But the fifth night, after he kissed her for a while, this time when he pulled away he reached under the bed and brought out a hunting knife.
“Let us try this,” he said. “It will help me.” He held the knife by the opening to Nadia’s nightclothes and sliced apart the blue ribbons she and her mother had sewn on. Terror pulsed through her. She opened her mouth to scream but the scream came out soundless.
“Why would you try to scream, my princess? I am your husband. I mean no harm.” His eyes teased; he seemed amused as he unbuttoned his pants. “Ah, this is what I was looking for. Look at that piece of steel, would you? They call me The Stallion. I knew I still have this. Just needed a little prop is all.”
He grinned almost sheepishly and held the knife to her neck. “I am sorry you have been full of desire for so many days. You are going to forget that you ever had to wait for me.”
THIRTY-ONE
Leo barked and Nadia, who was hunched over the fishing net, jumped, then slowly straightened, thinking about her shotgun five paces away, expecting to see a bear thrashing through the bushes to the beach. Sometimes the bears stole from her net and tore huge holes in it that required mending. But she saw nothing. When Leo stopped barking briefly to listen, she heard music. Guitar music, but from over by the trailhead.
Kache emerged from the woods, walking and playing like one of the minstrels in a king’s court she’d read about. Nadia couldn’t keep from smiling and then laughing—not at him but out of relief he was no longer angry, and from the joy spread across his face as he sang out. His voice was as Elizabeth had quoted a reporter, “both wound and wonder.”
He threw back his head and sang:
“Nadia, you unknotted me
Nadia, you undeniably
Nadia you unarguably …
Nadia ah ah … Nada ah ah … Nadiaaah …”
He splayed his arms, held out his guitar by its neck and shook it.
“Twenty years! Twenty years, and no one could get me to get my nose out of my navel long enough to play. And all you did was hand me my guitar when a certain heartbreaker of a song was playing. I swear, you’re psychic.” He waited for her to respond. She’d never heard so many words come out of his mouth at once. He went on. “Thank you. I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I freaked out, but I can’t believe how quickly it’s coming back. My fingers keep tripping over each other but they know where to go, they’re just out of shape. Wow. Looks like you’ve been busy.” He bent down to examine the pail of fish. “I figured I’d find you down here, but I thought we might have to collect mussels. Let’s eat right here. We can make a fire and cook that salmon.” He pulled his backpack off. “Look, I brought a couple of beers and some green beans and bread.”
How quickly his moods shifted. She finally saw the joy Elizabeth had written about, surging out of him. He chattered as fast as a squirrel and she half expected him to race up a tree trunk next, jump across from branch to branch before inviting her for a dinner of gathered pine nuts.
Instead, he handed her a beer and got busy collecting driftwood and coal for the fire, humming his new song with all the inflections of her name. She hadn’t heard her name spoken in so long, and had never heard it sung. The acknowledgement of her existence bloomed a bit in her chest. Why was pride so highly ranked by those who ranked sins, always followed by an inevitable fall? Why was pride even a sin? A little pride seemed like a good thing, something that sent the shoulders back, the chin up, made you feel like you wanted to give even more of yourself to the betterment of the world … or at the very least to the betterment of a man named Kachemak Winkel.
From the backpack he pulled out a lighter, the rack from the roasting pan, a knife—even though she’d brought hers to clean the fish. Seeing the knife held in his hand made her wince, but it was a physical reaction, not from her head; she understood now that she didn’t need to fear Kache. He opened his own beer and then clinked his bottle to hers. “To … what?”
“What?” She tilted her head and waited.
“I don’t know what to call this.”
“Call what?”
“This—this!” He grabbed her arm, but not the way Vladimir grabbed it. Instead, it was with a childlike excitement. “It’s strange. Sad. But I feel we could help each other. If you’re willing?”
“I do not understand.”
“I’ve been thinking … You keep teaching me about running this place and I’ll bring a computer out, hook us up to the Internet. You can go anywhere, see anything. Without leaving. Not that you don’t know anything: you’ve read more books than I’ll ever read. But there’s so much out there that will blow your mind.”
What he couldn’t know from her staring wordlessly back at him is that was exactly what she wanted. She was afraid to go to town. She was afraid to even go up to the main road. But if she could see the world? If she might somehow be lifted from this piece of land and bypass the road and town and be dropped at the Golden Gate Bridge, would she do it? Without hesitation. She wasn’t afraid of the world out there. She was afraid of Vladimir. She was afraid of the pain it would cause her family if they discovered she’d been lying to them all this time. She was as alive as she’d ever been, right that minute, standing on a beach next to a fire, toasting to … what? … with Kache.
“Yes, then,” she finally said.
“Yes to …?”
“The computer. The interconnect. All of it, I would like. Oh, and of course I am more than willing to teach you what I know about this land. For this I would be privileged.”
“Okay, then it’s not just a toast, it’s a deal. We need to shake on it.”
“Shake on it? Ah, a handshake, yes?”
He held out his hand and then she held out hers, both of their hands suspended until he reached forward and took hers—so odd to be touching, skin to skin—and pumped her hand up and down until she couldn’t help smiling again.
