Chapter 9 #2
“I wasn’t implying you can’t! But–” Shuffling sounds, then, “Rachel? I have to go. Morty’s texting me and he says there’s a really wonderful multi-generational women’s fiction series, like Virgin River meets Steel Magnolias, that’s being cast and they’re considering me for a younger version of Angela Lansbury in Murder She Wrote.
Has to be a way younger version, of course, but bye! Kiss kiss!”
Her mom literally said the words. Didn’t make the sound.
Then ended the call.
Long, slow, cleansing breaths to get the mixed emotion out and accept and appreciate the connection with her mother were the only tool in her toolbox.
Portia loved her. Dearly, she knew.
But her mom didn’t know her.
And Rachel sorely, eagerly wanted someone to know her.
Problem was, she wasn’t quite sure who she was, and if she didn’t know herself, how could she expect someone else to?
“It’s too early in the day to have thoughts and feelings this deep,” she muttered, standing and pulling out the drawer where the coffee pods were kept. Before she could flip open the machine, though…
Thump.
Ka-thump.
“RANDY!” she screamed. At least she was armed with his name now, the image it conjured so much less threatening than Godzilla. “PLEASE STOP!”
The rocking began, throwing Rachel’s pens into spasms on the table, her glass of water about to slosh over.
“WHUUUUUH!”
“The trailer’s just not that into you!” she yelled as the rocking intensified. What made a thousand-pound moose think it could copulate with an RV? Did the trailer’s fiberglass coating somehow emit moose pheromones?
The sound of a car engine outside, close to the trailer, filled her with a new rush of alarm. Who was here? Moving her water glass to the sink and securing anything that Randy might knock over, she went to the window. Kell Luview was stepping out of his truck, holding a dry cleaner’s bag.
Talk about weird sights.
“RANDY!” Kell hollered, looking to the left with disgust. “Cut that out!”
The rocking stopped.
Rachel saw how Kell’s verbal warning was given with confidence, but his body language was wary. He halted right outside the truck, leaving the door open.
Last night, Rachel had googled moose. Rutting moose, to be specific. The search engine returned an image of a moose’s uh, member… that was now permanently etched in her brain. Surprisingly large, even for a huge animal.
But she learned that a rutting moose could go crazy on a human.
The worst were mama moose protecting their babies, but that was just common sense.
What Kell was doing wasn’t exactly recommended.
The “experts” on Reddit all agreed that being quiet was the best approach, but Kell was born and raised in Maine, and her encounters with Randy had resulted in no good outcomes, so who was she to judge?
Kell’s careful stance made it clear that while his intent was to drive Randy off and keep Rachel safe, he was also making sure he could jump back in his truck if the moose charged.
“Whuh?” Randy said, stepping back from the trailer hitch, the tip of his antlers in Rachel’s line of sight.
A sigh that was closer to a grunt came out of Kell.
To her utter surprise, Randy turned and walked into the woods without a word.
Final score: Kell, 1. Randy, whatever. How many times had he copulated with the trailer? Her car?
“You okay?” Kell called as he approached the trailer. Rachel looked in wonder at the spot where Randy had just been.
“I’m fine. But you’re not supposed to yell at a moose.”
“Says who? Google?”
“Reddit.”
They both chuckled as he held out the dry cleaning bag.
“Here.”
“What’s this?”
“A peace offering. An apology.”
Her heart warmed. “For yesterday?”
“For… a lot.” His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Ah, yes. The kiss.
The almost kiss.
“Thank you.” She looked through the clean, freshly pressed clothing. Her coat and pants were in there, and the boots were in plastic bags. “I didn’t expect to ever get these back.”
“I grabbed the coat and boots, fished the pants out, and took them to Labrecque’s.”
“Labrecque’s?”
“Dry cleaners.”
“They don’t call it Love You Clean?”
“Of course not. That would be silly.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, that’s the name of Katie Hanscomb’s cleaning service.”
“This town,” she sighed.
“Good thing you’re only here for a short time.”
Her free hand was on the door jamb, Kell standing two steps lower but close enough that she could smell woodsmoke wafting off him.
“Actually, I’m staying longer. I just texted Kenny about it.”
“You are? Why?”
“In spite of your best attempts to undermine me, I convinced Lucinda to change her no to a maybe.”
“How did you do that?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Bucketloads of charm.”
“You mean bucketloads of money.”
“I said what I meant, Kell.”
“How long are you here?”
“Until February 15th.”
Of all the responses she could have expected, full-throated laughter wasn’t one of them. The sound of his amusement scared a squirrel off the small grill next to the trailer hitch.
“You’re going to be here on Valentine’s Day!”
