Freeze Frame

by Freya Barker

  I just saw Jen, the owner of The Pony Express, yesterday and was surprised to find she’d sold every last one of my prints she had on display. She warned me that the five new ones I brought with me wouldn’t last long.

  “I just have to pop across the street,” I announced, before dashing off, Al grumbling behind me, but he was easily soothed twenty minutes later when we sat down for lunch.

  There is no sign of Ben or his bike when Al pulls around the trailer.

  “He better hurry, or his spud will be stone cold,” Al mumbles as I get out of the car, the paper bag with lunch for Ben in my hand. I try to ignore the small niggle of doubt as I walk in the door. Maybe we should’ve talked first and fucked later. At least I would’ve known where his head was at before Uncle Al dropped his bombshell.

  The first thing I see is a note in the middle of the kitchen counter.

  Pixie,

  Picking up my truck and things in Durango. Don’t count on me for dinner.

  Ben

  907 741 4348

  He’s not exactly forthcoming, and the note could’ve been written to anyone, but it’s the content that puts a smile on my face. He’s getting his stuff and bringing it back here.

  Uncle Al leans in and shamelessly reads over my shoulder.

  “Perfect,” he mumbles, grabbing a knife and fork out of the drawer. Before I can stop him, he snatches the brown paper bag off the counter, sits down on the couch, and starts eating.

  “Hey!”

  “What?” he says, his mouth full of potato. “He’s not here, he’s not gonna be here anytime soon. You want me to let this food go to waste?”

  “Do you know how many calories are in one of those? Let alone two?” I try to get through to him but he just waves his fork at me. “It’s not healthy. Didn’t your doctor tell you to eat healthier after you had that last scare?”

  “Bullshit,” he spits out. Literally—potato crumbs go flying. “That snotnosed quack. He knows nothing.”

  Exasperating: the same old discussion with the same predictable outcome.

  “You die from a stroke or a heart attack, that you could’ve prevented, I’ll never forgive you, Uncle Al.” My voice is rough with an emotion I’m trying hard to hold back. He doesn’t even notice; he’s too busy wolfing down Ben’s lunch. Stubborn old fart.

  “Have you seen that spot I started clear-cutting on the ridge, just off the gate?” he asks me, tossing the empty bag in the trash underneath the sink.

  “You mean the lookout point?” I’m pretty sure he’s referring to a spot I used to love hanging out on. Just a quarter of a mile up the mountain behind us, there’s a small clearing with a rocky outcrop from which you can see the entire reservoir.

  “Yup. Planned on building there before Ginnie got sick. Was getting tired of the trailer. All damn summer having to take a crap with the bathroom door open was gettin’ old.” And just like that he has me snicker and he knows it, too. His eyes sparkle with humor as he tilts his head to the door. “Come on. I’ll show you. Maybe you should build there.”

  I wordlessly follow him outside, a new sense of excitement settling in.

  Ben

  “Already?”

  Damian walks up behind me as I toss the last of my bags into the bed of the truck. After working together on more than a few cases, FBI Agent Damian Gomez and I have become good friends. When I’d needed a place to get my shit in order, he’d offered to let me park my stuff with him; a nice chunk of land just north of Durango, right along the Animas River. The past month, I spent most of my time here; giving Isla the space she needed, while tying up the loose ends of my employment with the DEA. There aren’t many people I can talk to, but Damian is one. By now he knows exactly what went down with my last assignment. And with Isla.

  “Yup.” I turn around with a smile on my face. “Already.”

  “Didn’t take much then to convince her?” Damian grins back.

  “Just my usual charm.”

  He barks out a laugh before his eyes turn serious.

  “This is what you want?” he asks, scrutinizing my face.

