“Besides, I make plenty to cover the bills working for Skidder.”
I frowned. “Skidder? I thought he said he wouldn’t hire you unless you got your journeyman certificate.”
“He did say that.”
I blinked. “Okay, so… then… how are you working for him, exactly?”
“I got my certificate.”
He said the words casually, as if it were obvious, as if that test wasn’t extremely difficult and required months of studying to pass. Plus, you had to do a certain amount of hours as an apprentice on top of it.
I’d pushed him to go for it more times than I could count when we were together, and he’d dug his heels in every time, saying he didn’t need a piece of paper to get by.
River picked up a piece of bacon, crunching on it while he looked at my expression with a slight amusement in his eyes.
“You… you did it? You got your journeyman’s?”
He nodded.
“River… that’s amazing! I mean…” I shook my head, mouth still hanging open. “I always knew you could do it, I just…”
“You never thought I actually would.”
I clamped my mouth shut.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I never did either. But, well...” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “Let’s just say I had time on my hands. I figured I might as well use it constructively.”
A long silence passed between us, and I ate my last piece of bacon, chewing more on what he’d just told me than the meat itself.
“So, you’re working for Skidder now. And what do you do?”
“A little of everything. Electrician work, plumbing, welding, carpentry… whatever he needs.”
“How many hours have you put in with him so far?”
River shrugged. “Not sure. It’s been about two years.”
I must have looked like a trout trophy on the wall for the way my mouth was hanging open.
“I’m so proud of you,” I managed to say.
River’s eyes found mine, and there was something there that I couldn’t quite decipher — a longing, or perhaps a deep pain disguised as longing.
I couldn’t put a name to it.
All I knew was that I felt it, too.
My chest was still tight, eyes bouncing back and forth between his when he cleared his throat and scraped the last of his eggs off the plate and onto his fork, shoveling it into his mouth. “What about you?” he asked. His eyes flicked to mine, but then he shrugged, as if he didn’t really care, even though he was asking. “Been seeing the world like you wanted to?”
I smiled. “Some of it, yeah.”
He took a sip of his coffee, running his thumb over the handle for a moment. “What’s it like?”
My rib cage squeezed painfully around my lungs. I hated the way that question sounded so defeated when it came from his lips, the way he couldn’t even look at me when he asked it.
“Weird. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Awful. Incredible.” I stared at my own hands. “It’s hard sometimes, being alone, traveling alone. I’ve had more than my fair share of breakdowns. But…” A smile found me then. “When I’d go on a hike and reach a stunning vantage point, or talk to someone from a different culture — even through a language barrier, or taste a food I’ve never tasted before, or hear a new type of music I’d never heard before…” I shook my head. “It’s like I can’t even remember the hard times it took to get there.”
My eyes found River’s, and he wore a subdued smile. “What’s been your favorite place so far?”
“Italy,” I answered quickly. “Hands down, Italy. The food, the wine, the people, the landscape… they have it all. There’s country, and beautiful coastal towns, and bustling cities.” I paused, rolling my lips together before I looked at him again. “Would you maybe want to see some pictures?”
River frowned, looking down at his coffee mug even though it was empty now.
I didn’t wait for an answer before I grabbed my phone off the bedside table where I’d plugged it in, pulling up my photos from Italy. I pulled my chair over next to River’s, showing him the first one.
“This was in Tuscany. I stayed on this gorgeous farm with a lovely family. They let me stay for free as long as I worked.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said as I swiped through the pictures, showing the Tuscan hills and cypress trees. “What did you do for them?”
“A little of everything, kind of like you,” I said, nudging him. “I’d cook, clean, pick grapes, shake olives off the trees when the season came. I’d do the shopping in town. Sometimes, I’d babysit.” I shrugged. “Whatever they asked of me.”
“I can see why it’s your favorite,” River said, swiping through. I noticed that he paused longer on the photos I was in rather than the ones I wasn’t. “You look happy.”
“I am,” I whispered.
River swallowed, handing the phone back to me.
“Want to see more?”
His frown was so severe, you would have thought I’d just asked him to make the choice between sticking a fork through his arm or his leg. But his eyes found mine, and he nodded — just once.
What was left of my coffee grew cold as I showed him album after album, picture after picture on my phone. I told him stories of the families I’d stayed with, the crews I’d worked with, the houses I’d watched over in exchange for a place to stay, the hostels that had creeped me out more than once, and even the time I slept in an open field in the south of France because of a transportation mishap.
I showed him pictures of castles and reefs, of skyscrapers and beaches, of hidden hiking trails and bustling bars.
And with each new story I told, I asked him for one of his own.
I wanted to know how he spent his free time, to which he answered with a multitude of things that surprised me. He’d fallen in love with reading, and fishing, and he’d even picked up skiing, though he said he was still figuring it out. He was trying to teach himself another language and had decided on Mandarin, mostly because everyone said it was one of the most difficult to learn.
