Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“…then I noticed that bent red oak leaning way over the fence,” Wilson was saying as I ran a file along the teeth of the new chain I had put on the new bar I’d ordered in for his saw.
“Nasty stuff red oak. I don’t like it much for burning.
Leaves too much creosote in the stove, but I figured I’d just drop the bastard on the right side of the fence before it fell on it.
Lord knows I don’t want my cattle getting out into the road.
You remember that time when Tim Reynolds run into someone’s cow over on the hogback?
Guess the insurance come back on Paul Tuttle as it was his steer what got hit, least that was what Tim said a few days after. ”
“I remember. Tim had that fancy Italian sports car he imported all the way from Milan or some such,” I commented as I pulled the slim file over the rakers of the chain.
Generally, most folks would take a saw to a chainsaw shop, but we didn’t have one of them within a hundred miles, so they brought them to me.
I didn’t mind. “I’d never seen anything so fast.”
“Oh hell yes,” Wilson said, leaning on the counter as we chatted in the storefront.
“He used to run that damned thing along them back roads at a hundred and twenty. He passed me and Wanda coming back from the feed store once going so fast he was a blur. Wanda about passed out from the sheer shock of it all. I said then to her one day that damn fool was going to meet his maker. Guess the two-thousand-pound steer in the road didn’t do him in, but it fucked up that little Italian car of his.
Thing folded like an accordion. Nothing like the cars we used to make here in Detroit.
When I was young and foolish, I owned an old Caddy that could have taken on a moose and won.
Cars were made out of good old US steel back in the day.
Everything now is plastic and bubblegum packed full of computer chips.
Can’t even put your own window down without asking a damn AI for permission. ”
I nodded along, smiling, as the old fellow with the bald head and green ball cap rambled on and on.
This was what happened all the time when guys stopped in to drop off or pick up.
Bullshit started to flow. It was just the way of things in a small town.
Customers assumed you had all the time in the world to shoot the shit, which wasn’t always the case.
Today I had several jobs waiting for me to complete, but Wilson was a good sort, so I filed and nodded along.
“Anyway, so when I sawed into that miserable red oak, I got pinched. I pushed and pulled on that fucking saw until I lost my temper and went to get my tractor,” Wilson explained.
“Don’t tell me you hooked onto this poor old Jonsered with your tractor,” I said and gave the beaten but still running red saw a gentle pat.
“I might have. Bent the bar all to hell,” he confessed, chuckling as one does when retelling a tale where they’d acted a fool.
“Wanda chewed me out proper for doing something so stupid, but I got the saw freed. Still need to finish the job. Hey, you got any bar oil lying around? I hate to run out to Mercy Falls to buy some if I can pick it up here from you.”
“I’ll look in the back, but I think I have a few jugs left.” I kept lots of chainsaw supplies on hand as they were a necessity for lots of rural folks.
The bells over the door rang out and in stepped Blue Coat Man. My eyes flared. He gave the two of us at the counter a look I couldn’t read, nodded briskly, and removed four little yellow mittens from the line.
“Afternoon,” I called when I found my voice. He was just as beautiful as before.
I mean, of course he would be, Mitch. Seriously, would he have turned into a troll overnight?
“Afternoon,” he replied in a smooth, deep voice that held just a hint of something foreign.
“Thank you for these.” He held up the little knit hand warmers.
I nodded as I plastered what I hoped wasn’t an asinine smile on my face.
He reached into one of his big outer pockets, pulled out some cash, and slipped it into the jar.
When he straightened, a dark curl hung down over one honey-colored eye.
My throat went dry, and my heart kicked up. “Good day.”
And out the door he went, his coat curling around his long legs.
“Well, ain’t he just something different?” Wilson asked as I stood there like a golem for thirty whole seconds trying to sort out what it was I was feeling. It reminded me of when I had first laid eyes on Katie.
“He sure is,” I whispered, dropped the file onto the counter, and rushed around the register.
I nearly went on my face when I tripped over a case of gaskets that had come in this morning.
Wilson grabbed my arm to save me from faceplanting.
“Thanks,” I coughed out before running to the door and yanking it open.
