AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Turner stops and leans on the handle of the ax, chest heaving as he takes deep breaths. I look away, out yonder, but as a suspicious length of silence grows curiosity gets the best of me and I’m forced to look at him again.
A slow sinister smile transforms the brute force of his face into something not at all unappealing. And this is where things take a turn for the worse because a creeping sensation of dread fills my chest. God help me, I can’t be attracted to him.
“Difference is…you can’t touch those animals.”
He’s got me so on edge I start to walk away. Then, realizing I came out here for a reason, I make a quick U-turn. Aaand come up short when I find him standing right behind me, holding two pieces of wood.
My gaze moves up his chest, covered in a light dusting of dark hair, nipples pointing from the bite in the air. It slowly move over his Adam’s apple and his tense jaw. By the time I reach his face, his expression is back to being as serious and intense as always.
Watching me intently, he places the wood in the leather carrier.
“Thank you,” I force myself to mutter, because it always pays to be kind.
The quiet chuckle I hear come out of him as I walk back inside sets my teeth on edge though.
After lighting the fireplace in Dad’s office, I get busy looking through the bookings for this calendar year. If you like winter sports, this is the place to be. Skiing, skating, ice hockey, hiking––we’ve got it all. And if sports aren’t for you, there’s always sightseeing and shopping. I can’t recall a single winter that we haven’t been packed, attracting guests from Boston, New York, even as far as Japan, and this year is no different. We’re sold out until the end of March.
Carrying two coffee cups, Dad walks in having returned from his trip to the hardware store. “Everything look good?” he asks, placing one on the desk.
He knows the answer to that; Maggie always ran a tight ship.
“We’re completely sold out for the winter.” I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. The Austen should’ve been rented out.
Nodding, he sits in his favorite wing chair by the fireplace. It brings back memories––most of them not very pleasant.
I can still see his face when he sat me and Jackie down to tell us Zelda was not coming back. I can still remember my disbelief. How I accused him of being a liar. That it was his fault she’d left. How I defended her. Shame makes me hot under the collar.
“We are.”
“I don’t want you to lose the income from the Austen. I can move in here.”
Between the cat and Nan smoking I can’t say I’m thrilled, but the alternative seems wasteful. There are three empty bedrooms upstairs.
Taking a sip, Dad watches me over the rim of his cup. “We’re not losing anything. Jake rents it because he doesn’t want anyone next door. He said you could have it.”
My insides melt. This is terrible news. The absolute worst news possible. “He did…” I say completely forlorn. “Why is he living here, anyway? I mean, other than that farmhouse needs to be condemned.”
“Don’t know…” Dad shrugs. “He had plans to demo the farmhouse and build last fall and never got around to it.”
It tells you the state of things between us that a random act of kindness from him evokes dread. I’m going to have to do some serious groveling. Lovely.
Chapter 8
I saw a documentary once on Nat Geo Wild about salmons. It explained how they hatch in fresh water rivers, but spend most of their lives out to sea. Once they reach maturity, around three or four years of age, they return to the very same river guided by the magnetic field of the earth, swim all the way back upstream, reproduce, and die.
Sad as all get out. That’s not my point, however.
What struck me as interesting is how pretty the salmon were when swimming downstream and living in the vastness of the great Pacific Ocean.
Their bodies evenly formed. Sleek, silver torpedos.
And in comparison, how ugly and deformed they became once they had battled innumerable elements––bears hunting for their favorite food, waterfalls, downed trees, beaver dams, shallow rivers beds––to meet their fate and keep the species alive. Their bravery and incredible feats of strength made them victors in the mating game. Their scars and misshapen heads meant that they had succeeded, and in turn, rewarded.
If only that were true of us humans.
Like a salmon swimming upstream, hardship has changed the shape of me. My insides and my outsides. At least, I claim it has.
For years, I’ve taken pride in the fact that I didn’t let my past dictate my future. That I didn’t stay mired in self-doubt and didn’t make excuses for my lack of confidence. Instead, I worked hard to change it. Because I am not my history. My history is only a small part of me.
