Chapter 6 #2
It looked like every RV I’d ever seen, down to faded tan upholstery, peeling vinyl wallpaper, and stale air.
Not so dissimilar from Jason’s and my first home.
Only home. I focused on the differences: three stairs to a bathroom and a bedroom slide-out on our right.
More privacy. A wide living area with a movable couch and a flat screen TV.
Space to stretch out. A dinette set tucked in the slide-out on my left, and past that, the concise kitchen.
With a full-sized refrigerator. Still, a pesky knowing clung to the cubbies and cabinets tucked in every corner, the way the unit popped and shifted when we moved inside.
“It’s fine.” My reservations had nothing to do with the state of the trailer.
“It’s hot,” Nina whined.
Eli checked the control panel opposite the door. “I just turned on the air. It should cool down. Water’s hooked up, so you can use the sink.”
I nodded with eyes fixed on the tiny kitchen. I used to thrive cooking on two coiled burners and a half-sized oven.
Eli crossed in front of me and frowned. “You say it’s fine, but your forehead’s all wrinkled.” His finger drew squiggly lines in front of my face as he said this.
I covered the top of my head with my hand. “It’s not!”
He chuckled. This close, I noticed a slightly crooked canine in his otherwise even smile.
He peeled my hand away, tracing his index finger horizontally across my forehead. “Right there.”
For a fleeting moment, I forgot what we were talking about. “I was–I was thinking of my old trailer.”
Nina jerked back, almost head-butting Eli in the chin.
“Sorry.” I set her down, and she immediately started exploring.
Eli shoved his hands in his pockets. “I threw a clean blanket on the bed. There’s sheets up at the house if–”
“This is fine.” Clean sheets wouldn’t fix my problems. “Thank you, Eli. For the ride and the trailer.” I had to remind myself I wasn’t a stray. I was a wife. And a mom. And I had an entire life I was working to build.
“No problem.” He smiled at his feet. “Guess I’d better get out of your hair.” Those feet took him to the deck out front. “Good night, Ava.”
“Good night, Eli.”
The door clapped shut behind him.
Silence. Stillness.
I kicked my shoes off with a sigh, but my relief was short-lived. There were no files to go through before morning, or schedules to verify with Steven. Without the distraction, dark thoughts crept around the edges of my brain like a vignette.
“Mama!” Nina called from the bedroom. “I hear horsies!”
Enter Nina’s second wind.
“The horses are sleeping right now,” I said. Except for Chuck.
“But I hear them!”
“And speaking of sleep–”
The door to the trailer creaked open. Fight mode coiled my muscles as I spun to face a familiar gray tee and hat combo. “Eli! You scared me!”
“Sorry.” Without my shoes, he stood half a head taller than me. “Sorry. I should’ve knocked.” He held up a can of beer. “I thought you could use one. Or two.” His other hand revealed another.
When I didn’t respond, he set them on the dinette table. Instead of leaving, he scratched behind his ear. “You should come up to the house for breakfast tomorrow.”
Thoughts zeroed immediately to his dad. “Thank you for the offer, but–”
“It’s not good to start the day on an empty stomach. Oh.” He frowned. “But Marley’s cooking.”
“Who?”
“Thing is, I wanted to look at your truck before you go.”
My eyes involuntarily dropped to his hands. “I appreciate your help. I really do. That’s why I can’t ask for more.”
“Up to you.” He shrugged and meandered back to the deck. “Good night. For real.”
“Good night, Eli.”
I stood, staring at the closed door for a good minute, expecting him to storm back in. But his truck rumbled, and through the window, his taillights bounced down the road until they were nothing but fading red dots.
That’s when loneliness flooded in. Like a car careened off a bridge. Or a monsoon.
“Mama! Mama, look!”
The distinct, repetitive creak of a mattress crept down from the bedroom. “Nina, I hope you’re not jumping on the bed!”
“It’s fun!”
I didn’t even have time to remind her of the five little monkeys before the thud. Wails followed.
I grabbed a warm beer on my way to the bedroom.
“Mama! No pants!”
I’d just closed my eyes, and here we were, awake again. “No pants,” I murmured, curling my bare legs into my chest.
Nina flopped across me, all elbows and chins.
“Oof! Ouch, baby!” I guess we were doing this.
I squeezed Nina in a morning hug. She squealed–a defibrillator setting my heart back to its normal rhythm.
I held tighter, digging my nose into her hair as sunshine reached through the windows, bounced off the mirrored closet doors, and bathed the little bedroom in an optimistic glow.
But it didn’t reach me. Because one by one, my promises and my failures filtered to awareness.
What I had to do, what I could lose, but most of all, the familiar undertones that surrounded me.
I pushed myself up on the tan velour blanket that covered a naked mattress, and Nina went rolling.
She giggled as she climbed back on top of me. “Again!”
My insides felt dry and brittle as a beached sea sponge. “No more, Crackerjack. We have to go to Steven’s house.”
As I stood, something caught my eye, and my fragile heart shuddered. I could’ve focused on the dark wood finishes and rubbed bronze hardware in the unit. Or Nina star-fishing across the bed.
Look away.
My throat clamped, but my heart yearned to see him. Behind Nina, Jason sat propped against the upholstered headboard, reading a worn paperback.
It wasn’t real.