Out to the parking lot I went, sight flying left and then right.
I caught the backend of that funny van again as it rolled along the road, crested the hill, and disappeared from sight.
The urge to leap into my car and race after him was strong, but I turned and walked back into my shop instead.
I did have a full day’s work to complete.
Haring off after some guy in a weird van was not what a responsible business owner and father did.
Still, the pull was still tugging on me when I plucked the cash out of the jar.
I counted out another thousand dollars. Wilson whistled in awe.
“What the hell is that all about?” Wilson asked. All I could do was shrug. I had no clue what was going on, but now the need to sort it out was like a tick burrowing under my skin. The only way to get rid of that itch was to remove the irritant somehow.
“I don’t know, but I sure would like to find out.”
Maybe me and Pastor Pete could form some sort of team to investigate this odd but intriguing stranger. The Mechanic and the Reverend solve the case of the Man in the Blue Coat at nine p.m. on the Grouse Falls Public Access channel.
Or maybe you could get back to work and stop pretending you’re Mannix.
Yeah, that was probably the better option.
That niggle lingered all day. It clung to me as I stopped at the church to hand over the cash, through the evening, and didn’t stop when I was in bed staring at the ceiling of my bedroom.
Tomorrow, if Blue Coat Man stopped, I would be more prepared.
What I planned to do was yet to be revealed to me, but it would be something stellar and would make Ellery Queen jealous.
***
While dreaming of cracking the case of Blue Coat Man, I came awake to the creaking of the bathroom door.
Half asleep, I rolled onto my side to check the clock.
It read 10:17 p.m. in bold red numbers that made me squint.
Gilda could be heard rustling around in the cupboards as she sniffled.
Was she crying? Had she vomited? Anytime she threw up, she wept, understandably, as I also wanted to cry whenever vomit flew out of my nose.
Tossing your cookies was truly disgusting.
My dad worry kicked in. I tossed back the covers, turned on the bedside lamp, and slid my feet into my slippers.
The bathroom was just across the hall from my room. I tapped lightly on the closed door.
“Gil, honey, are you okay?” I softly called and waited for her to start whimpering as she usually did when she was ill.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She didn’t sound fine.
She sounded tense. I took a second to decide on my next course of action.
The girl wasn’t exactly a baby now. If she had an upset stomach, she could take some Pepto and go back to bed.
She didn’t need Daddy to rub her tummy while humming lullabies. Those days were over. “Dad?”
I was just about to return to my room when the plaintive query floated out to me in the hall.
“Yeah, I’m here. Do you need me to get you some seltzer water or anything?” I rested my shoulder against the jamb.
“No, I…” She was just on the other side of the door now. “I need something else.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I think we have crackers. And some ginger ale. That usually helps. I told you not to eat all those—”
“Dad, no, oh my God!” she snapped. I took a deep breath. “I don’t need stupid ginger ale. I need other things. You know.”
I didn’t know. Did not have a clue. “Do you need some ice?” Hell, maybe she fell out of bed and sprained her wrist.
“Dad, seriously, I do not need ice, okay?! I need pads. I got my period.”
An elephant falling out of the sky and landing on my head wouldn’t have stunned me as much as those four final words had.
That wasn’t possible. She wasn’t nearly old enough.
Was she? No, she couldn’t be. Just a few months ago, she’d learned how to walk.
No, I just…well shit. This was something I knew would come eventually, but I didn’t think it would come when she wasn’t even thirteen yet.
Shit. Okay. I could handle this. I was a great dad.
“Okay then, wow, that’s a big step, Gilda.
You’re really growing up. I’d high-five you, but the door is closed, so I’ll knuckle bump the door.
” And I did. I had no clue where I was going with all of this.
Gilda giggled, just a little, on the other side of the door.
“I’ll run to the drugstore and pick up some things for you.
I should have done that sooner. My bad. You just relax…
oh, and take some Advil. Sometimes getting your period makes you achy and have cramps.
When I get back, we’ll have some cocoa and talk. How does that sound?”
“Yeah, that sounds okay.” I pushed off the doorjamb. “Dad, it’s not your fault we didn’t have period stuff. I know boys are clueless about that kind of thing.”
