17. Aftershock
Aftershock
Bo
The guest house is quiet at two in the morning.
It’s been hours, and I haven’t slept one wink.
I haven’t even come close.
Rowdy is stretched across the foot of the bed, one paw hanging off the edge, and lightly breathing. He keeps lifting his head to check on me. He knows something’s up.
I stare at the ceiling and try not to think about her.
But I think about her anyway.
The way she closed her eyes. The fact that she didn't pull back. The way she placed her hands on my chest and told me, "Don't you dare apologize." She already knew the words before I even said them. And she didn't want to hear them.
She was right to stop me.
I kissed her. I started it, and I knew exactly what I was doing. Or at least I thought I did, right up until Rowdy nudged me forward, and about four years of waiting took over. Every careful bit of distance I'd been keeping disappeared in about two seconds.
I pulled back from something real, then realized I wanted it like I wanted my own breath. I'd have to deal with Tyler when the day came, but right now, Falon was more important.
Rowdy shifts and puts his chin on my knee. I reach down in the dark and pat his head.
"I know," I tell him.
He exhales, long and slow. Like, even he's tired of the push-and-pull I've been doing.
By four in the morning, I give up on sleep entirely.
I pull on jeans and a shirt, fill a glass of water, and sit on the front step of the guest house while the sky turns from black to that deep, washed-out gray as morning approaches.
Rowdy sits beside me, shoulder pressed to my knee, and we watch the dark together.
The adrenaline from last night has been fading for hours. What's left underneath isn't clean or simple. It's a frustrating, PTSD kind of tired. It makes my palms itch. A quick run to tire out the mental demons should do it, right?
By the time the sky really starts to lighten, I’d run for an hour or so, and it has really taken it out of me, and Rowdy. Even after all that, the ache from last night is still lingering. So much for working her out of my system.
Monday meeting is already rolling when I walk into Ethel's just before seven.
Jake has everyone's attention with a story about a deer. Not just any deer. It’s a buck with, as Jake puts it, "a death wish."
"So this buck walked into my open garage on Saturday morning," Jake says, eyes wide. "I don't know why he's in there, but by the time I found him, he'd knocked over a whole shelf of motor oil and then stood in the middle of the mess, too scared to move.” He looks at us incredulously.
"So, I go out there," he continues, leaning forward, "and this animal looks at me. Doesn't even run. Just looks at me, like I'm the one who walked into his garage."
Hector is already pounding the table. Mitch has his face in his hands.
"I'm standing there in my socks," Jake says, "holding a broom, and I genuinely did not know who was going to back down first."
"Who did?" Hector asks.
Jake picks up his coffee. "I'm not going to answer that."
The table erupts. We all know it was him.
I slide into the chair beside Sam. Rowdy moves under the table next to Molly. Lila appears with coffee and a Danish.
Sam glances at me once and nods.
Across the table, Jake is now demonstrating the broom stance. Hector is filming. Mitch has given up entirely.
Ethel has the patience of a saint to let them do that in here.
"You sleep?" Sam asks, quiet enough that it's just between us.
"Some."
He nods. Sets his coffee down. "Better than last week."
"A little."
After a while, I say, "Tyler flew out this morning."
Sam nods slowly. "Already on another flight?"
I turn the mug in my hands. "He doesn't know yet. About any of it."
"No."
"He's going to find out."
"He will," Sam agrees. No softening, no false comfort.
I look at the table. "I don't know how that's going to go."
"No one does," Sam says again. "And you won’t, until it’s done." He picks up his coffee. "But she's at home right now, and you are here."
Jake slips during the broom demonstration and nearly takes Hector down with him. The table dissolves. Sam stands, drops a hand briefly on my shoulder, and goes to restore order.
I finish my coffee.
That's enough for today.
I think about what Sam said.
She's at home right now, and you are here.
He's right. As usual.
I drive back through town, thinking of Sam, Falon, and Tyler.
