Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
VIVIAN
Though playing outside with Mateo helps settle my nerves, the questions continue to unspool inside my mind. Will I be able to return to the Meadows? Do I even want to given how easily someone broke in? But if I decide to move, where would we go? I have renter’s insurance, but filing a claim isn’t exactly easy, and it won’t cover everything. There are several lengthy forms to fill out, the cataloguing of damaged items to make, and I need a police report. Which I’ll have to get from Everett.
When we stampede inside for dinner, a tall, slender man in his seventies wearing faded jeans and a Western-style shirt with pearl snap buttons is standing in the middle of the living room. He’s holding the remote to the television like we’ve interrupted him flipping channels, but he turns it off and reaches for my hand, a soft smile on his lips.
“Hey there, you must be Vivian. I’m Nelson.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say as he places his other hand on top of mine, his big palms calloused, and gentle.
“Likewise.” He squats down as Mateo hurries in after me. “Hey pardner, whatcha got there? ”
Mateo thrusts the fat grasshopper he’s pinching in his fingers toward him. “I caught him!”
“Whoa, you must be fast. I think we got a jar here somewhere. You want to make him a home?”
“Yes!” Mateo hurries to follow Nelson into the kitchen.
How cool that my kid just spent the last half hour chasing grasshoppers around the yard? It’s something we most certainly would never have the opportunity to do in L.A.
Sepp carries the platter of watermelon rinds inside and continues into the kitchen. Outside in the grass, Everett and Logan are playing catch, the ball whizzing past the windows. I don’t know if it’s seeing him laughing and carefree with his son or the way he fills out something as ordinary as a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, but it takes a surprising amount of discipline to keep moving toward the kitchen so I can do something useful.
As I pass by my purse on the couch, there’s a soft glow from inside—my phone. I must not have heard it ringing over the chatter and laughter coming from the kitchen. When I check the screen, it’s an unknown caller, but the area code is local.
“Hello?”
“Is this Vivian?” The caller’s voice is warm, confident.
“Who’s calling?”
“Professor Milankovitch, from the college. You applied for the data entry position?”
“Oh, yes. Hi.”
The patio door flies open, startling me into action. I head down the hallway.
“Vivian?” Everett calls out, concern in his voice.
I cover the speaker. “Be right back!” I call out over my shoulder.
“Is this a bad time?” Professor Milankovitch asks.
“No, it’s fine.”
“Great. I can give you a little more info about the job, if you’re still interested?”
Talk about luck. And timing. “I’m still interested. ”
The professor launches into a series of details. He does something called cosmogenic nuclide dating of rocks exposed on the earth’s surface. There’s a long process to extract the isotopes, and then the results get processed by a mass spectrometer. I have to scrunch my eyes shut to concentrate. I’ve only taken one geology class, back my freshman year of college, but this is more like statistics.
“One last thing, and I hope it’s not a deal breaker,” he says. “Because of how the grant is structured, I would need to pay you in cash. Will that work?”
“That works great,” I say.
“Let’s do a small data set first. If we find it’s a good fit, we can entertain the idea of you taking on more.” His tone carries even more warmth now. “I just need your email address and then I can send you the files.”
I recite my Gmail address.
“Got it. Thank you so much,” he says, gratitude clear in his tone. “Look for an email tomorrow sometime.”
“Thank you,” I say.
The living room is empty when I return so I follow the voices to the dining room where everyone is just sitting down at the table.
“Mom!” Mateo says, lifting the bird-shaped porcelain saltshaker from the middle of the table as he settles into his chair. “It’s a grouse!”
“Is it?” I look to June for confirmation. How would Matty know what a grouse looks like?
“That’s right,” June says with a smile, taking a seat at the end of the oval table. Across from me, Sepp, Logan and a young woman with light blonde hair and June’s warm hazel eyes are settling into their seats. Behind them, through the two giant windows, the soft green foothills rise to the sharp spires and jagged ridges of the Bitterroots.
“Hi, I’m Edie,” the young woman says, reaching across the table.
“Great to meet you.” I give her hand a soft squeeze, and she smiles. I slip into the empty chair between Mateo and Everett .
From the head of the table, Nelson raises an eyebrow as he tucks his napkin onto his lap. “Anyone feeling particularly thankful?”
“I’ll say grace,” Sepp says. It’s clear this is a ritual they’ve practiced a thousand times because they all immediately clasp hands.
I lean close to Mateo. “Take my hand, Matty,” I say softly as I hold it for him to grab.
“Why?” he whispers, setting the grouse saltshaker next to his plate.
“Because it’s nice,” I say with a smile.
Mateo takes my hand and lets June take his other one, his curious eyes fixed on her. Everett offers me his palm. When I slide my hand into his, the contact sends a pulse of energy through my core and goosebumps down the backs of my arms. I try to focus on Sepp’s words but they just swim around in my mind. Everett’s hand might as well be a giant paw compared to mine. I remember watching him work those chains into place so easily that night of the blizzard, like he could do it in his sleep. And then again at the wedding, when he acted so quickly to keep me from falling.
Capable hands. Dependable.
Being touched like this, from Everett of all people, should feel overwhelming and not in a good way. But it’s the opposite. I’m feeling all kinds of things I shouldn’t.
“…also thankful for the company,” Sepp finishes. “And for dessert.”
Mateo whips his head around to watch him like he’s not sure what the heck is going on, then his face breaks out into a massive grin. “I like dessert too.”
