| |
The shock on Dawson’s face could not have looked more astounding if a grizzly bear had walked up to him and asked for a cigarette. His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.
Cortland felt her tether to him, whatever they had left together, slipping away, leaving behind a hole in her chest nearly as big as the one left by her aunt’s death. “When I get over-stressed or have an out-of-control feeling, I can’t help myself.” She cupped her forehead with her palm. “I—I overeat, binge out of control until I feel sick. And then I purge it by vomiting.” Her resolve to tell the truth to this man was firm. This man she felt close enough to share a bed with repeatedly. A man she could love and did love more than any other man besides her father. “I’m not proud of my bulimia, but I want to be honest with you.”
Dawson’s face softened. “How—why?” He couldn’t get the words together. It occurred to Cortland that he might never have known anyone with such a disorder and didn’t know what to say.
Cortland stared at the barn ceiling, trying to decide what to say. “My brother and I were in the vehicle. We both were wearing a seatbelt. Jessica was driving without one. She had just gotten her license the week before. It was raining, she was driving too fast, and the SUV hydroplaned off the road, rolling six times before it stopped.” Silent tear drops rolled down her cheek.
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me,” Dawson said, wiping her tears away with a finger.
“No, it’s okay.” She dabbed at her face with her shirt sleeve. “Jessica was partially thrown out the window. Her upper body was crushed underneath the Jeep.” She paused, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
She’d stunned him into silence. When he found his voice again, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She nodded silently. “My mom had been the one to tell Jess to take Greg and me to the movies. She blamed herself. Went kind of religious cuckoo. Her depression infected the entire household. My dad tried to keep things going, keep everyone pulling together. It didn’t work. Mom was always in mourning for Jessica, to the point of neglecting her two surviving children. Dad sent me and Greg here for the rest of that summer. Greg never came back, but I loved it from my previous visits. I spent every chance I could here.
“Binging and purging wasn’t something I knew about and took on intentionally. It started slowly. I’d eat, then eat more until I’d feel so sick I’d vomit to feel better. It was the only thing that made me feel. It made me feel in control of my life, gave me a sense of wholeness I couldn’t find in the months after Jessica died.” She rubbed her face, not knowing what else she could say to explain why she did what she did. “I know it doesn’t make sense how I could feel in control while eating uncontrollably until I chose to make myself sick. But it did.”
“So it started because of the accident?” Dawson settled into a more comfortable position and took her hand, holding it firmly. “How have you kept it secret all these years?”
“It hasn’t been much of a secret. My father recognized it pretty quickly. And he sent me here, to Aunt Faith and Uncle Mayer, to get me out of the stressful situation at home. They helped me. Being here helped me. I felt loved still. The chores made me feel competent and effective. It gave me a new start. Back home, I saw a therapist for many years. It hasn’t been a part of my life for the last five years.”
“But this situation with the homestead brought it back?”
“Yeah. It came back with a vengeance between feeling overwhelmed at the clinic, losing my aunt, and having this life-changing decision to make. I started seeing my therapist a few weeks ago. It’s helping some, but it will take much longer to overcome this and get back into remission.”
He held his arms open, an invitation to nestle into them. She took that invitation.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “For everything. This isn’t what I wanted to have happen. None of it.”
He shushed her. “It’s okay. I understand. It’s not what I would have wanted, either. But we can make the most of the next few days before I leave.”
She pulled out of his arms slightly. “Promise?” The look on his face gave her a warm feeling in the center of her chest. He still cared for her despite not wanting to move here permanently with her. She concentrated on being grateful for his support. She would not have thought he’d understand. But he surprised her. And she would always thank her stars for that faith.
“Always.” Dawson went to pick her up in his arms but stopped. He shrugged. ‘I’d carry you if I could.” His glance swept down to his casted ankle.
“That’s okay. I’d rather walk beside you.” She smiled, her heart lifting, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.
––––––––
They rose at six, heading out to make the morning feeding rounds after their own breakfast of toast, thick-sliced bacon, and scrambled fresh eggs Dawson found in the coop. Not to mention all the different jelly and jam condiments made by Aunt Faith’s own hands.
Dawson couldn’t help much around the barns. He filled the water troughs and spread feed for the ducks, turkeys, and chickens. Most of the time, he watched Cortland as she did the work. She greeted each animal by name. They responded eagerly to her voice and her touch. He remarked that, other than the kittens, he’d never seen her in action caring for animals and that she was a natural with them. His open admiration further reduced her tension.