And I wanted to know about our friends, the ones who weren’t on social media. He filled me in on how everyone around town was doing, the drama and the gossip — well, as much gossip as River would partake in, anyway.
It wasn’t a lot of talking, and sometimes we’d have long stretches of silence between us. But it felt good to talk at all, to ask questions and actually get responses.
To be asked questions in return.
At one point, I even called him on it. See? Isn’t this nice? To which I received nothing more than a wry smile before he turned the attention back to one of my stories.
“And how are your mom and dad?” I asked after maybe an hour had passed.
The second the question left my lips, River went stiff.
I frowned. “I… I haven’t heard from them in a while. We kept in touch for about a year after I left. You know, talking on the phone here and there. But then they stopped calling, and stopped answering my calls…”
There was a coldness in his eyes, and they seemed to lose focus where they were trained on my phone screen.
“I just figured they were trying to put some space between us… with you and me being divorced and all…”
River hastily handed my phone back to me then, abandoning his place where he’d been looking through my pictures at an old fishing port in Israel. He stood just as quickly, the legs of his chair scraping against the wood.
“River?” I asked, but he ignored me, picking up his plate and then mine. He took them to the sink and flipped the faucet on to wash, and I stood to join him. “Did I say something wrong?”
“They’re dead, Eliza!” River screamed suddenly, his chest heaving when he turned his manic gaze on me. Then, he winced, pinching the bridge of his nose with his wet, soapy fingers. He blew out a breath, shaking his head before he looked at me again. “That’s it,” he said, quiet again. “That’s how they’re doing. Alright?”
; If my mouth had hung open wide when he’d told me about his job with Skidder, it might as well have been a train tunnel now.
“I…” I swallowed. “I had no idea.” I shook my head, eyes glossing over. “What happened?”
River sniffed, turning back to the dishes in the sink. “Dad got sick. And after he died, Mom just couldn’t live without him. She was gone seven months later.”
My eyes stung more, the tears welling up and falling over before I could stop them. I covered my mouth with my hands, shaking my head over and over. How? How could this have happened? When did it happen?
Why didn’t my parents tell me?
Why didn’t River tell me?
I opened my mouth to ask him just that when he held up a hand, silencing me. “Please, Eliza. Can we just…” He swallowed, hands bracing on the edge of the sink, eyes averted.
And I knew what he was asking without him having to say it.
I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at me, and then grabbed our coffee mugs off the table. I walked over to him slowly, like he was a bear caught in a trap, one that I might provoke into murdering me if I moved too quickly. I dropped the mugs in the soapy water, and then I grabbed the towel hanging on the stove.
“I’ll dry,” I whispered.
The rest of the morning and afternoon, we were quiet.
I did my best to stay out of River’s way. He turned on his small radio long enough to tune into the weather report — which essentially said conditions were still terrible and to stay inside. They did predict that the wind would die down overnight, and that the snow would stop falling — both of which meant I might still be able to be home on Christmas.
But only time would tell.
Once he shut the radio off, River busied himself around the house. He worked on the boot barn, read a little, played with Moose — all while not saying anything to me. And for once, I didn’t push him. I suffered my boredom in silence, even picking up a book off his shelf just to keep myself busy, and even playing a few games of solitaire.
I felt awful for what I’d asked.
It was a harmless question, or so I thought, to ask about his parents. But I’d never expected his answer to be that they were no longer with us.
Dawn and Cole Jensen may have just been in my in-laws in technicality, but for all intents and purposes, they were just like my real parents.
Sure, Dawn was sassier than my mother, with her fiery auburn hair and can’t tell me shit attitude. And Cole was broody and severe compared to my warm-hearted father. But they’d brought me up just as much as my own parents. I’d stayed as many nights in their home as I had my own in the years between when I was sixteen and eighteen, and even well after River and I had moved in together.
Dawn and River had a good relationship, but the whole town knew that River was closer with his father.
Dawn had battled with drugs for many years, and though she’d found her way out, it was during that time that River and Cole grew to be inseparable. Cole kept River focused on school, even when he didn’t want to be. And River kept Cole strong, even when he didn’t want to be.
They were a team, through and through, and if I knew one thing about my ex-husband, it was that no one in this world mattered more to him than his father.
Which meant it must have killed him when Cole passed.
And then to have Dawn go just as quickly…
My stomach was sour all day at the thought of it, and I couldn’t release the thought of it. All I could think about were the memories of the times we’d all shared together, the stories River had told me about his childhood, the way Dawn and Cole had helped us as newlyweds just as much as they could manage. I thought about how fiercely they loved their son, and me by proxy.
And I thought about our last conversation, a phone call that was quick and shallow and cut short by me needing to catch a train.
I didn’t know that would be my last memory of them.
I didn’t know those would be the last words we ever spoke.
The cabin felt heavy and dark all day long, regardless of the Christmas cheer I’d tried to bring in with the decorations the night before. Even when I stared at that tree and hummed Christmas music to myself, I couldn’t shake it.
