5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Colt’s insides fluttered as he dialed the number, his blue eyes fixed on the cracked floor tiles while one leg bounced of its own volition. The kitchen counters were…well, he could tell there were counters under there now that he’d gotten all the trash out. There was still so much to go through.
“Hey, Colt,” his boss’s voice answered. “How are things over there?”
“Fine, I guess.” Colt chewed briefly at his bottom lip. “Mr. Hendricks, I... I wanted to discuss my leave situation.”
“Of course. Your bereavement leave ended last week, and you’ve been using your paid time off since then. I’m sure you know that’s nearly depleted as well.”
Yeah, he knew. Why else would he be calling?
“I understand. The thing is, there’s still so much to deal with here. My Dad’s place is just… There’s a lot.” He followed the crack in the tiles to where it met one of the cabinets.
“I was hoping,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “that I might be able to take some unpaid leave.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Colt held his breath. He knew he was asking a lot, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just up and ditch all this.
As he waited for Mr. Hendricks’s response, Colt’s gaze fell on an old photograph stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. It showed a much younger version of himself, standing beside his father in a copse of redwoods. He remembered that day vividly—one of the rare occasions in his pre-teens when his father had taken him out of the house, away from the suffocating piles of junk.
“Colt,” Mr. Hendricks finally spoke, pulling him back to the present. “I understand this is a difficult time for you...”
Colt closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. He knew he was risking his job, the stability he’d worked so hard to achieve.
Mr. Hendricks sighed. “I’m sorry, but we can’t hold your position indefinitely. I can give you another week, but if you’re unable to return within that time, we’ll have to let you go.”
That figured. He couldn’t blame the company for not wanting to hold his spot. Who was he but just another hamster on the wheel of keeping the business running?
“Yeah, I understand.”
“You don’t have to tell me now, give yourself some time.”
“No, I don’t think I need time,” he found himself saying. “Thank you, but there’s no way I’m gonna get through all this in another week. Not even two or three. Honestly, I have no fucking idea how long I’ll be here.”
Mr. Hendricks paused. “Wait, so, are you…”
“This is my resignation,” Colt confirmed. “Might as well give it to you now so you can work on finding a replacement.”
There was another stretch of silence.
“Alright. I’m sorry to hear that, but I’ll get the necessary paperwork sent over to you. What about your personal effects at your desk?”
Colt almost laughed. “There aren’t any. Tell Stacy she can have first dibs on my chair.”
“I’ll do that. Take care of yourself, Colt,” Mr. Hendricks added, a hint of genuine concern in his tone.
Colt swallowed hard. “I will. Thank you.”
He ended the call. Placed the phone on a visible section of countertop. Waited for the inevitable panic or guilt to settle in at having just quit his job. And yet, the sensation that washed over him just then was…
Relief.
He hated his job. Hell, he hated a lot about the entire city. His apartment was the one safe haven he had but even then, it’s not like he was attached to it. It’d been a place to go. A place that wasn’t here. The thought of leaving it all behind, he realized, didn’t bother him at all.
But then, what were his options? Yeah, he had plenty of money from Dad’s estate, but did he want to waste that on his expensive apartment rent back in Whitehall and an indefinite stay at the Honeybee Motel? The logical option was to find a place here in town. That meant taking a trip back to his place, packing up, renting a truck, carting it all back…
Colt pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes with a sigh. All shit he’d have to think over, but he reminded himself he didn’t need to make any choices yet. For now, he had a kitchen to focus on.
He turned his attention to the walk-in pantry. While most of the perishables had already been tossed when he’d first arrived—Sera’s doing, he’d found out—the shelves were still packed with canned goods, boxes of rice and crackers, pasta and Hamburger Helper, noodle cups, cereal and protein bars… Four shelves on either side of the small space, all jam-packed. He saw brands they didn’t even make anymore.
I could turn it into a game. Which thing in here has been expired the longest?
Grabbing the trash bags, he got to work.
Expired, expired. Still good, could be donated. Expired… Expired in 2005. That’s a contender.
As he worked, Colt’s mind wandered back in time. It wasn’t fair to say his entire childhood had been miserable. On his good days, Dad had been…well, great. They played, they talked, they went out on nature excursions and collected shells and driftwood and oysters from the beaches.