They took a short half-hour break before tackling the hay bales. Cortland got the tractor running and instructed Dawson on how to drive it. Despite his cast, he didn’t have any problem. He said it was ornerier than a fire engine but not nearly as big. With the flatbed trailer attached, they headed out to the pasture to bring in the last two dozen hay bales.
“Why do you have square bales here versus the large round ones back in Connecticut?” Dawson asked as she brought one over to the trailer. “Is there any difference besides the shape?”
He took the bale and swung it up onto the flatbed. They stopped periodically to stack them neatly, two high and two deep. “Yes and no. It’s different machinery. The equipment here is old. It makes bales. We can carry and load the bales. Those huge round ones need to be lifted and carried by a tractor to move them. And they’re harder to stow in the barn loft because of their size and weight. I think that’s why they’re left in the fields. These bales go up into the loft with the hay elevator. It’s a huge help. I can remember as a kid watching Uncle Mayer and his farm help throwing the bales up to the loft. That was before they bought the hay elevator.”
“Throwing?” Dawson’s face filled with admiration. “They’re pretty darn heavy and clumsy,” he said as he hefted one up on the flatbed.
“These are small. About forty pounds each dry. Those big round ones can go up to two thousand pounds.”
He swung another one on the trailer bed easily. “I’m glad these are the small ones.”
Back at the barn with the last of the bales, Cortland set up the hay elevator. She plugged the extension cord in the outlet in the barn’s first stall.
“This electrical wiring doesn’t look too healthy,” Dawson said, his eyes following the old wiring from the stall up throughout the barn.
“It’s original. Probably when the barn was built in the seventies by my aunt and uncle.” Cortland watched him scrutinize the wiring, her spirit flagging. Add one more item to the list of things to upgrade. It seemed everywhere she looked, something needed to be fixed. And she was only going to be working part-time at the sanctuary. Her heart sank, thinking it would not be enough to keep the homestead running.
Dawson nodded. “Keep an eye on it. But you should consider rewiring as soon as possible.”
The engine started up. It sputtered several times before humming steadily. It seemed louder than she remembered it should be. And it sputtered every couple of minutes.
“I’ll go up into the loft and stack them. You throw them on the elevator one at a time. I’ll tell you when I’m ready for the next bale to come up.” She disappeared into the barn, hoping he remembered to wait for her signal.
From the open loft window, she could see Dawson waiting below. When he looked up at her, she gave him a thumbs up.
Dawson hauled a bale onto the elevator, hit the button, and the bale rose up like it was riding an escalator. At the top, Cortland stopped the action by pressing her button. Then she hauled the hay bale off the machine and stacked it with all the other bales already stored there. Going back to the window, she gave him the thumbs up again. They continued their chore for nearly half the bales when Cortland realized something was wrong.
She got to the window, and Dawson wasn’t below. Suddenly she heard him yelling at the top of his lungs. “Get down! Get out! Fire!”
Cortland’s mind raced, her heart pounding. Making her way to the loft ladder, she caught the scent of smoke. He’s not joking. Not that she expected a firefighter to cry fire when there wasn’t any. But the suddenness of it surprised her.
As she descended the ladder, she saw Dawson below, opening stall doors and shooing the horses and cows out the back door into the paddock. The smell got stronger, and Cortland saw flames in one stall where the extension cord had plugged into the wall.
Extinguisher. She ran to the opposite stall, which housed an assortment of items. In the far back corner was a large fire extinguisher. She hefted it over her shoulder and raced back to the fire. The flames were licking their way up the old wood barn walls. Oh God. Where do I start?
Dawson yanked it out of her hands. “Go get the rest of the animals out.” He yelled, pulling the pin and squeezing the handle. A spray of ABC yellow powder shot out the nozzle onto the outlet. “Shut the electrical service off. I’ll get the water hose.” He ordered, swishing the last of the powder up the wood boards the fire had risen.
She ran to the utility stall across the barn and pulled the electrical cut-off switch. Running to help Dawson with the water hose, she tripped over a goat in the doorway, observing the emergency. Covered in mud, she picked herself up and kept running. She grasped the hose and pulled to extend it as far as it would go, hoping it reached as far as Dawson needed. Running back to the spigot, she turned it on and raced back to his side.
With the nozzle in hand, he immediately began spraying at the flames, the wood sizzling as water hit it. “Get the rest of the animals out,” he ordered as he continued to battle the rapid progression of the flames up the side of the barn.
Cortland checked every stall, even if the door was open, to make sure the livestock inside had fled. She heard a loud whinnying at the end stall. Pegasus.
