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“She likes peace. He puts his pole in the water, and she reads a book. It’s their thing.” He drags in a heavy breath. “You okay up here, quiet house and all? You haven’t been to town since you got sick. We’re worried about you.”
I’ve had the flu or some shit for over a month. Attempts have been made to put me on meds, but I’ve gotten better with good old-fashioned vitamins and fresh air… as predicted. “I’m good. People in town don’t want me there, anyway. Finish this hunt up tonight and we can get back to Alaska by the end of the week,” he groans. “Or at least I will. You fools sound like you’re staying here.”
“Ya know, not that I’d wish you on my worst enemy, but… wouldn’t it be nice to have someone around? A lady maybe? You gotta be lonely.”
I laugh and scrub my hand over my beard. “I’m not lonely. I’m tired and ready to go home. Not lonely.”
Rowan leans against the back counter, blocking most of the sunlight from the kitchen window. “You’re full of shit. You used to talk about this woman all the time. You remember her? I can’t think of her name, but I remember she left you banana bread or something. You’d make the recipe every once in a while and tell us stories about the conversations you’d have with her at the trading post. You very clearly have the capacity to be into someone. Why didn’t you ever look her up?”
I stare at my son and gather my thoughts carefully. Their mother left when they were young, too young to remember. For years, my focus was on them. To some extent, it probably still is. That’s what happens when four kids are left with a twenty-four-year-old father. We grew up together, we learned together, and we struggled together. I’m not sure if that makes me a good father or a relatable one.
“Not much time for dating with you boys around.”
“Bullshit,” Rowan laughs. “You had plenty of time. Lots of women up at post were looking to settle down and call you home. You pushed everyone away.”
“No one at post was lookin’ at me.” I chug down the last few sips of orange juice from the container. “You stop by cause you needed something?”
“Yeah, I was sent to talk some sense into ya, and see what the hell was going on in that head of yours. The guys and I want to see you happy.”
“What makes you think I’m not happy alone? I’ve got a case of beer in the fridge, a big hunt on the horizon, and nothing to hold me down. What else do I need?”
Rowan sighs. “You’d be surprised what the love of a good woman can do for ya. Just think about it.”
I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. Eighteen, to be exact. God, it’s sick when I do the math. The length of time I’ve been hung up on one woman. One woman who’s probably married with half a dozen kids by now. I’m sure she hasn’t thought another second about me since the day she walked away.
She shouldn’t.
She’s not meant to.
I’m old enough to be her father.
If she’d wanted to write, she would’ve.
One envelope, one stamp, one single sheet of paper. If her life had taken a turn, she’d have come across these things in the span of eighteen years.
Rowan picks up on my silence and turns toward the door. “I’ll be back tonight with the guys, and I mean it. Think about what I said.”
“It’s our last chance to get this bear. Henry and Maddox are talking about calling in experts from Canada. Apparently, they think someone might be more equipped than us.”
“I heard.” Rowan shakes his head. “They aren’t. We’ll take the bear down tonight. No doubt about it. We know his path now. We can cut him off on the west end of the property as he passes through. Easy.”
If it were so easy, why haven’t we done it yet? I keep those words tucked inside.
See, I’m learning.
“Well, he was causing shit on Main Street again last night. He was in the bakery again, messing with that temporary door they put up. People are losin’ patience.”
Rowan shakes his head. “If they want us off their property, it’s going to take longer to hunt. That’s how it goes.” He opens the door. “I’ll be back tonight. We’ll bring dinner.”
I grab a beer out of the fridge, pop the cap, and settle onto the couch with a heavy sigh.
I’ve never been one to hold on to feelings. Instead, I pluck them like thorns from my side and move on without much more thought to any of them. People have called me cold, but I don’t see the point in holding onto something so abstract as emotions. They come, go, change, grow, and die. What’s it all for?
Aspen is the exception to that rule, and not by choice.
My brain, or my heart, or whatever, won’t let her go. She’s there on my mind, like a lesion that can’t be removed. And believe me, I’ve tried.
I compiled a list of all the reasons we’d never work. I tried looking for other women. I tried looking her up before. I even tried settling on jerking off to the one photo I have of her. That last one went on for a long while. Hell, it happened again last week. I guess I thought it was exposure therapy or something. Granted, I know nothing about exposure therapy, other than the term. Maybe there’s more to it than masturbating.