That made me snigger. “Boys are clueless about a lot of things, buttercup. I’ll be back in a flash.”
“Okay, thanks, Dad.” She sounded okay. So I darted to the door, pulled on my coat, and made a mad run to the car.
It was cold and the windshield was frosty, but I put the pedal to the metal anyway, driving to the next county to a large retail chain where I grabbed four packages of pads from the shelves.
The packaging looked familiar to what Katie had used, so I went with it.
The older woman at the checkout gave me a sleepy look.
“My daughter just got her first cycle,” I explained. She nodded and gave me a smile of understanding.
“She’ll be fine. You might want to grab a chocolate bar.”
I bought five. Then I rode home. The hole in the frost that I’d made was now gone, and the windshield was clear.
I’d not felt an ounce of embarrassment buying sanitary products.
Why should I? It was a natural part of being female.
God, my baby was a young woman now. I felt a little teary about that but sniffed the emotions into my sinuses.
Gilda needed me to be calm and comforting.
I ran over the curb as I pulled into my driveway twenty minutes later.
I found the bathroom door still closed but could hear Gilda talking to someone. I gently knocked. “Hey, kitten, I have your package. I’ll just leave it outside the door and start the hot chocolate.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m talking to Merrilyn.”
Ah, one of her drama club girlfriends. “Tell her I said hello.”
Off I went to the kitchen, mind whirling with a thousand things as I filled the pretty pink teapot Katie had found at a garage sale. The gas flames burst to life, blue fire under the kettle, and I took a moment to draw in a breath that filled my lungs. Life sure was funny.
By the time the kettle came to a boil, Gilda was exiting the bathroom. I sat at our gouged and paint-stained table with two cups of cocoa. Beside her cup was a candy bar as well as a tiny plastic frog that had been in a bowl at the checkout counter.
“Hey, you feeling okay?” I asked as she sat down. I noted she had showered and changed her pajamas. Her cheeks were flushed pink against the pale white.
“My stomach hurts,” she said softly before picking up the frog. “This is cute.”
“Yeah, they had a fishbowl full. It reminded me of the frog you had as a pet when you were eight.”
“Oh yeah. Rupert. I let him go after a few weeks.” She placed the frog beside her cup and peeled open the candy bar.
She offered me a square. I took it with a tender smile.
“So, like, I don’t need you to tell me all about how I’m a woman now.
I just cannot with that. Also, I know about getting pregnant now.
You told me all about sex and everything years ago. ”
It was three years ago, to be exact. “Okay, I won’t say anything about you being a woman now.
I will just say I’m here for you whenever you need me, and I will always be here for you.
I get that this is a hard time of life, but you’re smart and strong and will sail through it with grace and good humor just like your mother did. ”
She chewed her candy, damp strands of hair hanging into her tired eyes. “Did Mom want to cry a lot when it was her time of the month?”
“Oh yeah, she cried over everything. Coffee ads, tissue commercials, a butterfly on a flower. One time, she cried because I wore a green shirt.” Gilda giggled. “No lie. I never did get why that green shirt made her weep. Maybe because it was so ugly?”
“Maybe.” We ate more candy and drank some of our cocoa. “I’m tired, and my belly hurts. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for the pad run.”
“Take some Advil for the cramps. And you’re welcome, sweetie. You can call on me whenever for whatever.”
“I know.” She rose, padded over to me, and kissed my cheek.
A static moment passed, then she threw her arms around me and hugged me close.
Nothing was said, but her embrace was tight as a vise.
I hugged her back, wishing I could do more for her during this tricky transition from girl to young lady.
“Love you, Dad,” she whispered before letting go.
“Love you too, G-Bug.”
She rolled her eyes at the baby name, sniffled a little, and then took her cocoa and her little frog and made her way back to her room.
When the door clicked shut, I let my brow thud to the table.
This parenting a girl thing was not all glitter and powder puffs, that’s for sure.
They needed to invent a checklist or a guide for single dads to refer to just to check if they were doing it right.
They made manuals for small engines. Why not for fathers raising teenage girls?