closer, I see a person sitting beside him in the cab. It’s not Rhett, and it takes me a moment to recognize his brother. Otto’s the beekeeper who lives a few miles down the road. He’s a little hesitant around new people, so I’m glad Thorne isn’t here at the moment.
Otto was born Deaf, just like most of Mellie’s family, and Mellie told me he was diagnosed with Usher’s when he was young. He started going blind as a kid, then lost all of his light perception by the time he was a teenager.
He’s been a little isolated since then, which isn’t really a surprise. The Deaf community is so visual, and sometimes they just don’t make space for people who need their communication a little differently.
But I’d done some interpreting in my early days for a couple of Deafblind clients—they had more usable vision than he did, but I was trained in protactile ASL, so it made talking to him easier.
I watch as Mellie signs something into Otto’s hand before they both get out of the car. Otto normally has a guide dog, but today, he’s got his cane, and he uses it to navigate around the front of the truck until he can take Mellie’s hand to feel Mellie sign loudly at me, ‘Hey!’
I nod, dragging my middle finger up my chest. ‘What’s up? What are you doing here?’
Mellie interprets for Otto, and then they head my way. ‘You asked me about chickens. I have chickens.’
Chickens? When had I asked about chickens?
Mellie looks concerned at my expression. ‘Are you doing okay?’
I can’t help a tense laugh. ‘No. Yes, but no.’
Mellie looks like he’s not entirely sure how to interpret what I’m saying to Otto. His brows lift behind his sunglasses, and then he pushes them up into his hair. His big hazel eyes drift slightly outward as he holds a hand out toward me.
I tap him to let him know where I am, and then he pulls back to say, ‘You wanted chickens to help with the bugs in the garden, and Salem said he thought you were ready to start over.’
Oh my god, I almost forgot about Salem.
Salem is my closest neighbor. His situation is a lot like mine. He’s a former interpreter turned chicken farmer after taking over his grandfather’s land. The only difference is he grew up here and knew what the fuck he was doing.
I grew up in the city and inherited this land from an aunt I didn’t really know.
Salem had seen my struggles and kidnapped my aunt’s chickens in the middle of the night a few weeks after I moved in. I couldn’t blame him, and he was kind about it. We briefly talked about turning all this land into a commune for burned-out interpreters because there were probably more of us.
He’d promised that he’d bring me chicks to replace the ones he’d stolen as soon as I was, you know, a little less out of my mind with groundhog hunting. And as soon as I actually learned how to take care of chickens.
But I am clearly not there yet.
‘Salem dropped some of them off for me yesterday,’ Otto went on, ‘and asked me to bring these to you if you have your coop ready.’
I do not, in fact, have a coop ready. I’d completely forgotten that was a thing. I haven’t seen him in weeks—maybe longer. I’ve been preoccupied with Michael and now with Thorne. Fuck, what even is my life?
‘I’m not prepared for chickens. No coop, and I still don’t know how to take care of them.’ His hand follows on top of mine.
Mellie shakes his head and taps Otto’s hand to take it before signing, ‘We have chicks in the back of the truck if you want to look at them anyway. Salem just started breeding SILKIE chickens, and he sent more Buttonquail chicks.’
I have no idea what either of those birds is, but I shrug. ‘OK.’
Otto lets me go and follows Mellie back to the truck, stopping when he gets to the passenger door. He turns and waves his hand in my direction. ‘I’m going to sit.’
I don’t argue with him. He’s not a fan of people. It’s not a Deafblind thing either. He’s just the kind of man who prefers the company of his bees.
Cannot relate, but I’m not about to judge him for it. I’m in the middle of a groundhog war. If there’s a lunatic here, it’s not him.
Mellie lets him go and motions me to follow him to the back of the truck. He’s got the cap on, and he opens the little window, then pulls down the tailgate and drags a large plastic box forward.
There’s an immediate cacophony of tiny but very loud chirps.
