Chapter 14
The Hole
The week goes about as well as it can during a renovation of an extremely old cabin. There’s a bit of mold in the bathrooms that has been removed, wood boards replaced. The walls have turned into more of an open concept, the hard wood floors refinished and carpet replaced in the bedrooms.
Except for one floor board in the kitchen my foot went through earlier this week, the interior is in great shape. I’ll have to wait for a couple of weeks until my crew is back from another job to get that fixed, though. The hole remains.
Outside, the rich brown of the cabin exterior has been re-stained and is more vibrant than ever. The flowers I planted in the backyard are slowly but surely blooming, a vibrant display of red, yellow, orange, and purple.
It’s starting to look like a cabin I’d want to spend a few days at. Sitting on the back porch taking in the view of the Teton Range, reading a book in the sunshine.
Right now, as I look out the window, there’s an obstruction to the view. Although, I can’t complain.
Miles works on the last bit of the fence, wiping the sweat from his brow under his baseball cap with his forearm.
His t-shirt is riding up his arm just a bit further than usual, and I can see higher up his tattoo sleeve than I usually can.
The bottom half below his elbow is a winding road crawling up into the mountains, surrounded by fields.
What I’ve never seen before are the pine trees, all different shades and sizes, wrapping around his bicep. Even this far away, the detail of the trees is clear, sharp points poking out of the mountains.
It’s unfair how much of an effect he has on me, even still. Why couldn’t he have been repulsive?
That’d make it much easier to convince myself it’s not a good idea.
Even though it’s tempting to run over there as fast as I can and pick up where we left off four years ago, I have to remember he’s not the same Miles as before.
New Miles doesn’t want to be around me at all, much less in that capacity.
I pull my gaze away from the back window, heading back to my laptop.
I thought my other properties would be neglected during my time in Jackson, but it hasn’t been too bad.
The cleaners we have worked with for years are great at turning over rentals, the guests have been relatively low maintenance, and no one at MacPherson Enterprises has come running to me asking for help with anything.
At this rate, I’ll be able to go on another hike with Codie and the girls again soon without the guilt of taking a step away from work eating at me from the inside out.
It takes me a few hours to update the books and check the rental calendar one last time to make sure reservations are all good to go.
Then, I’m up again, painting the cabinets.
The monotonous back and forth of the paintbrush darkening the pine wood relaxing my brain.
This is why I love hands-on renovations.
Would I want to paint cabinets for a living? No.
Do I want to break up my usual work with some cabinet painting every couple of months? Absolutely.
I’m not sure how much time has gone by when the warm breeze returns, but it’s been about two cabinets worth. I freeze in my tracks, surveying the room.
A smudge of black catches my eye in the corner of the cabinet, where I haven’t quite reached yet. Another brand, burned into the wood. I squint my eyes, moving closer to see the shape, but all I can make out is it looks a little bit like a playing card–
“Oof,” I grunt quietly as my head runs right into the top of the cabinet. I back out a bit, checking to make sure I didn’t knock over my paint can in the process. It’s still standing upright, intact.
Glancing back to where the brand was in the cabinet, my breath catches in my throat. It’s gone. No matter how far I lean into the opening, I can’t see it anymore. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I shine the flashlight in the cabinet.
There’s not a trace of anything besides wood, and the paint I’ve been using.
I breathe out a shaky breath. The paint fumes must be going to my head. This whole cabin is going to my head.
As soon as I lift the paintbrush in my hand to start again, Miles bursts through the back door and into the kitchen. His eyes are wide, looking around frantically. His broad chest rises and falls quickly.
“What?” I say, startled.
“Are you okay?” Miles demands, his tone a little panicked.
“I’m fine, Autry. What’s wrong?”
“I heard you yelling. Is everything okay?” Miles runs a hand through his already mussed hair, replacing his ball cap.
“I wasn’t yelling,” I squint my eyes in confusion. He heard yelling? I haven’t heard anything but the silence of the mountains in hours. I wasn’t even listening to any music like usual.
“Yes, you were. I heard your voice. You were yelling my name.” Miles stands with his hands on his hips, looking just as confused as I feel.