Colt pulled another few cans down and paused, running his thumb over a faded label. “Remember when we’d play grocery store, Dad?” he murmured. “You’d hold up the whole line to let me scan things at self-checkout. You probably pissed so many people off.”
That memory, at least, was a balm. Something good to hold on to. He needed more of that. Yes, so much about this place had ruined him, but there were gems to be unearthed, too.
As he dropped the cans into an open bag, a wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks. Nausea and vertigo. Accompanied by the clattering of cans and boxes crashing down around him.
He’d grown up in this town, earthquakes were just another Tuesday. They had ones that lasted for under five seconds all the time, just brief little jolts most locals didn’t even acknowledge.
This one, though. This one people would notice.
Colt’s legs went to jelly, breathing deep. He braced a hand on either side of the pantry, gripping the shelves, eyes closed. Counting. All around him in the house, he could hear things falling, crashing. Canned goods struck him—arms, back, neck, side of his head—as they flew from the shelves. The pantry door rattled wildly then slammed shut. Something large fell against it with an ominous thud.
Thirty seconds, and it stopped.
Used to it or not, it’d been years since he’d been through a quake, let alone one capable of doing real damage. Slowly, Colt straightened up. The house groaned and creaked around him, a symphony of shifting debris. He needed to get outside. If there were aftershocks, he didn’t want to risk staying put.
The house had other ideas.
Colt tried to push the pantry door open, and it wouldn’t budge.
He sucked in a breath. Shook the door a few times in case the old wood had gotten tweaked during the quake and stuck, and tried again.
“No, no, no…”
He threw his shoulder into the door, once, twice, three times, until it throbbed. Something big had lodged itself against the other side, and it wasn’t budging. Colt’s palms slapped against the interior. His breath quickened.
Focus, focus. Breathe. Calm the fuck down.
For all the good that did. The pantry closed in around him, dark and cluttered, the floor covered in food so even his feet felt stuck any way he tried to move.
“ Help! ” Colt shouted, as though anyone could realistically hear him.
As the silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing, Colt was suddenly eight years old again. Wedged between towers of boxes in his bedroom, unable to reach the door. His father’s voice, muffled through the clutter: “Just a minute, Colt. Daddy’s organizing.”
Colt threw himself against the door again, the pain barely registering. “Let me out!” he cried, his voice rising in pitch, shifting from angry to panicked to outright frightened. Logic didn’t matter. He yelled and begged for someone—anyone—to get him out of there before he suffocated.
No one’s going to hear me. The house is finally going to kill me.
Then—
“Colt! I’m here! Hold on!”
Sera’s voice sliced through his panic like a knife.
His eyes burned. He couldn’t breathe enough to call back. All he managed was a low groan, rattling the doorhandle as though something would miraculously change.
The sound of shifting debris filtered through the door, followed by grunts of exertion.
“Colt, are you okay?!”
Swallowing hard, he forced a single word past his lips. “Y-yeah.”
“I’m here,” Sera reassured, his words strained with effort. “There’s a lot of...stuff. Just give me a minute.”
Colt heard the screech of metal against wood, imagining Sera struggling with one of the antique cabinets or the fridge, trying to work it lose with every other ounce of debris causing resistance.
“Almost there!”
The door creaked, a sliver of light piercing the darkness. Colt scrambled back, giving Sera room to work. With a final heave, the opening widened enough for Colt to squeeze through. Then he gulped in the musty air as though it were the sweetest thing he’d ever breathed.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, adrenaline and fear wracking him with shivers. “I should’ve been more careful—”
“None of that.” Sera’s hands were immediately on Colt’s face, cupping it in his palms, warm and steady. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. Are you hurt?”
Colt shook his head. His entire body trembled, the panic attack that had a firm hold on him meant he couldn’t even feel embarrassed about his reaction.
Sera’s thumbs brushed Colt’s cheeks, the gesture unexpectedly tender as he murmured, “You’re safe. Just breathe with me, okay?”
