38. What Do You Believe?

I want to kiss her longer when she turns her lips away and gazes up at me in the field we’re hiding in.

“What?”

“You’ve got to stop this, Chris.”

I look at Jocelyn as the world around seems to drift slowly away like smoke into the air.

“Stop what?”

“These dreams. These thoughts. They’ll confuse you.”

“What do you mean, ‘confuse’ me? I know exactly what I want, and it’s something I should’ve given into when I had the chance.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I want to say that.”

“You’re dreaming. This isn’t real.”

I touch the edge of her cheek, and she feels real. This feels real.

“It doesn’t matter what it feels like,” Jocelyn says. “I don’t want you getting this confused with other things.”

“What things?”

“You have to let me go.”

“So how do I do that?”

“You’ll find out,” she says.

As I move to kiss her again, she’s gone.

On my first day of work at the Crag’s Inn, Mom gets lost again and ends up making us half an hour late. It’s not like this is some maze of streets in Chicago; there are only a handful of back roads weaving their way through these hills. But it looks totally different this time, as if new roads have sprouted like weeds in the backyard. Mom knocks on the door and sees Iris and apologizes for my tardiness.

“I certainly hope this is not a sign of what’s to come,” the proper-sounding voice says.

“No, not at all.”

“Good. Then I will lead Chris to his first project of the day.”

I scarcely say good-bye to Mom before I’m in the woods at the side of the cabin, cutting and hauling chunks of wood. There’s a large tree that looks like it recently fell or was cut down. It’s been chainsawed, and my job is taking those sawed bits and cutting them down into usable logs for the fire. An hour into the job I can already feel blisters under the gloves I’m wearing. I’m sweating even though the morning air is still quite cold. The dense woods cover up the sun that’s slowly beginning to brighten up the area like lights on a Christmas tree.

Sometime, I’m not sure when, Iris comes outside carrying a plastic cup of water.

“I thought you might need a drink.”

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t ask how it’s going, doesn’t scan my work. She leaves the cup with me and goes back inside. I look at the side view of the inn and notice that the only part that’s not enclosed with trees and woods is the front. I can tell from the slanting ground that the inn is at the very edge of what appears to be a steep cliff.

I’m curious about the place, but not willing to snoop around too much. I have a job to do, and two hundred bucks sounds pretty good to me.

“Did you bring a lunch with you?”

“No.”

I was hoping you’d have an all-you-can-eat buffet in the middle of your hotel.

“Okay, then. Finish what you’re doing and come on inside. I’ll show you where to clean up and where the dining area is.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t hear her mention any food, but I doubt she’s going to make me sit in the dining area with nothing to eat.

Maybe there will be guests? Special guests?

I finish cutting the wood and haul the remaining pieces over to the side of the cabin that now is almost entirely lined with a four-foot wall of freshly cut logs. I’m proud of my work and also know that come tomorrow I’m going to be aching all over.

I wonder if Iris saw my efforts, but I don’t say anything about it as I walk inside and she shows me where the bathroom is. I walk down a hallway lined with old black-and-white pictures of people. Strange-looking people.

I stop for a minute to look at one of the pictures. It’s of a man and woman standing next to a railroad car. It looks like it could have been taken close to the downtown area of Solitary.

The strange thing about this picture is the expression on the couple’s face, if they’re a couple. They’re smiling. No, they’re laughing.

Most of the pictures I’ve seen of people back in the old days, when pictures were still a new thing, showed people who looked serious and miserable. That’s what’s so strange about this shot. The people don’t look serious and creepy and miserable.

But maybe that’s the point. They’re delirious and delusional. Like they’ve been sniffing something funny and drinking moonshine and getting ready to howl at the moon.

“Hurry up, please,” a voice calls from behind me.

The bathroom is sparse, but something else surprises me.

On the back of the toilet is a small plate standing on a little holder. On that plate is a Bible verse: Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them. II Kings 6:16

I glance around to see if there are any more quotes or crosses or angel wings, but I don’t find any. The Bible verse doesn’t surprise me. Nothing surprises me around here. But it makes me curious to see if Iris is one of those kinds of people.

I go back into the main room where we sat with her that first day. She waves me on like a ten-year-old to a large open room with lots of windows filling it with a blanket of sunshine. There are half a dozen tables arranged in it.

“This is our dining room,” she says.

I glance out the window. It looks like we’re hanging over the side of the mountain.

“What do you like to eat?” Iris asks.

“I’m not picky.”

“I have a lot to choose from, so let me know.”

“Anything, really.”

“Chris?”

“Yes?”

For some reason I think of the Joker’s cheeks when I glance at the old woman. There are deeply etched lines on either side of her face, and I can’t tell if they’re from wrinkles or just from the sunken nature of her face.

“Please answer my question as specifically as possible. I don’t have time or patience to try to read your mind.”

“I like ham,” I say, not sure why. It’s not like I love ham or anything, but I’m slightly terrified by her straightforward statement. “And chips.”

“See, that wasn’t hard.”

