Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
VIRGIL
“ I t’s hot,” I scold, sitting back in my chair.
But neither child takes heed. They eat like two Marine recruits in training, hands fisted around their tablespoons, shoveling in the grub.
Clara showed for another moment on my arrival, staring at me like she was sizing up how true her husband’s statements were about me hating kids. Never made no point of acting like kids or pets were my thing. Not about to start now.
But that didn’t stop her from retreating down the hallway with an ambivalent “thank you” and a command to Helen to come get her once I leave.
Kerosene lamps flicker their warmth, hissing as they labor to fill the cabin with light. Wonder how long until they run out of fuel.
I take my time eating. So much so that the kids are both on their second bowls before I’m halfway finished. That’s when I know I made the right decision despite everything.
“Chili okay?” I ask, eyeing them amusedly, despite myself.
“Okay,” Helen says through a big bite.
“Amazing,” Luke chimes in, mouth brown around the edges as he slurps some more.
I shake my head, just staring, taking in the mayhem.
“Something you’re looking at, Mister?” Helen finally asks.
The corners of my mouth tip down. “No offense, but you eat like animals.”
She laughs sadly and takes another bite.
“Unless that’s the hunger getting to you?” I arch a brow.
She shrugs.
I sit back, rubbing my palm over my forehead. “Road crews working hard to get everything back up and running again.”
Helen stares at me blankly, like she doesn’t know why I’m saying what I am.
“In other words, your mama couldn’t get down off this mountain and to the store if she wanted to. Not until those roads are repaired.”
“Great,” she mumbles, frowning.
“Great what?” I ask.
Her eyes meet mine. “Until then we starve.”
I shift in my chair. The next part I don’t want to say. But I have to. “Nope, until then we share food. That simple.”
“Yes!” Luke exclaims through another bite of chili.
“Anyone ever told you to chew with your mouth closed?” I grunt. “And not speak while you’re doing it?”
He shrugs, returning to the second helping. But Helen’s eyes go a little wider like she’s terrified of me.
“You’re awfully mannerly for a place like this,” she finally says.
That tugs a deep laugh out of me. It rings hollow through the cabin like it doesn’t belong. But I’m thankful for it, this mood far too heavy to sit in for long.
I eye Luke and Helen, realizing they’ve both been dealing with this atmosphere since the funeral. May not know kids, but I still know that’s a lot
“Got any dessert?” Luke asks between mouthfuls.
Helen glares at him. “Remember? Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Quit acting like papa,” he scowls.
The cabin goes quiet after that. Deadly so.
It’s not the place I remember the few times I visited Bryson. There’s no music playing. He always had country blaring. No hearty laughter and tall tales. The man had the bravado of a mountain man. Sometimes more bravado than caution.
No Clara cooking and bustling around. Watching him like he hung the moon and stars. Never seen a woman look at a man like that.
"No dessert tonight," I catch myself saying.
Tonight.
There it was. Me already planning on coming back.
But what the hell else can I do under the circumstances? At least until the road’s open and they can move out of here for good.
“Thorn?” Luke says out of the blue, head darting up at the sounds of a far-off bark.
Helen’s head shoots up, ears straining so hard I can almost hear them. Thorn was the family’s German Shepherd. Loyal to a fault. So much so that if I had to bet, he ended up down that river, too.
But I don’t tell them that. Not with my head bobbing back and forth between two expectant faces. Instead, I grunt out the obvious, “Coyote.”
Their shoulders instantly hunch. The place goes cold and silent after that.
“Any idea when we get the lights back?” Luke asks suddenly with an unreadable look.
“There are more important things than that,” Helen scolds. But then she looks at me, adding in a whisper, “He’s afraid of the dark.”
“Nothing to be afraid of,” I say like it’ll make a difference. It won’t. “Power company’s already working on it.”
“Yours out, too, Mister?” she asks.
I nod once. These two never could keep my name straight. Bryson used to laugh his ass off over it. Figure, it’s time to try again. “Not Mister,” I say for the umpteenth time. “It’s Virgil.”
Both kids stare at me like I’ve said something unintelligible. The boy chews loud and swallows even louder. “Vir-huh?”
Helen shakes her head at her brother, putting her finger to her lips.
“Virgil,” I repeat.
“Weird name,” Helen says finally, returning to her chili.
I agree silently, glancing around the room. Making mental notes.
Groceries.
Kerosene.
Fence.
Downed trees.
Breaker box.
“Say,” I ask suddenly, staring from face to face. “How are you getting water without electricity to pump your well?”
Helen looks down, face darkening.
Luke says, “Been drinking juice and milk.”
“I pump by hand,” Clara says behind me, startling me. My chair squeaks back a little. “You about done questioning my children?”
“No offense, ma’am. Just trying to ascertain?—”
“Thank you for the wood,” she says quietly. “And the food, but?—”
“But nothing,” I grumble. “He was my friend, too. He’d have wanted me to watch over you. Step in as needed.”
“That your plan?” she asks.
“Least till you sort out what’s next for you,” I answer.
“You mean until I give up. Leave this place.”
I nod, unpleased by the rueful look on her face but never one to mince words. “This is no place for a woman and children.”
Her face hardens, bottom lip trembling. She opens her mouth, trying to form words but nothing comes out.
“Not that you have to decide anything at the moment,” I cut in. “Couldn’t leave if you wanted to.”
“And so?” She arches a brow.
“Until then, I’ll help out.”
She sighs sharply, her head falling back.
“You don’t have nothing to prove, ma’am?—”
“Clara,” she says between clenched teeth.
It’s always been Clara. The couple of times a year I hollered to her across the fence. The handful of invitations I accepted from Bryson to come over. The compulsory Thanksgiving meals so a single mountain recluse wouldn’t be totally alone.
Clara. Don’t know why I’m saying different now. Just with Bryson gone, every word feels awkward. Strange. Like stepping into a place that doesn't belong to me. Though somebody has to.
I rise, nodding and filling an empty bowl with chili. “Sit. Eat. You need it.”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” she confesses softly.
“Have to keep up your strength. Set an example,” I say, registering the flash of anger behind her eyes.
I know it’s not directed at me. Fate, maybe. Or Bryson for his piss poor departure. Her chin shakes, and her eyes storm. “Not tonight,” she says.
Not last night. Or the night before that, by the looks of her. But I can tell it’s a moot point.
I pour the rest of the chili back in the pot. “Been keeping leftovers in a cooler in my root cellar. Managed to pack it with ice before everything thawed. Stays cold enough,” I mutter. I don’t know who I’m talking to at this point.
Clara shrinks in the shadows of the hallway, stare blank. The kids don’t care, already plopped on the couch, hunched over a book they study with great fascination.
My eyes dart around one more time, registering things. Roof leak in one corner, marked by a half-full bucket.
“Be back in the morning,” I say, heading for the door.
No one says goodbye. Doubt they even heard me.
“Fuck, Bryson,” I murmur on the way back to my place. “This is going to be a long couple of days.”
Or weeks.
Or months.
Only time will tell.