After they ate, they followed Leo up the trail, but then he veered right instead of left and so they took the longer way home, along the canyon. She loved the canyon. It was an extremely deep and sudden jagged cut into the land, and sometimes she stood and stared down into it, trying to imagine what had caused it. A glacier? An earthquake? A meteorite? Elizabeth had written about this canyon many times, describing it as the largest and deepest on the peninsula. It was mysteriously stunning but dangerous and it haunted Elizabeth.
Kache said, “Come here, Leo. Don’t let him get too close to the edge.”
Nadia knew why and, though she wasn’t worried, she called Leo over and he walked alongside of her as they passed the canyon.
“When I was a kid,” Kache began, “I had a dog named Walter. He was a great dog, except he had this thing about chasing birds and butterflies. He would jump and run as if his hundred pounds of dog had a chance in hell of taking flight. It was the funniest thing to watch. Pure joy, determination and frustration all at once. We all loved that dog.” Kache stopped walking, took a deep breath and continued his story. “One day, when I was ten, he and I were heading down this same path. He started chasing some butterfly and I thought nothing of it. He chased it—he chased it right off the edge of the canyon. I watched him leap, and when I raced to the edge, he was still falling, you know? Falling into that great abyss, a tiny drop of black. I ran to get my dad. He followed me to the edge and put his arm around me. But he refused to go get him. It was too dangerous. He and my mom told me that Walter was probably fine and would have a good life down in the canyon, as if I were young enough to believe that.” He smoothed his hand from his forehead back over his curls. “The next night I snuck out and tried to hike down, but I knew I’d never make it out alive, either. I never forgave myself, or my dad, for not going down there. I’m sure Walter was dead on impact. Still … the possibility of him all broken up and suffering still haunts me.”
Nadia knew she should not say anything, but she could not keep entirely quiet. She said, “Have you considered ever that perhaps your father, h
e did go down this hill to get your dog?”
Kache shook his head. “He was adamant. Besides, if he had they would have told me, so I’d quit harping on them about it.”
“You were a boy, yes? And if Walter the dog was dead, which we both know now that he most likely was, or close to death, your parents they might have thought they were protecting you from the truth. You can see this?”
Kache kept shaking his head. “No, look at that incline. My dad was a tough man, but he wasn’t an expert climber. It might have taken ropes to get all the way down there. Hell, they’d need some kind of search and rescue team. I understand that now. I’ve been mad at him my whole life for so many things. Some of them are justified. But maybe this wasn’t.”
“So about Walter, you are no longer angry?”
Kache started toward the homestead while Nadia and Leo followed. “There was this song that came out several years later. It was a big hit and they played it on the radio all the time. ‘Dog and Butterfly.’ Whenever it came on, my mom would change the station. There weren’t many stations, and sometimes it was playing on the other station, so my mom would flip off the radio. Not a memory any of us wanted to dwell on.” Kache leaned down, rubbed Leo between the ears, looked up at her and smiled. “But you know?” His voice caught and he shook his head. “That dog finally did fly.”
THIRTY-TWO
Snag stood on her front step, gripping the banister. Faint guitar music trickled from inside. This, the strangest couple of weeks she’d ever experienced, and things were only getting stranger. She was lodged in a slingshot, pulled back, back, back. All this tension, pulling, resistance. Pretty soon she’d have to change her name to Snap.
But there it was, and you had to love it: Kache picking up the guitar again. Playing. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. The music worked like a massage on her temples, her shoulders, her arms. Even her grip on the doorknob relaxed. What a gift that boy had. That man, she reminded herself once again, not boy. He was a grown man now. And she an old tired stressed out woman, suddenly feeling not so tired, not so stressed out.
“If you feel the need to hide
I’ll cover you and go bare.
If you can’t walk another mile
On my back I’ll take you there.
If you can’t cross the water
I’ll lie down and be your bridge.
And if you lose all hope and vision
I’ll paint the sky from edge to edge.”
When the music stopped, Snag wiped her eyes, and then her feet, and opened the door. He sat on the edge of the sofa, the guitar still on his knee. He jumped up; a little embarrassed, a little pleased too she decided.
She untied her laces and set her shoes next to Kache’s boots. “Oh, good,” she said. “I was afraid your gorgeous playing was just a forlorn memory acting up. But it was real, Kache. Real.” She hugged him and his guitar with one wrap of her arms. “It sounds like you never stopped.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m beyond rusty. Still, got to admit, it feels good.”
She sat in the rocking chair by the woodstove. The cat jumped onto her lap. She liked coming home to a warm house. “I don’t remember that song and it’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. Something I’m working on. Where were you?”
“Oh, I left the same note sitting there from last night because I was at the same place.”
“The Spit Tune again?”
“Gilly’s been playing therapist for me. She gives good advice and all it costs me is to buy her a Sexy City or whatever-you-call-it drink. Then we listen to the band play.”
“How are they?”
“All right. They’d be a helluva lot better if you were playing with them.”
He shook his head. “I’m already spending my days in the same house I did as a teenager. If I start playing with them again, I’m liable to start breaking out in acne and having to take ridiculously long showers.”