Colt nodded, trying to match Sera’s steady rhythm. He concentrated on Sera’s face, memorizing the details, acknowledging the things he could see and hear and feel. Anything to temper his racing thoughts and ground him back to reality. His gaze traversed the shape of Sera’s nose and brows—currently pulled together in a frown—to his long lashes, the cupid’s bow of his lips. There were, in fact, streaks of gray working through the man’s long hair. His hands were dirty from digging through the mess to get to Colt, but they were warm. Sera’s breathing was quiet but soothing. He was an anchor, and he slowly brought Colt back down to earth.
“Sorry,” Colt finally managed. “I just… I couldn’t…”
“Shh,” Sera soothed. “You don’t need to explain. Let’s get you out of here first.”
Sera wrapped an arm around Colt’s shoulders, guiding him through the chaos of the kitchen. Colt’s legs were still weak, his heart still racing. He pressed his eyes shut. Allowed Sera to lead him so he didn’t have to see whatever destruction the earthquake had left behind. As they stepped into the cool evening air, Colt took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. They paused briefly on the porch in the late-morning light as Sera seemed to debate what to do, where to go, but then he led Colt across the frosty yard toward the camper.
Colt didn’t know what to expect inside, other than he briefly worried it’d feel just as claustrophobic as the house, but he was pleasantly surprised as he moved away from Sera up the steps and inside.
The air was on the cold side but not unpleasant. The space was clean, everything put away. A cupboard sat open, a few plastic cups and plates on the floor. Sera inched around him to pick them up. All the cabinets had small safety locks on them to prevent stuff from falling out while on the road. Or during an earthquake, Colt thought.
There was a small stove and sink, a door leading into a (no doubt very small) bathroom. A breakfast nook with a collapsable table sat at one end of the trailer, and the little alcove for a bed sat at the other.
The breakfast nook was where Sera brought him and sat him down. He moved away but returned in short order to drape soft blanket around Colt’s shoulder. “Here. You drink coffee? Tea?”
“Um, tea. Please.”
Colt watched as Sera moved efficiently in the modest space, filling a kettle and retrieving mugs. His long hair was tied back, revealing the sharp line of his jaw. Colt’s gaze lingered, then dropped to his own hands, clutched at the edges of the blanket. It smelled like sandalwood. He resisted the urge to bury his face into it.
They remained silent until Sera brought the tea over along with some sugar. He sat across from Colt, who kind of wanted to ask how many times Sera had smacked his head on the cabinets hanging over the table.
Instead, he found himself saying, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be stuck dealing with…this.”
Sera paused, raising a brow. “With what, exactly? Helping someone in need?”
Colt shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter. “With me being a mess. Freaking out like that.”
“I know a panic attack when I see one, Colt,” Sera said softly.
Colt slowly uncurled his fingers, slid them around the blissfully warm mug. A sweet, floral honey smell filled his lungs.
“You know,” Sera continued, his voice gentle, “that house is a lot for one person to handle. I meant it when I said I could help. I’ve already been in that house countless times; it’s nothing I haven’t already seen.”
Apparently, he was too exhausted in the aftermath of his panic attack to get anxious or defensive. He just shook his head. “It’s not just the mess. It’s...”
“Your past,” Sera finished. “I get it. But you don’t have to face it alone.”
Colt glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something there—understanding, maybe even a hint of shared pain.
“If you didn’t want me to go inside, even, that’s fine. You could bring stuff out, and we could sort through it together. No pressure, just…think about it, okay?”
Colt nodded, not trusting his voice. He brought the mug to his lips, sipping carefully. The tea made his insides glow with warmth. His bones felt heavy. He wanted to lay down and sleep for the next twenty-four hours. That didn’t allow for him to think much about anything at the moment.
But later? Later, he’d think about it.
For the next hour, though…they sat together, drinking their tea. Sera didn’t seem to mind his quietness, and Colt…
The comfortable, easy silence left him feeling calmer than he had in months.
***
The day was, naturally, a loss. Even if he’d wanted to go back inside, Sera insisted he needed to get some rest. “ It’s not like the mess is going anywhere.” With it being only early afternoon, though, did he really want to go back to the motel and stare at the peeling paint for the rest of the day?
He took the scenic route just to kill time, past the occasional campground or hole-in-the-wall tourist-y restaurant or giftshop, navigating through the redwoods where he knew the names of all the groves by heart. There was peace to be found there. If the house made Colt shrivel into himself with claustrophobia, then the forests opened him wide up and made him whole again.
