Chapter Twenty-Four
Present day
It was a night without coyotes or owls. Soundless almost. Helen slept in fits and bursts, but she never left her bed to wander,
because there was a mysterious man down the hall.
At five o’clock in the morning, she got up to use the bathroom.
En route, she paused in the hallway outside the guest bedroom. It was terribly intrusive—she knew that—but the evening events
had felt so surreal, she almost wondered if it hadn’t all been a fever dream. She carefully cracked the door and peeked inside.
The blankets on Isaac’s bed were messed up, and he’d slept with the dusty pink and yellow quilt. The fresh blanket she’d given
him sat neatly folded on the desk.
Isaac was not in the bed though.
Helen shut the door so delicately that the click of it was almost silent. Then she heard the crackle of the fire and saw the
faint glow of light spilling into the hallway.
In the living room, she found Isaac sitting in her reading chair in front of the fireplace with her Edgar Allan Poe book open in his lap.
It appeared he truly did like poetry after all.
Then she noticed which poem he was reading: “A Dream Within a Dream.” Strange, she thought.
Those were the same lines she’d repeated in her head last night to calm herself.
I hold within my hand grains of the golden sand.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said. She hugged her arms to her chest, feeling exposed in her wispy nightgown, wondering if he could see the outline
of her breasts in the shimmering firelight.
He nodded at the fire. “Hope you don’t mind. I can chop you more wood today.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Why are you awake?”
“It happens a lot. I’m never going to win any sleep awards. Whereas Wade can sleep through anything. Even when he’s upset.”
“Is he upset?”
“No, he’s fine.”
“You don’t have to lie for him. I haven’t always been the best brother.” Isaac picked up a blanket from the basket next to
the chair and offered it to her. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”
Surprised by the offer, Helen shook her head. “No.” She took the blanket. “Thank you.” She wrapped it around herself. “Can
I ask you a question though?”
“If you sit down.”
She sat in the rocking chair opposite him. “When was the last time you saw Wade?”
“Maybe a week before he left. He didn’t even say goodbye. None of us knew he was leaving.”
“Do you mind if I ask about your scar?”
“It healed up pretty nasty, huh?”
“No, it’s not that noticeable,” she said.
Isaac made an expression that said he knew otherwise.
“I mean, it’s not that noticeable when you’re wearing a shirt,” she said.
A smile spread across his face. “I think you just made a joke, Helen.”
She smiled softly. “How did you get the scar?”
“Minor farming accident, and let’s leave it at that.”
She nodded. It seemed like confirmation enough that Wade was wrong about the extent of Isaac’s injuries.
“So what about you and Wade?” Isaac asked. “What’s your love story?”
“Our love story? We met in the city. He wanted to buy land and move away, and three months later, he did and I went with him.”
“Sounds pretty spontaneous.”
“It was. I met Wade during a difficult time in my life. There were things I needed to get away from, and he had this idea
of simple living.” Helen shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to start over. I guess it sounded romantic.”
“Is it?”
The silence that followed his question spoke volumes. Helen knew she should say something, put an appropriately positive sheen
over the top of her marriage story, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked at Isaac for a long moment and then stood.
She said, “I should try to get a couple more hours of sleep.”
Isaac nodded and his eyes returned to the Poe book in his lap. They stayed there while Helen folded the blanket, and they
stayed there while she put it away in the basket. She knew he wasn’t really reading the words on the page though. He was just
pretending.
She knew this because the entire time, out of the corner of her eye, she watched him watching her out of the corner of his.