“I’ll hide in the trailer.”
“Don’t you want to experience Love You, Maine, in all its glory? Consider it the cost of doing business.”
“I plan to hide here with a good book, or binge watch something dark and dreary on Netflix.” She tilted her head and took a chance. “Do you still watch Nordic noir?”
“Of course. Did you watch that crazy series set in Svalbard?”
“I did. We’re probably two of the ninety people in the world who saw it.”
“Then that makes us extra special.”
The dry cleaning was pulling on her forearm, which was still sore from two days ago. Holding up a finger, she turned and hung it in the tiny closet, then came back to the door and waved him in. “Want some coffee?”
“Kenny’s stuff? No thanks. That crap has chicory in it.”
“Is that why it tastes so weird?”
“Ayup.” His exaggerated Maine accent made her laugh, but she was disappointed he didn’t come in.
Kell moved to a spot where two wooden Adirondack chairs were turned upside down.
The wind had blown the area fairly clear of snow, exposing a circle of stones on the ground.
He stood for a moment looking at a small woodpile, then began pulling out small and large pieces, until the pile was neatly restacked inside the circle.
“Kenny gave you newspaper, right?”
“I think there’s some in a cupboard.”
“Hand it over. Let’s build a fire and talk.”
Talk.
For five years, all she’d wanted was to go back in time and get Kell Luview to talk to her. And now he was willing?
Now?
So many responses came to her, most of them sarcastic and cutting, but the truth prevailed. So did her haunting need.
Reaching for the newspaper, she pulled it off the table and handed it to him.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled her ski jacket over the multiple layers she was already wearing and stepped outside.
For the next two minutes, she watched as he built the fire, the big pieces of wood laid in a criss-cross, bunched up newspaper crammed into nooks and crannies.
Smaller chunks and sticks were poked in between.
He carried a lighter in the pocket of his flannel shirt.
Smoke appeared, then small flames. As he blew softly, on his knees, pushing air where it was needed to make the fire catch, something in Rachel lessened.
Relaxed.
Maybe even smiled.
“Hey!”
Rachel turned, stunned, to find a man standing there, waving in such a friendly way she felt embarrassed that she didn’t recognize him, until Kell called back, “Hey, Kenny.”
Ah.
Her landlord.
“Rachel. Kell,” he said, giving his cousin a waggling eyebrow look that made him look like old movie clips of Groucho Marx. “Good to meet you in person, Rachel.”
“You too, Kenny.”
“Whatcha up to?” he asked, peering at Kell’s wood stack.
“You drunk, Kenny? I’m building a fire, obviously.”
“Don’t see you hanging out at my trailer much, Cuz,” Kenny said, his implication clear.
“Helping an old friend.”
“Aw. Is Rachel stuck in a bind?” Kenny slapped his own knee, and Rachel’s opinion of him lowered one standard deviation.
“Funny,” Kell said, stone faced. “You here to bring her more wood? It’s out.”
“Aw, hell. Of course. Sorry about that, Rachel. I saw your text about staying through February 15th, and wanted to talk about that. It’s booked for the thirteenth and fourteenth.
Booked a year ago by the Wilsons. They come every year, but they’re on a tight budget, so they always stay at the trailer.
Real nice people. Sorry. You’ll have to check out the morning of the thirteenth. ”
“I see.” Not expecting that news, Rachel had to bury her emotional reaction, especially with so many other emotions swirling in Kell’s presence. “I’ll take what I can get, and figure out the rest.”
“I’m sure Rider has some bunks free,” Kenny said, trying to be helpful.
Kell stiffened. “No way Rachel’s staying in the bunkhouse.”
“I’m fine,” she assured them. “Maybe I’ll book at Nordicbeth, like my assistant originally recommended.”
The men grimaced.
“You can’t, unless you plan on driving an hour and a half each way,” Kenny said sadly.
“An hour and a half! I thought it was forty-five minutes!”
“That was before the bridge collapsed.”
“The bridge?”
“The one on Route 11. Been out for a few months. Looks like another year and a half before it’s fully operational. It’s really hurting tourism from the ski resort,” Kenny said. “Doesn’t hurt rentals, though. Thank goodness, because that’s how me and Lisa make a living. I rent ’em, she cleans ’em.”
“Well,” Rachel said, struggling to find something positive to say, “maybe it’s good that my assistant didn’t book me at Nordicbeth after all. I’d have had a nasty surprise if I’d gone there.”
“But you’d have never had that nasty surprise of gluing yourself to Kell here,” Kenny helpfully pointed out.
Kell’s flat look shut him up.
Today was February 6. Rachel had a week to find something.