Snag snorted. “Oh stop it, Kache.” It was better than wonderful to have him playing again and he seemed lighter every day. “Speaking of the house, should I plan on a trip out soon?”
He was back to picking out a tune on his guitar, just playing background to his thinking. “I guess it’s about time. It’s just … Nadia. I know it sounds strange, but I have to prepare her. She knows a lot but she’s experienced so little. I’m going to get us hooked up to the Internet.”
“Ugh. Does it have to take over every single corner of the world?”
“Yeah, I know. But it might help Nadia. And I just bought us both cellphones that get good reception.”
“Kache? Are you going back to Austin?”
He told her how he’d received a couple of friendly emails from Janie asking about what to do with his car and his stuff in her garage. She’d been patient, and so he needed to book a flight down there and sell his car, take care of the loose ends.
“Will Nadia be okay? Want me to check on her?”
Kache smiled. “Knowing her, she’ll welcome the peace and quiet. I’ll give her your phone number and ask her but I’m guessing she’ll want to be left alone. We should plan something after I get back—if she’s ready. Gram asks about her and wants to go out there.”
“She doesn’t ask me.” Snag set down the cat. “I guess she gave up on me taking her. Besides, I’m not sure she’s really strong enough.”
“Did you ever hear back from the doctor about her pink pill? Or Gilly? Because I think she flushes the pink ones.”
“She better not. Not if she wants to live. It’s the new one for her blood pressure.”
“Like I said before, she doesn’t want to live if she’s not right in her head, and she’s convinced that those pills make her delirious. And I think she’s probably right. Isn’t there an alternative?”
“I asked. I haven’t heard back from her doc, but I’ll ask again.”
“Aunt Snag?” He laid the guitar next to him on the sofa. “Why didn’t you ever go out to the homestead, anyway?”
She chose her words carefully. “Lots of reasons, I guess. What about you? Just wanted to forget?”
“If it hadn’t been for that fight my dad and I had the night before—and then the next day, he kept apologizing and I wouldn’t talk to him. If I hadn’t been such a prick, I think Dad would have been able to fly the plane better, even in that cloud cover.”
Snag stared at Kache. Wait. He’d been feeling guilty all this time? “Oh, hon.” Her throat barely let the words out. “Hon, it’s not your fault. You have to believe that.” But Kache didn’t say any more, just kept playing.
She went to change into her jammies and robe and slippers. Alone in her room the gravity of what she now knew pressed down on her, demanding she take a seat on the edge of the bed. Kache had felt responsible and she had let him. Unforgivable. While he tried out different melodies, she planned how she’d tell Kache the story. So she was a lesbian. So what? Kache was a thoughtful, evolved person. She doubted that would shake up his world too much. It was the being in love with his mother part she’d rather continue to keep to herself but couldn’t. Because that led to an even bigger screw-up, the stupidest thing she’d ever done, the one deed she would do anything, everything, to take back. It was the thing she hadn’t told anyone—not Gilly, not Lettie—and it was what ended up ruining Kache’s life. Ruined it in even more ways than she’d imagined.
THIRTY-THREE
In the two weeks Kache was gone to Texas, Nadia was surprised first by the return of the quiet and then how, after several days, it began to unsettle her. On the fourth day he called. When they hung up he reminded her to keep her cellphone charged and so she plugged it in and found herself waiting beside it in the evening for his call, which came every night thereafter. She would tell him about her day—what vegetables she’d harvested and what fish she’d caught, and the silly things the goats did and how the weather had been. One day she paced in front of the phone, hardly able to wait to tell him she’d seen two belugas leaping out of
the bay. “At first I thought they were black birds with giant wingspan, but then I see that is only their tails,” she told him. “Then they burst forth like huge, hidden joy. ‘What a lark! What a plunge!’ as Clarissa would say.” She’d been re-reading Mrs. Dalloway once again to fill the lonely evenings.
Kache would tell her about the people he dined with and he would describe all the different kinds of food he’d had, and he complained about the thick heat and loud city noises and traffic, but she asked him to hold the phone so she could hear the honking and sirens and talking and laughter, imagining what it would be like to sit with him on a patio outside a restaurant on a warm evening.
And then, finally, he came back.
She heard the truck door slam and raced down the stairs and flung open the door. He was crouched over taking off his boots. When he stood she felt her smile drop.
“You came back.”
“I told you I would.”
“But …”
She saw his smile drop too. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Yes, but …”
“I can leave if you—”
“No. But …”
“What is it, Nadia? What’s wrong?” Her hand went to her chin and he laughed. “The beard? You don’t like me embracing my inner mountain man?”
She kept her eyes locked on his feet. It was more than that. She could not bear to look at him.
“I forgot my razor at Snag’s and thought I’d just go for it. Everyone in Austin liked it. They say I’m not a computer geek anymore. And speaking of computers …”
She turned and went to the kitchen and picked up a pan to scrub, and scrubbed furiously. What she thought was that her revulsion was ridiculous; they looked nothing alike. But what she knew was that she could not stand the beard another minute.
The House of Frozen Dreams Page 13