Everett gives my hand a soft squeeze before letting go. A little flutter works up my chest, but I turn my attention to helping Matty fill his plate as bowls and platters are passed around. There’s barbecued lemon-thyme chicken, buttermilk rolls, salad, carrot sticks for Matty, and oven-roasted garlicky green beans.
It’s been so long since I sat down to a meal with this many people that keeping track of conversations and monitoring Mateo’s progress while making sure to taste and appreciate the good food overloads my capacity but in the best way. Add to that, part of my awareness seems to be locked on Everett. Though our thighs aren’t touching, heat is growing in the space between us, and the faint peppery scent mixed with sage coming off of him is as intoxicating as the food being passed around. Every time he laughs or jokes around with his family, it catches me off guard. Not in a bad way, it’s just… I’ve seen him in a very different light today.
I force myself to focus on the yummy food. When was the last time someone cooked for me? Growing up, my mom worked late most nights, so I usually cooked for me and McKenna. During nursing school, I had roommates, but we were all too busy to orchestrate shared dinners. When Kent and I were together, at first, we cooked together. Over time, he spent less and less time at home in the evenings, so I cooked alone.
“I’m done,” Mateo says, glancing up at me. As I expected, he didn’t eat much.
“Why don’t we take Mateo to the barn?” Sepp asks, popping the last bite of his roll into his mouth. He eyes Logan, who looks to Everett for permission.
“Clear your dishes first,” Everett says.
“Puppies,” Mateo says in a rush, already pushing his chair back. “Can I, Mom?”
“You don’t mind?” I ask Sepp.
He grins. “Nope.”
“Thank you,” I say as Logan and Sepp gather their plates and glasses, then wait for Mateo to gather his. The three of them disappear into the kitchen.
“Thank you so much for dinner,” I say in the lull. “Please let me help clean up.”
Nelson shakes his index finger at me, a playful expression on his face. “Don’t be tryin’ to steal the only reason she keeps me around. Everett, why don’t you show Vivian up to the cabin?”
“Take the quilts, they’re by the door,” June adds .
Everett stands and gathers his dishes, so I follow and bring mine into the kitchen. “You sure we can’t help?”
He grunts. “It’s best not to cross them.”
On our way out the door, Everett hoists two fluffy quilts that June must have set on the bench in the entryway earlier, leaving me with two pillows. Outside, the crisp evening air tastes of sage and sun-warmed earth. Libby and Chip come trotting around the house, tails wagging.
I descend the steps next to Everett.
“We could drive up there, but there’s no easy way to turn around, so it’s better to walk.”
“Walking sounds good,” I say.
We continue across the big turnaround, in front of the house and apartment to the gravel shifting under our shoes, to where a narrow dirt road hugs the hillside out of sight. The dogs trot ahead, like they know our destination.
Along the right side of the road, a little creek trickles over the rocks, nearly invisible beneath the tall, lush grass growing on both sides of the banks.
“You and Linden built the cabin?” I ask.
“We had a lot of help. Mom and Dad, and we have a family friend in the construction business.”
We round the long bend to where the road dead ends in front of a narrow cabin with mismatched wood siding and a pitched roof. It’s cute enough to have been conjured from a storybook.
“Wow.” A soft breeze sweeps down from the hills, rustling the aspens growing tall along the left side, their golden leaves shimmering in the low light. The right side of the cabin has a tiny deck that I’m pretty sure is positioned to catch the first rays of the sunrise.
How is this my life right now?
“Is the wood different on purpose?”
“It’s all salvaged. Even the windows. Those were from an old barn. We used repurposed snow fencing for the roof.”
Everett climbs the single step and pulls open the screen door, making the hinges squeak. I hold it for him while he fits a key attached to a leather loop into the door’s knob. Being this close to him while we’re still catching our breath is sending pinpricks of heat across my chest. I’m hyperaware of where the fabric of my clothes touches my skin, and where it doesn’t. Of the breeze against my back, and the quiver in my thighs.
The door swings open and I follow him inside, thankfully allowing me to put some distance between us.
It smells of dry wood and faintly of the prairie and the mineral richness from the creek. Taking up the left corner is a tiny kitchen with a propane camp stove, sink, narrow counter, and two stools. A red fire extinguisher affixed to the side of the counter looks out of place until I remember that Linden is a firefighter. In the center of the cabin is a wood-burning stove and a pile of split logs stacked to the window, which overlooks a view dotted with sage and clusters of spindly aspens. Facing the woodstove is an overstuffed armchair and a tiny side table. On the right of the cabin, tucked beneath the alcove created by a loft is a big bed and a window that must overlook the little patio I saw.
“It’s so cute. I’m surprised you guys don’t rent it out.”
He carries the quilts to the chair. On the bed are two stacks of sheets. “It’s in use often enough. Logan and I sometimes sleep out here, and not too long ago, it was Cam and Wilder’s place.”
Gratitude peaks inside my chest, sharp and full. “Thank you again. This is all so incredibly kind.”
“I like knowing you’ll be here.” He moves to the bed and grabs the stack of sheets.
I rush over to help. “Why?”
Our hands brush as I try to grab the sheet from him, sending a jolt of electricity racing over my skin. I glance up, my heart kicking into my ribs. The sensations of danger and desire clash together in my brain, making it hard to think.
“Because I’m not sure it’s safe for you at the trailer. ”
I freeze. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you were hiding something there.” He shoots me a pointed look. “It’s time to tell me what it is.”