Never a good combo. Falon had asked me to run a few errands and pick up a few things for Melodie and Rick.
She’d been dealing with Milly and a very stubborn Muddy.
He was worse than any donkey I’d ever come across when it came to his shots.
It’s like he had a sixth sense or something.
Any other time, he was as docile as a house cat.
As I pass the feed store, Jerry flags me down.
“Hey, I was hoping one of you boys would come into town today,” he says, a little out of breath. It was Monday. He knew we were all here in some form or fashion.
“Last week,” he starts, “old man Stan, out at the ridge.” I nodded, knowing Stan. He is a grouchy old man who lives alone with his 10 goats. He is as tough as nails and as bitter as black coffee. I’d known him before I left. “Had ordered twelve bales of hay.” I nod, knowing where this is going.
“I was wondering if there was a chance I could get you to drive the load out his way. You’d be doing me a favor, and I can’t get Joe to go out there.
He refuses and won’t tell me why.” Jerry looks confused, and I let it go.
I know exactly why he wouldn’t go out there.
If memory serves me right, Stan often answers the door with a gun.
He hates visitors, but I wasn’t going to tell Jerry that. That was up to Joe.
“Yeah. I have to stop by the post office and the stationery store, but after that I’ll be glad to.”
“Great. I’ll make sure to credit you the fifty-dollar delivery fee for taking it all the way out there.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that big a deal.
” I nod, then head into the Inn. It’s not too far from the stationery store, and I know Janet sells the cinnamon candles Melodie likes.
Since she mentioned them a few weeks back, I thought I’d get her one and a country apple pie candle for Falon while I’m at it.
She loved those candles, and I could have sworn that she was ready to have a funeral for the old one when it finally burned down to its last.
Next, I hit the last two errands on my list, then head back to Carls for the delivery.
Eleven bales later, I huff one last time and load the last of the twelve bales into the truck bed outside the feed store.
Rowdy is panting in the back of the truck and drooling as if he’s never had water before.
It was so hot. The temperature sat around a hundred degrees today, and I was quietly looking forward to February.
I take my gloves off and wipe the sweat off my forehead when I see Kevin, and I have to remind myself that I told Mason I’d leave it for now.
He is coming out of the post office, envelope in hand.
I didn’t much like him when we were kids, and the feeling hasn’t changed, especially since he tried to kiss Falon.
He spots me about the same time I spot him, and he stops.
We make eye contact, and he swallows hard, turns around, and walks the other way.
Kevin was all big and bad when he was with his friends, but get him one-on-one, and he crumbled, always had.
I know mail is on my list, but mail can wait until tomorrow. He’s not worth it. Not now. I finish tying down the load and head for the ridge.
Stan Ottman's property sits at the furthest edge of Everwood, past the ridge turnout, at the end of a road. Since the road is on private land, Stan maintains it himself, and by the state of it, he needs a little help. His gate is open when I pull up, which I take as a good sign.
But experience tells me it isn't.
"Finally." Stan appears from around the side of the barn before I've even shut off the engine. He's got a weathered face, work boots that have seen better decades, and an old hound at his feet. He’s lived longer than he should have, or at least that’s what he keeps telling people.
"I thought my goats were going to die before you got here. "
I got out of the truck, telling Rowdy to stay, and he did, begrudgingly. "Sorry about that. Jerry only asked me to deliver this today. Joe had other deliveries."
Stan squints at me like that's the worst excuse he's ever heard. "Should've known."
I start unloading bales. "Is there anything else you need while I'm out here?"
He looks at me with a scowl on his face. "Who are you?"
"Bo. Bo Gates. Emily and Kirk's son."
He blinks, and I can see the wheels turning. "You're the one staying with Pearl?"
"Was. I'm out at Falon Williams' place now. She bought the old Anderson ranch about a year ago."
I set down the last bale and realize I'm smiling. It happens every time I think of her. Just thinking about the house, everything we'd done to it, the way it doesn't even feel like the Anderson place anymore. It feels like hers. Mine too, a little.
