I never had free time in Ohio. If I wasn’t at work, I was taking care of Jack or the house…or else hanging out with my mom while she took care of Dad and their house. So when my work day ends here in Oak Creek, I find I’ve got long chunks of time that are just mine! And I’m still not sure how to fill them.
I decide to do a makeshift spa day at home. I strip down to my undies and a t-shirt to shave my legs, taking my time to hit every crevice and use some of those products Indigo bought me at the co-op. All the different oils in the skin creams feel so nice on my skin.
I move on to a deep conditioning treatment for my hair, leaning over the amazingly deep sink in the vanity in my bathroom. I massage the jojoba oil into my scalp slowly, wondering why I never took time to do this before. I finish the whole thing off with a glorious Turkish cotton towel from Indigo. My god! This towel makes me feel like a princess. Never in my life have I felt anything so luxurious. I make a mental note to buy a set as soon as I can afford it.
I walk to the kitchen looking for a snack, still rocking my turban and hemp undies, and hear something puzzling.
I know the walls are thin. I heard Hunter slamming some cupboards in his kitchen earlier and I flush, remembering my solo concert and realizing he must have heard me belting out the sound track to Chicago. But I can’t seem to identify the sounds I’m hearing from his side now.
I press my ear to the wall in the kitchen, feeling sheepish, but then I hear a groan followed by a clang. I bite my lip. Could he be cooking? Toward the end with Jack, I’d often come home to him slamming the oven, clanging pots around on a wild search for something he never seemed to find. Through the wall, I hear the same sounds of impatience, only with growing desperation.
I start to pace, wondering what to do, if I should call Indigo. Should I call the police? I jump when I hear a loud clang, followed by a roar. That just doesn’t sound safe.
Then I hear repeated cursing through the walls. “Fuck! Shit. Gaaaaaah!” Convinced Hunter is in danger, I grab the cast iron skillet Indigo gave me and rush out the back door. Hunter’s door is open, and my heart races as I step closer. I don’t take time to think, just act. I enter his dining room and drop the skillet.
Instead of a dining table and chairs, he’s set up weightlifting equipment. Hunter lies on his back, rolling on the ground and clutching his face. I see blood streaming between his fingers, and I run over to him. He looks over at me, eyes wild, and his body stills. I dive into action mode, squatting next to him and trying to nudge his hands away from his face.
“Are you injured?” I peer closer, and see that his nose is bleeding. I jump up and run to his kitchen, in search of towels. Finding nothing, I pull the towel off my head and jog back over to Hunter, who has pulled himself into a sitting position.
I press the towel into his hands and help pinch his nose. “Here, I think you just need to—”
“I know how to stop a nose bleed,” he says, curtly.
“Oooh kay then.” I rock back on my heels and take stock of the room. There are two holes in the ceiling where it looks like he pulled chunks of the drywall down. There are two ropes coiled on the floor. I can’t even think what he was doing when he obviously fell down.
“You’re not dressed,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
I flush, trying to tug down my t-shirt and cover myself. I look him over and say, “Well…neither are you.” He is all lean lines, shining with sweat. His face twists in confusion as he pulls the towel away. The bleeding has stopped, but my towel seems ruined. I wait for him to say something, and when he doesn’t, I stand up. My cheeks are steaming hot, and I know I’ve blushed from my hair down to my toes. Which Hunter is staring at.
“So it looks like you’re ok I guess? Do you have any bleach for the towel? I haven’t stocked up yet and I’m borrowing it—”
“I will clean the towel and return it to you.”
“Thanks.” I bite my lip, feeling like this is the strangest first-aid situation I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something for a girl with 3 brothers and a dad who owns a construction business. To top it all off, I can’t stop staring at him. I feel a mix of emotions, ranging from lust to a strong urge to hug this wounded man and make him feel better.
I shrug and bend to pick up the skillet I brought with me. “I’ll just let you get back to it I guess.” I wish he would say something. He’s so intense, the way he trains his gaze on my face without blinking, but doesn’t speak. I can feel my heart beat throbbing in my ears under the heat of his gaze. “Bye,”I say, backing out into the yard.
As I start to walk home, I catch sight of him bending to pick up the ropes. His muscles strain as he hurls the rope and rings across the room, and I can’t help but stare again. He seems carved from stone. My brothers all used to lift weights together. They are all strong as oxen, but thicker. And their muscles are all hidden under a softer layer of cheap beer and Mom’s cooking.
Back on my side of the duplex, I decide I have to call Indigo and tell her what happened or else I’ll burst with embarrassment.
I try to invite her to go out for a drink, but since she’s got a full Inn, she and Sara insist I walk over to their place. “We’ve got box wine today,” I hear Sara yelling.
They both laugh hysterically when I tell them about my foiled attempts at a skillet rescue. At least they don’t seem angry about the bloody towel. Indigo pats me on the back and says, “The thing about Hunter is that he takes everything seriously. I wouldn’t worry about this. He’s just…serious is all.”
“Who’s serious?” A woman shuffles into the dining room, grunting a bit under the weight of a heavy box, which she plunks on the table.
Indigo smiles, obviously happy to see this person. “Your brother, that’s who.”
The woman snorts. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Sara opens the box and starts pulling out plain brown bottles that I assume are filled with homemade beer. “I don’t really think anyone would accuse Archer or Fletcher of being serious,” she says. “Abigail here is Hunter’s new tenant and she walked in on him with a bloody nose.”
“Hmm,” the woman sits down and twists off the cap of one of the bottles. “He ok?”
Sara nods and says, to me, “This is Diana Crawford. She makes her own beer and thinks her family doesn’t know she grows pot in her office at work.”
I reach out for a handshake, and laugh when Diana thrusts a bottle in my hand instead. I use my shirt sleeve to twist off the beer cap, drawing an eye roll from Sara. Diana waits expectantly as I take a sip. The beer is delicious. It’s fruity and light, a little hoppy. “Wow,” I say. “This is fantastic.”
Diana grins. “It’s my new IPA recipe,” she says, taking a long swig from her bottle. “So tell me how my brother managed to come back from outer space in tact and get a nosebleed in his townhouse.”
Indigo pours her beer into a glass and slides coasters toward the rest of us. She fills Diana in on Hunter’s “small tantrum” when he saw me taking in the Crawford furniture stash, and I add in that he has no furniture and seems to have pulled down half his ceiling.
“He’s probably just angry that his bitchy wife took all their furniture when she left him.” Diana shakes her head. “I still don’t get why he married her to begin with.”
I think about Hunter sitting on the floor, shirtless, muscled, bewildered. I don’t like hearing Diana talk about him having a wife. Huh, I think. What’s that about?
“Anyway,” she says, “I’ll call up Archer to look in on him. Sounds like he needs some Crawford support.”
For the rest of the night, we talk about Diana’s hops and how Indigo convinced her to get solar panels to power her grow house. “Sar got solar panels at the law office and has an energy surplus,” Indigo brags. “Matthew is giddy about it.” I settle into my chair, loving the friendly support these women all have for each other, the easy conversation and immediate acceptance they offer me.
Much later than I intended, I wander home and fall into bed, my embarrassment from earlier replaced with deep contentment.