  “I have no idea what the future looks like, if that’s what you mean. I sure as hell don’t want to be sitting around doing nothing, but all of that is secondary.” I run my hand through my hair, sorting through my thoughts. Thoughts that haven’t shut down since waking up this morning in Isla’s trailer. I hadn’t considered much beyond getting her back when I drove down there yesterday, but her uncle showing up had given some direction at least. A starting point. “I want her,” I tell him simply. “I don’t have a foothold anywhere. No roots to return to at this point, no real place that’s mine to claim, like you have here.” I turn toward the fast flowing river and the mountains beyond. “But she does.” I look back at Damian. “I can figure out what I wanna do with the rest of my life anywhere—and I want to do it where she is.”

  “Fair enough,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Do you want take that piece of crap with you?” He tilts his head in the direction of an old trailer, just off the side of the driveway. One Damian had stayed in while working on his house. “You could fix it up a little, maybe rent it out.”

  I hadn’t planned on taking on another trailer. In fact I’d been glad to be rid of the constant reminder of my old life, but an idea started forming at the sight of the aged mobile home. Maybe I could make some use of it at the campground. A bed should I need it, or least it would give me something to do—fixing it up. The structure is still decent, albeit dated, so maybe there are still some miles left on the thing. With a bit of elbow grease, I could give it new purpose. Much as I’m doing with my life.

  Damian helps me tie the bike down in the truck bed and hitch the trailer in place, before he grabs me in a brotherly hug.

  “Stay in touch,” he orders when I get behind the wheel. I roll down the window and lean my elbow out.

  “Will do,” I promise. “Be easier now that I won’t have any more assignments coming.”

  “Right,” he says and slaps the roof of the cab. “And if you get bored, remember to give Gus Flemming a call. His outfit is based out of Cedar Tree, only forty minutes or so from Dolores, and he’s always looking for good men. Keep it in mind.”

  “I will.”

  “And bring that woman next time you head this way. Would love to know who turned you into such a pussy,” Damian says wearing a big smirk.

  “You’re an asshole,” I tell him. Starting the truck, I listen to him laugh as I slowly drive away.

  -

  It’s dark when I finally pull through the gates of the campground.

  She must’ve been on the lookout, because the moment I pull onto the vacant lot beside Isla’s place, she’s already running in my direction.

  “What’s this?” she asks when I get out, running her fingers along the side of the old trailer as she walks around it. “Your new home?” There is veiled uncertainty in her question. I come up behind her, grab her shoulders, and turn her to face me.

  “It could be, for now. You need some space—some time—to wrap your head around what is happening here? The extra bed could provide that, but mostly it’s just a project I want to work on,” I offer her, brushing her bangs from her forehead as her mouth twitches into a soft smile, and her pretty hazel eyes glance up at me.

  “A project?”

  “Something to keep my hands busy. Refinish it and maybe rent it out? It’s big enough for four adults.” Isla nods her head and I let her go, opening the door for her. The inside is worn, old, but the paneling is a nice, real wood veneer that can be brought back to life with a little help. The upholstery has to be replaced, as does the carpeting, and the chipped counter, but a lot of what’s there just needs a little lift. The big work is in the electrical and the water pump. The propane lines need replacing too, and I’m pretty sure the bathroom should be completely overhauled. I need some time to inventory everything.

  “So...” Isla leans back, her hands braced against the small kitc
hen counter. “What exactly is happening here?” The hesitant hope in her eyes when she asks the question has me put my hands on her hips and tug her a little closer.

  “What’s happening is you’re adjusting to some new realities, but so am I. The two are not mutually exclusive, though. Instead of just finding my way, I’d much prefer to find my way to you. This is a start. For whatever we choose to make it.”

  The hesitant hope on her face is transforming into a radiant smile. It’s all she has to do; this woman’s smile hits me square in the gut every time. Her hands sneak up until they rest on my chest and her head is tilted back. An invitation if I ever saw one, so I don’t make her wait, I lean in and slant my mouth over hers.

  Losing the ability to think clearly is inevitable, when I have her tongue in my mouth and her taste on my lips.

  “I like that,” she mumbles when I finally come up for air. “And I like this idea of restoring classic trailers and renting them out.”

  “One,” I correct her. “One classic trailer.”