A flash of color caught Colt’s eye, and he slammed on the brakes. There, nestled near one of the shops, was a sight he never thought he’d see again: The Hook’s Book Nook.
The old school bus-turned-traveling library was impossible to miss, with its rainbow paint job and the name printed in large, cheerful lettering along the side. They didn’t have their usual outdoors setup on display, likely due to the impending rain, but the windows and folding doors were decorated in Christmas lights, inviting him in.
Colt scaled the steps, stepping inside, instantly transported back to countless childhood afternoons. The bus had been mostly gutted and then lined with bookshelves down each side, the walls and shelves painted in an array of colors to match the exterior. As he strolled down the aisle, he let his fingers brush across the book spines until he came across a familiar title, at which point he plucked it from the shelf. At the very back of the bus, a few of the bus’s bench seats had been reupholstered and pushed against the walls for extra seating.
Colt sank down onto one of them, the creak beneath his weight still familiar after all these years. His eyes closed. Breathing in brought notes of cinnamon and hot chocolate and books, so blissfully nostalgic. He could almost hear Dad’s voice as they pored over fantastical tales of distant worlds, and ever so briefly, Colt could almost believe none of the bad stuff had happened. They were still here, in this space they’d enjoyed together. A lump formed in his throat. He opened his eyes, blinking back tears, looked down at the book he held. Ran his hand over the embossed cover.
The gentle murmur of voices caught Colt’s attention. He looked up to see Cybil and Jane, the library’s proprietors, stepping into the bus with bags of food they’d likely gotten from one of the diners nearby. They were older women, Hallmark versions of what grandmothers or great-aunts were supposed to be. And yet for however old they looked now, Colt amusedly thought back to how they’d looked just as old to him as a child.
Jane’s gaze drifted to the back of the bus until it landed on Colt, and she frowned, squinted, took a few steps closer.
“Is that...Colt Grieves?”
Cybil peered over her glasses and all but abandoned her lunch on a table. “My goodness, it is, isn’t it? Little Colt, all grown up!”
They approached him, smiles warm and welcoming. Colt stood, his hands fidgeting with the book he held. He had a warm, sincere smile for them, though, this couple who had always been a sanctuary through a tumultuous childhood. “It’s been a while,” he said softly.
“Years!” Cybil exclaimed. “How have you been, dear? And how’s your father?”
Colt’s smile faltered. “Actually, Dad…passed away recently. That’s why I’m in town.”
The women’s faces fell. “Oh, Colt,” Jane said, reaching out to touch his arm. “We’re so sorry.”
Colt nodded, grateful for their genuine concern, even if he had no idea what to do with it.
“Thank you. It’s been...complicated.”
“Relationships often are,” Cybil said gently. “But I remember how your father’s face would light up when you two came in. He loved sharing books with you.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, casting his gaze about the bus. “We had some really good times here.”
Jane and Cybil urged him to sit. They joined him. As they talked, Colt found himself relaxing. The women were easy to converse with, their presence a balm to his raw emotions. He carefully steered the conversation away from the house, focusing instead on happier memories of his visits to the traveling library.
“You know,” Jane said, eyeing the book in Colt’s hands, “I remember your father reading that to you. Why don’t you take it?”
Colt gave a soft laugh. “Okay. What do I owe you?”
“A gift, in memory of those days,” Cybil insisted. “Books are meant to be cherished and shared. This one clearly means something to you.”
Touched by their kindness, Colt’s expression softened. “Thank you,” he whispered, holding it to his chest.
He stayed for two hours, chatting with Jane and Cybil, perusing the books, reminiscing over old stories he could still hear in his dad’s voice.
As he left the library, the sky opened up, rain pattering against the windshield. Colt drove back to his hotel, the book a comforting weight beside him.
Then he thought of Sera, of the house, of all the work still ahead. Was getting past all this, was healing possible? And was shoving everyone who wanted to help away from him doing anything but making the process harder on everyone involved?
Pulling into the parking lot, Colt took out his phone. He hesitated for a moment, then typed out a message to Sera.
Colt Grieves
I’ll be there by ten.
With a deep breath, he pressed send. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he had a piece of his past to hold onto—a reminder that not all memories were painful.