Stan must see it on my face.
“Rick and Melodie’s girl?” he asks, eyeing me carefully.
“Yep, she’d done a great job with it.”
“Of course she has. That little girl has a heart of gold and a talent, too. Shame no one sees it,” he says, then shoos me away with a wave of his hand. Then, he heads for the barn.
"Love's wasted on the young," he grumbles, and disappears inside.
I stand there in the afternoon sun with an empty truck bed and a grin I can't quite shake.
Old man Stan has a soft spot for Falon. Hu, I didn’t realize she’d known him. How did she get on his good side? I didn’t even know he had one.
By the time I pull back down Falon's drive, it's closer to six-thirty rather than four as I’d planned.
Falon is coming in from the chicken coop, and Hank is wearing a brand-new set of shoes thanks to Milly.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, wiping dust off her jeans.
“Starving, I had to run out to Stan’s this afternoon. I swear he gets meaner with old age.”
“Stan isn’t mean. He’s sweet and makes the best oatmeal cookies,” she says, walking past me, Rowdy trotting beside her as she asked him if he wanted any bones. How did she get a man like Stan to make her cookies?
When I walk into the kitchen, I smile. “Lasagna,” I sigh.
“Stan called and said you forgot your tip.” How did she do that? That man is mean as hornets. I laugh.
“Are we eating in the kitchen, or in front of the TV?” Falon asks. I think about it for a second, then lean down and kiss her on the cheek. She smiles and does a little jig.
“Since I hauled hay, how about I shower, then we can do a movie night. I have got to see if that no-nose man dies.” Falon laughs.
“Race ya,” she says, darting upstairs.
“No fair, you live here,” I call after her, already on my way to the guest house.
By the time I finish and pull on a pair of shorts and a tee, I hear the television from the living room. Low volume. Something with an orchestra.
Falon’s on the couch, legs tucked under her, a throw blanket pulled up to her chin. Rowdy wedged between her feet and the armrest. He raises his head up when I come in, tail wagging.
"Hey," she says, shimmying over to make room, our plates already on the TV trays and the movie paused just as the WB symbol comes on screen. "You're late."
“I am not late; you cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat. You were slow.” She wrinkles her nose.
She lifts the edge of the blanket in invitation.
I sit next to her, and we eat the lasagna. We are about halfway through the movie when Harry calls for his broom and?—.
Falon pauses the movie.
“What are you doing?” I reach for the remote, and she pulls it out of the way. “You can’t pause a movie when they are fighting for the egg,” she laughs and dances out of my reach.
“I’m putting the dishes away; they are in the way,” she says, tucking the remote in her pajama pants, and gathers the dirty dishes.
“I can’t believe you did that. The barracks would have your hide if you ever did that on base.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not on base.”
“You sly little snot,” I tease, and she sashays her way into the kitchen.
“That’s not fair,” I call out, putting the TV trays away.
“Yes, it is,” she says, coming back in and cuddling up next to me. “I can’t concentrate with those there.” She leans her head against my shoulder, Rowdy lying at our feet.
"Which one are we on again?" I ask.
"Four. The tournament one." She yawns. "The no-nose man comes in at the end."
"Does he die?"
"Watch and find out."
"Falon."
"Bo," she sasses back.
I settle in.
Somewhere around the part when Harry and the crazy eye guy are talking, her breathing evens out, and her hand resting on my arm goes still. I look down. She's asleep, her hair fanned across my shoulder, mouth slightly open, completely unbothered by whatever's happening on screen.
Rowdy lifts his head, checks her, checks me, and puts his head back down.
I watched the rest of the movie.
The no-nose man does not die. I have thoughts about this.
But Falon is warm against my shoulder, and Rowdy is a solid weight across my feet, and the farmhouse is quiet around us. It’s late, and I don’t want to move.
I reach up and turn off the lamp.
Outside, Frank is mercifully silent.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I don't want to be anywhere else in the world.