Chapter 32 ZACHERY 0, WOOD 1
Chapter 32
Z ACHERY : 0, W OOD : 1
The first SOS from Kelsey arrives midmorning.
Kelsey: I’ve been forced to shop in town with the future in-laws.
Me: Are you okay?
Kelsey: Forget the rom-coms. What are the early plot points of horror movies?
Me: You mean when they’re gathering unsuspecting victims?
Kelsey: YES, THAT!
I chuckle to myself. Drama. Kelsey thrives on it. I’m about to look up some good horror movie setups when another notification comes through. It’s a Google pin for where she is.
Kelsey: In case you need to help law enforcement locate the body.
Me: I think in towns like this, the sheriff is always in on it.
Kelsey: ZACH! Oh, gotta go pick out ribbon.
Me: For your wedding?
Kelsey: My funeral wreath.
No more dots appear. She’s really gotten herself involved.
I review the proposal and contract terms of the background talent company providing the extras for both the soccer movie and this upcoming biopic with a concert scene.
Everything looks fine with the proposal. I’ve typed up an email on Kelsey’s laptop for her to look over and make sound more peppy, then send to Desdemona.
I’m glad to help. Kelsey’s getting what she wants.
When I save the draft, the view switches to a page of all her email drafts. I’m about to click away, but the sheer number of them makes me pause.
Eight hundred.
Who stores eight hundred unsent emails?
They’re all addressed to Patti Whitaker.
Kelsey’s mother, who died when she was twelve.
The most recent one is dated three nights ago. That night.
Subject line: I did something unwise.
I click away. I’m not going to read any of Kelsey’s emails to her mother.
I close the laptop, feeling shaken.
Something unwise.
Probably that was me.
Does she regret it? Was she confessing?
I pace the floor, wishing I could read it, knowing I can’t.
I want to reach out to her and say something. I need to know that she’s real, not some ephemeral spirit that came to me in Colorado and asked me to possess her, like she has me.
I pick up my phone to text her. I can’t stop myself.
I will be there for you no matter what.
I wait, willing her to answer. My heart pounds in my throat.
But there’s only silence.
More silence.
More silence.
I circle her room, once, twice, three times. I resist picking up her nightclothes and bringing them to my face.
I will not obsess. I will not get weird.
In fact, I need to get out of here.
When the door latches behind me, I’m locked out of her room since we have different keys. The house is set up for separate parties.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Temptation averted.
Kelsey is doing what she set out to do. Find a man worthy of her, not someone from Hollywood, upwardly aspirational, fake, or indifferent.
But the need for her only grows as I wander the house, up and down the stairs, standing before the mantel where she decorated the hearth.
His family’s home. The fireplace that witnessed their history.
They’ll love her. Of course they will.
He’ll love her. How could he not?
I sit on a chair in the kitchen, which feels more neutral than any other space in the house. I call Jester.
“Honey bear!” His voice is a balm. “How goes it with our girl? Did you woo her yet, or is she still seeking a hunk in flannel?”
“She’s off with her future mother-in-law,” I say, propping my feet up on the kitchen table like I can command their space.
“Oh, dear. You sound like that last man I dumped. You sure you’re okay?”
I never said I was okay, but there’s no need to point that out to Jester. “How’s the home front?” I ask. “We had to stave off a call from Desdemona yesterday. I did Kelsey’s work while she rides on a literal horse-drawn cart through a Christmas tree farm.”
“Oh, no. It’s that serious? You know how this script ends.”
“I do.”
“Pooh bear.” His tone is a lament. “Maybe you should come home to Jester. I’ll find you a nice hot starlet to ease your pain.”
“Desdemona has already set me up with Catalina Ferrig.”
“Oh, she’s a firebrand. I’d plow that field if I was into flora and not fauna. You take the flowers. I’ll handle the animals.”
Right. “She hinted at coming back for the soccer scene. She’s worried about the BG we hired since they’re doing the concert film.”
“She mentioned that. I figured you’d have a wrap by then, at least you. If Kelsey’s found her man, maybe she can cut loose.”
Would she? Quit her job for a man she barely knew? My neck flushes with heat as my blood pressure rises. Surely not.
I never intended to lose her for good. Not out of the industry, where she’s so good at what she does. And certainly not in the middle of nowhere.
Damn fortune teller and her road trip.
I keep my voice level for Jester. “I don’t know how it’ll go down, but at least one of us will have to return.”
“Well, I have your backs. Desdemona is none the wiser, and I don’t think we’ll hear much from her until it gets closer.”
I walk to the back door of the kitchen. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“Aye, aye.”
I shove my phone in my pocket. The axe sits on the tree stump. There are a few uncut cross-sections of a tree nearby, more wood than would fit in the fireplace stand.
I push through the door and contemplate the axe. I’ve never cut wood in my life. We sometimes had a fire, but with the year-round warmth of Southern California, a digital flame was far more common.
I lift a block of wood onto the stump. It can’t be that hard. I work out. I can bench-press the equivalent of any woman I’ve carried into a hotel room.
I pick up the axe. It feels good in my hands, hefty and firm.
I lift it over my head and bring it down on the wood with a mighty swing.
The blade bounces off the surface, nearly knocking me sideways.
What the hell?
I examine the wood, wondering if there’s more skill to landing the blow.
I shift the piece so that I’ll hit it at a different angle, then lift the axe again.
This time the axe sinks deeply into the wood.
Okay, then.
But when I try to lift the axe out, it won’t budge.
Shit.
I stand on the trunk, tugging on the axe handle.
It doesn’t move.
Great.
No matter how I struggle, strain, or heave, it remains solidly in the wood.
Just like the sword in the stone. I’m clearly not the man to be king here.
The city boy yields to the men of Hanover Tree Farm.