  “Yes,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes. “One for now, but think about it; we could probably pick up some real beauties for next to nothing and restore them. Make them permanent fixtures on the campground; each maybe with a different theme, and all in a prime location, of course. Private and unique.” Her eyes drift around the interior and as she did on the outside, she trails her fingers along the surfaces in here, her mind clearly spinning.

  “Big plans already,” I tease her with a smile. Truth is, I actually quite like the idea. “Come on. Let’s get this damn thing unhooked and stabilized. We’ll get a better look tomorrow, in the daylight.”

  It doesn’t take us long. I leave my truck there, and walk my bike over to Isla’s trailer, an overnight bag hanging off the handlebars.

  “Did you eat?” Isla asks when she dives into the small fridge to grab us a beer.

  “Grabbed a burger at the drive-thru in Cortez. I’m good.” That earns me a stern look before she turns back to the fridge and pulls out half a meatloaf, lettuce, a tomato, mustard, and a jar of mayonnaise. I’m not even going to try and argue. I’ve come to recognize that stubborn set of her chin. “Where is Al?” I ask, suddenly realizing he’s missing.

  “Motel in Dolores. He was going to meet up with some old cronies of his and play some poker tonight. He’s heading back to Flagstaff tomorrow, but said he’d be back in the morning before hitting the road.” I watch as she expertly puts together an impressive sandwich.

  “Everything go alright today?” I ask, as she walks over, two beers in one hand and a plate in the other. Sitting down beside me on the couch, she hands me the plate and sets the beers on the small coffee table. While I scarf down the sandwich, she fills me in on her day.

  I’m just licking the last crumbs off my fingers when she tells me about the plot on the mountain.

  “You want to build there?” I ask her, even though I already know the answer. It’s clear as day on her face.

  “It’s perfect,” she gushes, sitting on the edge of her seat, her hands waving around as she describes the location. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ve seen it. I stumbled on it in the spring, when I was scouting out the area. “From the point you can see for miles. And it’s beautiful this time of year, with some of the trees changing color and the chill keeping the air clear. It’s stunning. We should go up tomorrow.”

  I try to recall the details of the clearing, but I’d been so focused on what was going on in the campground below, I hadn’t given myself a chance to enjoy the views. The thought of building a house up there, putting down some permanent roots, that idea appealed to me, even though it’s not my land or my call to make. Not yet anyway.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” I smile at her enthusiasm. I’ll follow her up that mountain in a heartbeat.

  Fuck, I’d follow her anywhere.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ben

  “You gonna stick around?”

  I look up at the old man coming toward me. When Isla’s uncle arrived this morning, I’d already been out here, working on the trailer. I wanted to check out the propane lines first, since I’d noticed the faint smell of gas when I was inside last night. I’m not about to start any kind of work when there is even the slightest chance of a leak. One single spark could blow the tank.

  Al looks over my shoulder, where I have the compartment for the propane hook up open.

  “Not sure what you’re going to do with this old thing, but I suggest you change out that propane adapter and all of those hoses. I could smell the damn gas when I came outside.” I tuck my chin down to hide my grin.

  “Probably because I’ve had the valve open. Don’t want to work on it with the propane tank half full.” I turn to look at him over my shoulder before I continue. “And as for your question; yes, I will be sticking around.” I focus back on what I’m doing.

  “You’ll get bored,” he says after an extended silence.

  “Be hard with Isla around. Your niece is not boring, Al.”

  “Don’t be a smartass,” he snaps. “You know what I mean. Guys like you, you need your adrenaline fix or you wouldn’t have been able to do what you did for so long.”

  I drop the wrench I was holding with a loud clang, into the opened toolbox at my feet, before I turn around. As much as I appreciate his concern for his girl, his mistrust stings.