It felt like a funeral years too late.
Maybe that’s why I was exhausted by the time the sun set, and I wondered if I should just go to bed and get this day over with so I could wake up on a new one. I was just about to concede to that notion when a low hum reverberated through the cabin, and the lights flickered before cutting out altogether.
The kind of silence that engulfed us was all-encompassing.
It was almost like a blanket, the way it fell on us, heavy and thick. It lasted for a split second that seemed to stretch on for hours before Moose’s nails clicked and clacked on the wood. He barked for good measure, as if we didn’t already realize there was something going on.
“Shit,” River mumbled under his breath. He’d been reading at the table, and thanks to the little bit of light the fire was still giving off, I could see his frown as he closed his book.
“Power’s out?”
“Seems like it.” He let out a long sigh. “Can’t say I’m surprised. If anything, I’m shocked we didn’t lose it last night with the wind. I’ve got some candles and flashlights… just have to find them—AH, SHIT!”
There was a loud thump preceding his curse, and I shot upright from where I’d been reclining on the couch, looking over my shoulder where he was by the bed now. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Just took a few centimeters off my big toe.”
I tried not to laugh, thankful that my smile was at least covered by the semi-darkness.
A few seconds later, the cabin came more into view, thanks to a little ray of light coming from a small flashlight in River’s hands. He handed me one, too, and then he started pulling out candles, setting them up in various corners of the cabin and sparking them to life.
Once they were all lit, he turned out his flashlight, and I did the same.
“Well, this is kind of cozy,” I said with a smile.
River chuckled. “Always finding the silver lining.”
“More of a golden glow this time.”
He returned my smile for a split second before making his way back to the table, and he opened his book where he’d left off, positioning himself near a candle for more light.
I watched him reading for a while, the light and shadows playing over his face the way they had the night before. Only this time, they did a sort of dance, the flickering flames waltzing with the darkness.
I’d been so ready to pass out before. But now, with a fresh shot of adrenaline, I found my boredom suffocating and my need to do something, anything, growing too much to bear.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I said, popping up onto my knees and draping my arms over the back of the couch. “We should do something.”
“Like what?”
I frowned, because we couldn’t watch a Christmas movie since he didn’t have a TV, and he didn’t have any games other than the ones we could play with a deck of cards. “How about we turn on the radio?” I suggested. “Find a station that’s playing Christmas music. And we can bake cookies!”
“We can’t bake anything,” River corrected, eyes still on his book. “Power’s out, dum-dum.”
I threw the little pillow on the couch at him. “Hey!”
He chuckled, catching the pillow with ease and tucking it under his arm before he shut his book and looked at me with a sigh. “Just pointing out the facts. Plus, I don’t have the ingredients to make cookies.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. No cookies.” I paused. “What do you have that we could make good use of?”
River let out another long breath, but then something of a glint found his eyes, and he smirked. “I have eggnog,” he said. “And rum.”
A smile curled on my own lips. “Anddd Christmas music?”
River groane
d but stood in concession. “Fine. But if Mariah Carey comes on, I’m throwing this radio across the room.”
“Or we could just turn it off for a few minutes.”
“Deal.”
I jumped up off the couch, squealing with delight. The excitement had Moose up and bouncing around my legs, too, and River chuckled when we both slid into the kitchen Tom Cruise style.
“Oh, I hope they play ‘The Christmas Song’. It’s my favorite!”
River shook his head, pulling down two glasses from the cabinet with another grunt of annoyance.
But I saw the smile he was trying to fight.
“That’s so not true!” I said on the heels of a hiccup, giggling at the sound of it. “It was you who dared me to get on that old rope swing in the first place.”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t have done it whether I dared you or not,” River argued. “That’s why you wanted to party out behind that old house. It’s why you dragged us all there that day. You wanted to get on that rope swing, and you know it.” He shrugged then, taking a drink of his eggnog that was definitely more rum than anything at this point. “Not my fault you didn’t realize the rope was rotted.”
“I had a bruised tailbone for weeks,” I reminded him. “And you, you just laughed at me. Asshole.”
“It was funny!”
“I hurt myself!”
“You survived. And trust me, if you could have seen the way your arms flailed when that rope broke, sending you into the water right there off the shore, and the way you flopped into the shallow water like a fish…” He started laughing again at the memory of it, so much so that he couldn’t speak for a long moment, and I took the cinnamon stick out of my eggnog and chucked it at his head.
That made him laugh harder.
“And the sound you made,” he said when he finally caught his breath. “Sounded like a cat in heat.”
I joined in his laughter then, because even though I did hurt myself that day, I’d dragged us and a group of our friends down to the lake to party, it was pretty funny afterward.
“Wasn’t that the same day that Jenny tried to dare you to kiss Tabatha?” I asked, squinting through the rum haze swimming in my head as I tried to remember.
The Christmas Blanket: A Second-Chance Holiday Romance Page 5