“I could’ve brought my lunch,” I say to her.

“Part of working here includes meals. If you had come early enough, you could have had breakfast.”

I nod.

She disappears, and I move closer to the windows. There’s a door that leads to the deck outside, but I’m not going out there unless Iris asks me to. Still, I can see the deep bowl of a valley in front of us, with the tops of surrounding hills in the distance. When Iris comes back, I take my plate and thank her.

“Have you ever seen such a view?” she asks me.

“No.”

I’ve been skiing in Colorado, but those mountains are different from these. These seems rounder and softer and …

More romantic.

If the guys could only hear my thoughts. But it’s true. More romantic, but also more sad. More melancholy.

I take my plate of food and sit down at a table near the window. I just stare outside as I eat. Iris brings me a can of pop, which I thank her for. As I open it, I see a bluebird fly down and sit on the edge of the railing. I wonder if it’s the same one that greeted me by biting my hand the other day. It sits there and faces me, as if it’s watching me.

As if it’s watching and waiting for me.

Add creepier to that list of adjectives fitting these mountains.

I eat my lunch, and the bluebird just sits and rests and watches.

I’m not sure how long of a lunch break I have, so I eat my lunch in about ten minutes and bring my empty plate and can into the kitchen. As I come back out, hoping to see Iris, someone else walks into the dining room. For a second I’m a little freaked out, since I didn’t know anybody else was there. I wonder if this man works here or is a family member.

“Hello,” he says.

For a moment I feel my muscles tense up and my body start to shake. I say hi as I pass him by. He’s maybe forty-something and seems ordinary and friendly enough. I hear him go into the kitchen, and I’m glad that I don’t have to make small talk. Something about the guy makes me want to run away.

“Feel like cutting more wood?”

I turn to see Iris coming my way. She has an amused look on her face.

“Sure,” I say in a voice that wouldn’t convince anybody.

She laughs. “I think you’ve cut enough wood to last me through the winter. Just remember—be honest, or I’ll make your words come true.”

“Okay.”

“So, do you feel like cutting more wood?”

“Maybe not for another ten or twenty years.”

The smile I see on her face surprises me. Even though she’s ancient, there’s something very youthful about it. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so old smile such a nice smile.

Maybe I just need to be around old people a little more.

“I’ve got some work for you to do inside. That sound okay?”

“Sure.”

At the end of the day, after calling my mom and telling her that she can pick me up at five, Iris comes to me and hands me ten twenty-dollar bills.

“I hope you don’t mind me paying you in cash.”

“No.”

I can’t remember the last time I’ve held this much cash in my hand. Maybe never.

“Thank you for your hard work.”

“Sure,” I say again.

“Did you get tired of hauling those boxes of books down to the basement?”

For a second I’m about to give an answer that means nothing, then I remember what she told me earlier.

“They were pretty heavy.”

“Hardcover books tend to be that way. That room was once a library of sorts, and it’s become a bit unmanageable. We’re going to make it into another bedroom.”

“Okay.”

She smiles. “That’s we as in you and me.”

“Sounds good.”

She glances at her watch and tightens her lips. “We have fifteen minutes before your mother comes. Let’s sit for a while.”

It’s already dark outside, and there’s only one window in the main room. I sit on the couch, facing her.

“Tell me something, Chris. What do you believe?”

After a day of working with little communication with anybody else, the question is baffling. For a moment I don’t reply.

“Rather large question for simple chitchat while we wait, right?” she says.

“Believe about what?”

“About life and death. What do you believe?”

I clear my throat as I try to figure out an answer.

I don’t believe in anything. Not a thing. Not now and not ever.

“I don’t know.”

Those eyes look at me like I’ve done something wrong. They make me want to climb over the couch and hide behind it.

“At the end of every day, I ask myself what it is that I believe. And I think that the sad thing about so many people is that they can go their entire life without asking that question. Or fully answering it.”

I nod, nervous, wishing that Mom might be early, wondering if Iris is going to be all spiritual and holy with me every time I work.

“What if you knew you were going to die at midnight tonight?” she asks. “What would you do?”

“Maybe hold a big going-away party?”

“You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”

“Do what?”

“Use sarcasm to cover up the awkward feeling inside of you. It’s okay. Talks like this—talks of importance—usually make people uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine.”

But we both know I’m really not.

“Chris, will you do something for me this next week?”

“Sure.”

“Next Saturday I’d like for you to answer that question. Answer it the best way you possibly can. And don’t worry—I can see it on your face. I’m not going to judge you or force you to hear about something you don’t want to hear about. I’ve done that sort of thing before, and I … I’d just like to know what you believe.”

“Okay.”

I see the lights of what has to be my mom’s car outside. Iris stands, and I follow her to the door.

“You surprised me today. It’s not often that I’m surprised anymore.”

I’m not sure how I surprised her, and I don’t have any idea how or why, so I nod and say thanks.

This wasn’t the day I was expecting.

I walk out in the cold, and as I walk to the car, I swear I hear a bird flying above me.