“I swear I was not yelling. Seriously. I didn’t hear anything. Are you sure you’re not just getting senile?” I stand from where I was crouched on the floor, brushing off my overalls. Miles’s eyes track over my body, until he remembers I’m here and snaps his gaze back up to my face.
“Yeah, I get it, I’m old,” he deadpans. “I’m not messing around. I heard yelling.”
“Okay, well, I didn’t. I’m not sure what you heard, but it wasn’t me. And last time I checked,” I spin my arms around, gesturing to the empty room, “there’s no one near here.”
He sighs, rubbing his hand down his beard, a little longer than the last time I saw it up close. Now that I think about it, he does look a little run ragged. The slightest dark circles darken his eyes, and he just seems tired.
“Well, I’m sorry then. I really thought I heard you yelling.”
“That’s okay.” I shift on my feet, suddenly aware we are the only ones in the house. It’s like I forgot how to talk to him. I never have this problem with anyone else. “Are you okay? You look really tired.” I lift my arm to comfort him on instinct, but catch myself.
He huffs a laugh without a smile. “It’s been a week.”
“It’s only Wednesday.”
“I know.”
Miles pulls a chair out from the tiny table I use as my desk and sits.
His large frame looks ridiculous in the tiny chair I barely even fit in.
I’m pretty sure it was some sort of kids table the crew picked up on the side of the road just so I had something to work at until we get actual furniture in here. I don’t mind.
He leans over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
I walk over to the fridge, pulling out a half-drank six pack left over from the crew.
“Here,” I hold out a beer towards him. “You look like you could use this.”
“Thanks.” He lifts his head and takes the beer, a small smile on his face. His finger brushes mine as he takes the bottle, and a literal spark passes between us. We both jump back a bit.
A beat of silence passes between us as we take swigs of beer. We’re sitting closer than I thought. So close I can feel the warmth radiating off of his arms. His brow furrows as he stares down at the table in front of him.
It’s the first time I’ve looked at him long enough to notice the toll the years have taken on him. He may be four years older since we first met, but I get the feeling they were rough years.
“I don’t know if he told you,” Miles starts, his rough voice interrupting my thoughts. “But, my dad is sick. Terminally sick. He has been for a few years. It’s getting worse, and he’s had a really bad week. I shouldn’t be complaining about anything while Walt is laid up in bed.”
“Oh.” Shit. A sinking feeling fills my gut. No one should have to go through something so awful. “No, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Is everything okay? Can I do anything?”
He doesn’t so much as look up from his hands as he fidgets with the glass bottle. My heart squeezes in my chest for him. If I wasn’t positive he wouldn’t want it, I’d have already pulled him into a hug.
“It’s okay.” A dry laugh escapes his throat.
“Actually, it’s not okay. But you know what I mean.
It’s just… I never thought I’d have to take care of him like this.
He’s always been such an unbreakable force.
And now, he’s a shell of that man. It’s depressing to watch.
There’s nothing I can do, nothing my mom can do.
” He runs a hand down his face again, taking a deep breath.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this,” he waves a hand, as if that will take it all back. “It’s just been a really hard day for him and I can’t fix it, no matter what I do.”
“That’s okay, Miles,” I reach over and place a hand on his arm, unable to resist the pull to try and help him feel a little bit better.
To my surprise, he doesn’t shake me off.
Instead, his expression softens a little bit.
“I can’t imagine how hard that is. I’m so sorry you have to go through that. You can talk to me about it anytime.”
“Thanks,” he grumbles. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I don’t push any further.
“My parents sent me to live with my Aunt when I was young. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if anything happened to her.
I’d be sick with worry. I already worry about her, and she’s totally fine.
A little wild, but fine.” Another weight lifts off of my shoulders.
Who knew telling someone besides Hazel about my parents would feel so nice.
“Your parents just sent you away? Why?”
I shrug. “They’re not exactly the most family-oriented people. I was a high energy kid that needed attention. We didn’t mix.”
Miles looks at me like I’ve grown three heads, “Didn’t mix? You can’t just send your kid away because they’re being a kid. There’s not a return policy.”
“No, but there is a send-to-sister policy, apparently.” A dry laugh escapes me. Miles’s expression softens so much that I can’t read it. Not pity, but something else.
“That’s shitty, I’m sorry Mac. No one deserves that.”
“Thanks.”