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“I can't keep calling you Hickman. We’ll be a married couple. What's your first name?”
Oh, God…
“Hickman's fine.”
Fists plant onto hips. “You must have a first name.”
My brain blanks over, then I burst out laughing. My face heats as I scrape a hand through my hair. “Katya, you really don’t want to know.”
Her smile broadens. “I do. And you’d better tell me. Because I’ll see it anyway on the marriage certificate. So, if I’m in for any surprises, it’d better be now.”
I inhale. Let it out again. “Elvis.”
For a moment, her jaw falls slack, then she pastes on a face straight enough to square against a plumbline. “Your mom was a fan?”
“My father actually.” I look down. Then up. Suddenly the cracks in the ceiling plaster are of absorbing interest.
She pats me on the arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Turning away, she’s sucking away a smile, humming to herself. It takes me a moment to figure what she’s humming: A Boy Named Sue.
“I take thee, Katya Masterson, to be my lawfully wedded wife…” Words I never dreamed of hearing flow from my own lips.
Twenty minutes later, on the steps of the town hall, a marriage certificate carefully folded into my wallet, I link fingers with my new wife.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She sits beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. "Have you thought about where we should go?”
“Somewhere the country has civilised values, the government isn't corrupt or owned by the crime-lords, and where it’s a big enough place to vanish.”
“So, we could end up anywhere.”
“Not quite anywhere. There's the question of visas and suchlike. But we have plenty of choices.”
A classic small town. No one’s heard of it. Perhaps they spotted it on the tourist map as they drove past.
Pushing the door open, my breath steams. Katya’s too, blowing blue as she tugs the jacket tight around her expanding middle.
“I know it's not what you're used to,” I say, “but I wanted to put safety and security first.”
“It's fine,” she smiles. “We’ll make a home of it.”
It’s bare inside. Stark. But bare boards can be polished. Walls can be plastered.
I rub my hands together. “Let's get some heat going, shall we. Get the place warmed over.”
“I saw a small woodpile out in that lean-to at the back.”
“Good start. I'll get the stove going. Is there any coffee left in the flask?”
Twenty minutes later and it’s looking a lot more homely. The stove glows gold over the room. Katya’s found the main power switch, so the dangling bulb casts what passes for it’s light. And, after some fumbling with a rat’s nest of pipes, I got the water turned on.
We sit on a packing box apiece. Uneasy, I sip at my coffee. “You'll be okay, living like this? We’re going to be roughing it for a while.”
Her eyes are soft. “I'm looking forward to it. Although…” She casts outside to the swirling fog… “… I need to get some more clothes for the climate.”
“’Fraid that’s standard for Canada this time of the year. I'll go into town later. Get in some basics and find out where I can order in a load of logs. We’ll need plenty for the winters they have here.”
She nods, absently. “It's a lot of land.”