She continued methodically but quickly until she was sure everyone else was out. Everyone except him. Opening the stall door, she grasped his collar and tugged him forward. She saw his eyes swivel to the other end of the barn where flames still chewed at the wood siding. He drew back, fear in his eyes. “Trust me, Peg. Let’s go!” She hauled on the harness, but he would not move. Spinning around, she looked for something. An empty burlap sack hung over the nearby stall. She ran for it and returned to Pegasus, throwing it over his eyes. Blinded, his only choice was to trust her.
Yanking him in the direction of the rear barn door, he started slowly, then gathered speed as she praised him. “Good boy, Peg. Come on. We’re almost out.”
She pulled the burlap off when they cleared the door and smacked his hindquarter hard. He galloped off deep into the paddock away from the barn.
Cortland turned and re-entered the barn. Running up the center aisle, she found Dawson still dousing the wall with water. No flames were visible though the smell of burned wood filled the air. Cortland breathed a sigh as her limbs continued shaking.
He must have been satisfied because he dragged the hose outside and drenched exterior surfaces that had been burning on the other side. It was only a few minutes before he shut off the nozzle and dropped it in the dust.
Drenched in sweat and water, he gathered Cortland in his arms. She clung to him, thanking him for being there to help save them. Save the barn, the critters she loved as family, and them both.
The next afternoon Cortland drove Dawson to the airport. Neither of them said much during the two-hour drive. Dawson kept his eyes focused outside the window. There wasn’t much unusual to see along the way. At times, the two-lane Seward highway sliced through the sliver of space between the water on their left and a sheer rock outcrop more than five hundred feet high on their right side.
Dawson perked up with interest as they passed one rest area along the Turnagain arm.
“What’s going on there? Seems like a lot of people out watching the water.”
“People wait there at Beluga Point to see the bore tide,” Cortland said quietly.
“Bore tide? What’s that?”
“It’s a rush of tidal water as low tide ends and starts returning. It can be as high as six feet, so they say. It’s sort of like the Bay of Fundy between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia in Canada. Except it’s much smaller.” Her eyes remained glued to the road as she explained.
“Hmm. I had no idea. Have you ever seen it?”
She could feel Dawson’s eyes on her. It was already a hot day for Alaska, but his scrutiny had her sweating even more. “I did once. My aunt and uncle took me when I was a kid. It didn’t impress me except as a waste of time.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like something a kid would say.”
They continued on wordlessly. As they crossed the bridge over Bird Creek, Dawson interrupted the silence again. “Wow, there must be fifteen fly-fishermen out in that creek. What’s running? Salmon?”
“Mmm, I think it’s probably early Pink Salmon considering the time of year.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “I’ve always wanted to try fly-fishing.”
“You’re in the right spot for it, especially for salmon.” She frowned. “Until your flight leaves in a few hours.” She pressed her lips tight together, afraid to say anything else. Afraid of what she might say. Her chest ached already with his imminent departure. She wanted him to stay. To move here and be with her. But his choice had been made.
He cleared his throat as though he were going to say something. Instead, he focused out the door window again. And tense silence filled the SUV.
They entered the airport zone, and Cortland pulled up to the drop-off curb. It didn’t make sense for her to park the car and go in with him. She couldn’t go to the gate; besides, she preferred to say goodbye in private. She gazed forward, not watching Dawson but acutely aware of his stillness when he should be getting out of the vehicle. When he didn’t move, she turned to look at him.
He turned his body to her. “Thank you for everything. I enjoyed seeing the homestead and seeing how much you love it.” His hand scrubbed at the scruff on his face. Cortland saw his hand shaking. “I—I’m sorry.”
Her head bobbed sharply. “I guess I understand. Doesn’t mean I like it.” Her voice was monotone, and she pressed her lips together again. “You can change your mind and come back. If you decide to.”
Nodding curtly, he said nothing.
She couldn’t stand it. She struggled to hold back her tears. He needed to leave before she embarrassed herself. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”
“The wedding. Yup, I’ll be there.” He reached for his duffle bag. “See you then.”
Cortland wanted a kiss, one last kiss, but she wasn’t going to ask for it.
Dawson hesitated as he reached for the door handle as though he was going to kiss her. In a split second, he ducked his head and got out of the vehicle. He shut the door. His hand rose as if to wave, his eyes still on her.
Cortland gave him a nod, put the vehicle in drive, and pulled away from the curb. In her rearview mirror, she could still see him standing on the curb, watching her leave.
She cried all the way back to the house in Hope, where the ticking of the kitchen clock was the only sound.