Chapter 7 Cooke
COOKE
I shouldn't be here. Sitting here at too small of a table where my knees brush against Gretchen's every time I move is distracting.
I know there's work I could be doing, but I find I don't really want to leave.
It's such a comfortable feeling, being here with these two, cutting out paper snowflakes, until we have a pile of them in front of us.
“We'll hang these on the windows. And on the walls.
And even from the ceiling. It'll be like they're falling right on us.” Gavin is clearly happy, bobbing his head in time with the holiday music he selected to accompany our activities.
“We should make a bunch more. We can give whatever extras we have to other people that need decorations.”
Gretchen smiles at me from across the table, and her eyes are bright.
The tired, frightened woman I met the night before is gone, replaced with this version that I sense is her default.
Joyful, optimistic, living in the moment.
All of these things seem to be her natural state, even as she's working full time and trying to parent her own brother.
It can't be easy. But in this moment, sharing pizza and making Christmas snowflakes, she's allowing me a chance to be part of something special she'd normally only share with Gavin.
Gratitude warms me, and my throat goes tight.
I haven't felt this kind of belonging with many people.
The ones I consider family are few and far between.
They're the most important to me, yet I don't get to see them often.
Merritt, grumpy mountain man he may be, is always encouraging me to visit more.
Especially since he met Laurel. He's so in love, he can't help but wish the same for me. Here, now, I understand.
It would be nice to stay here and never have to leave.
“You're pretty good at this,” Gretchen says, pointing at the stack of snowflakes I've got on my side of the table. “Really knocking those out.”
“It's like I'm a professional or something.”
Gavin starts laughing, and then we're all joining in. It's a contagious thing, and we can't help ourselves but give in and enjoy the moment.
As we regain ourselves, the sound of the wind increases, battering the little house, and Gavin gasps when the lights flicker a few times before going out.
I tap the screen on my phone and activate the flashlight function. It's bright enough that we can see each other, and the fun we'd just shared is replaced by near panic on their faces.
“Hey now, I'm sure it's fine. I heard on the radio the wind was going to pick up tonight. It must have started earlier than they thought.”
Gretchen gives me a grateful look. “Remember in the spring, Gavin, when the big rainstorm came, and the electrical mast was damaged? We didn't have power for a couple days then. But we were fine.”
“Yeah,” says Gavin. “I guess. But it wasn't this cold then.”
“No worries about that. You've got a fireplace right over there. And thanks to a very good friend of mine, I know how to build a fire.”
“But you need firewood, don't you?”
Gretchen reaches for her brother's hand. “We have some. In the shed. It's been there for a while.”
The frightened kid looks to me.
I nod. “That's great. Means it's dry and should burn well. Just point me in the right direction and I'll get it all set up for you.”
I'm rewarded by his shaky exhale and then a small grin on his face. “I'll show you. Can you teach me how to do it too?”
“Of course. It's a good skill to have.”
We stand up and I give Gretchen a wink as she silently mouths a thank you my way. Gavin's a good kid, but he's young. And I remember too easily how reluctant I was to let anyone see when I was afraid at his age.
Gretchen helps Gavin get his boots on and once we're fully dressed in our winter gear again, I follow him out into the night.