  “Here’s the deal; I left the DEA for a reason. You, of all people, should be able to appreciate the fact that a life like the one I lived erodes a person. When your job has to trump everything you care about, everyone you love, or it leaves you dead. I was trying to cut loose long before I met Isla, but she was the clearest sign of why I had to. You’ll get no promises or guarantees from me, old man—but that’s only because I’m not the only one who decides how this will come out. What I can tell you is this; I know where I want this to end up, and I’m finding my way to get there.”

  I’m not backing down from the glare he shoots me. When he realizes I can’t be intimidated, he drops his eyes and rubs the back of his neck, mumbling a profanity.

  “What are you fixing this up for?” he finally asks, and I take it as the white flag it is intended as.

  “It’s a classic,” I explain, bending down to grab my tools again. “She’s a little worn, but could make a nice little, permanent rental trailer with a bit of TLC.”

  “1958 Deville,” Al mumbles, clearly knowing his stuff. “I remember growing up, our neighbors had one in the driveway. Pink thing. Ugly damn color, but we had so damn much fun in it.” He falls quiet, lost to his memories for a bit. “She have the original wood paneling?”

  “Sure does, and the Formica table and countertops. Go on in, have a look.” I wave to the door. “It’s not locked.”

  Without another word, Al goes inside, while I try to vent off the remaining gas. By the time he steps back outside, I’m disconnecting the old hoses from the couplings.

  “I’ve got a buddy in town, Phil McCracken. He’s got a place off Merritt Way, on the south side of town. Easy to spot, looks like a damn junkyard, but he’s got a couple of old Airstreams sitting in the field on blocks. I’ll leave Isla the number.” With that he walks off.

  -

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” Isla says as we trudge up the mountain.

  “What?”

  “Uncle Al. I was by the window, ready to pull him off you if things got too bloody, but I never expected him to come back with a smile on his face. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing I didn’t tell you first,” I state, as I watch her face soften into a smile.

  “He likes your ideas,” she says, swinging around to block my path.

  “Yours,” I tell her firmly. “I didn’t think beyond that one old trailer. You’re the one who came up with turning it into a theme. Clearly the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, since your uncle’s mind took much the same route.”

  Isla goes up on tiptoes and slips her arms around my neck, the
camera around her neck poking my stomach. It doesn’t stop me from wrapping her up even closer and dipping my head for a kiss. She tastes like the cool, fresh, fall air. Breaking the kiss, she pulls away from my hold, grabbing onto my hand.

  “Not much farther,” she says cheerfully, leading the way up the path.

  When we break through the tree line into an open space, littered with young growth, the view hits me like a fist in my gut. Unbelievable that I never noticed the raw beauty of this place before. Months I’d spent at the reservoir, but I’d never really seen it. At this elevation the air is clear, much crisper than down in the valleys and on the surrounding mesas. The surface of the reservoir, stretching from one end of the view to the other, is a shiny blue-gray mirror, reflecting the light of the midday sun.

  Unlike fall in the New England states, where the reds would be dominant, the colors here are limited to golds and yellows offset against the evergreens, but the effect is no less stunning.

  Isla lets go of my hand and grabs her camera, while I walk out on the rock jutting over the view below. There have been places I’ve been in my lifetime that I thought might make a nice home one day, but they were forgotten the moment a new assignment came and I was on the move again. This place, it stayed with me the past month. How much of that has to do with location, and how much with Isla, I don’t know. And it doesn’t really matter.

  This excitement at the prospect of building something here, with her, is a feeling even more powerful than the thrill and danger of a new operation. The ability to look ahead—a day, a month, even years—is something new. Gratifying.

  The whiz of Isla’s camera draws my attention away from the view. She’s climbed up on a tree stump, balancing precariously, as she snaps away at our surroundings.

  “Don’t fall,” I caution, making my way over to her.

  “You know,” she says, dropping the camera from her face and jumping down, completely ignoring my warning. “First thing we should do is put a proper road in.” She points at the path we just walked up. “It’ll make bringing up the heavy machinery a lot easier. I’m thinking if we can even just put in the road and level the plot before the frost hits, we’ll be able to break ground the first sign of spring.”