Mellie rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, even I can hear them a little.’
He opens the lid on the box, and inside are what look like hundreds of fluffy little chicks.
Well, okay, not hundreds. There are probably a dozen or so.
I’m delirious from lack of sleep, too much booze on an empty stomach at night, and the way Thorne has flipped my life upside down, so they’re probably not as cute as I think they are either.
Then Mellie pulls over another box, and it’s the same thing, only these things are barely bigger than a damn gummy bear. ‘These are the quail.’
‘Wow.’
He snorts. ‘Yeah. Otto’s too scared to keep these. He’s afraid he’ll crush them under his feet, and I’m a thousand percent sure his cat will eat them.’
I lay my hand on the box and trail my fingertips over their fuzzy little heads. They peep very loudly—louder than the chickens. ‘Can I take a picture?’
He nods, and I dig in my pocket for my phone. Thorne is going to love these. I think. He seems like the weird, reclusive, grumpy asshole who would go soft for tiny baby chicks.
I snap several photos, making Mellie hold one in the palm of his hand next to his thumb for perspective. God, they really are cute. I put my phone back and then take the chick and curl my fingers around it, making it a little burrow.
Instead of trying to escape, it starts to doze.
Mellie looks all soft. ‘Cute.’
‘I really don’t think I can take them,’ I tell him after I set the chick back in the box with the others. ‘Michael will probably think they’re popcorn and have them as a midnight snack.’ I have no idea if groundhogs eat chicks, but I know I don’t want to take that risk.
Mellie doesn’t look bothered. ‘Next year, maybe? Text me before you’re ready, and we can set up a coop.’
Sounds like a fair compromise.
I step back as he pushes the chicks back into the truck bed and slams the gate back up. The silence feels a little awkward, and I know I probably look a little wild, like the overgrowth on the farm is taking me over too.
Mellie waves at me to get my attention. ‘Do you need help with anything?’
Yep. My chaos is obvious. He can totally sense it. I shake my head, even though I probably do. ‘Unless you know how to rid yourself of a vindictive groundhog.’
He snorts and shakes his head. ‘He’s still around?’ I grimace and nod, and Mellie sighs. ‘I can ask around.’
‘Please don’t. I sound unhinged enough.’
He bursts into laughter, then pulls me in for a hug. ‘No time for Deaf goodbye. I have to get Otto back to his bees. He’s doing a honey harvest today, and he’s on a schedule. But text me if you need me.’
I don’t actually buy that. I’m pretty sure honey harvesting isn’t on a schedule, but I take the lie for what it is: a polite excuse to get the hell out of here. I step back and wave as he gets in the truck, then turn back and head toward my project.
I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing with this. Or my life. Or Michael.
Or with Thorne.
But, I think as I pick up the shovel, I have to start somewhere, and here seems pretty damn good.
A movement in my periphery has me craning over the hole I’m standing in to see if my stalker is here. Sadly, it’s not him. Just a flutter of an old, raggedy umbrella on the porch, waving to me. It’s very judgmental. Thinks I’ve lost my mind.
I flip it off.
I really need to get rid of all this junk. It’s really starting to affect my deteriorating mental health. Plus, with all the help I know Thorne will lend me, maybe I can offer up my ass as a thank you.
I really wouldn’t mind him sticking that big dick in there.
I continue my shoveling, dirt flying this way and that as I try to find Michael. If he won’t come to me, then I’ll go to him. I’ll find his goddamn highway of tunnels I know he has running through my yard and destroy them.
“And then I’m gonna bury you here, you piece of shit,” I murmur as my shovel meets the earth.
Suddenly, a shadow looms over me, and I scream. A very manly scream, but a scream nonetheless.
Thorne chuckles above me, squatting down and staring at me.
“Uh…what are you doing?” he asks, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.
“Digging a grave.” I sign this with one hand, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his cheek.
“Right, well, I brought you food. Your fridge was very empty and sad when I last snooped.”