TAUT

by JA Huss

  The girl tries to bounce a little on the long gray couch, then gives up. “Huh.”

  “Huh what?”

  She looks up at me with a sly smirk. “Yeah, it’s horrible.”

  “The basement is nicer. More casual. At least the couches are overstuffed leather. I’m gonna sleep down there.”

  “Why? Don’t you have more than one bedroom?”

  “Yeah, I have a room and my parents have a room. But I’m not sleeping in either of those beds, so I’ll take the downstairs couch.”

  She looks down the hallway towards the bedrooms and for a second it feels like she’s gonna say something, but then she closes her mouth and looks back up at me with a smile. “OK.”

  I walk to the bathroom and turn the water on. It runs clear and after about a minute or so, it’s warm too. “Well,” I say, coming back out to the living room. “Looks like we have hot water, so that’s good.” The girl is slumped against the back of the couch looking exhausted. “Do you want to stay here while I go into town?” She shakes her head and drags herself up. The baby is already sleeping. “She sure does sleep well.”

  “Yeah,” the girl says a little wistfully. “People think new babies are hard, but the new ones sleep.” She turns her face up to me and smiles. “A couple weeks from now she’ll keep me up all hours of the night, but for now, all she wants is milk and rest.”

  “How old?” I try again since she’s not pissed at me right now.

  “Three and a half months.”

  “And you’re driving a piece-of-shit car over a snowy mountain with a three-month-old, all alone… why?”

  She gets up and grabs the baby carrier, her jaw tense and her posture stiff. “I’m ready if you are.”

  I wave her back the way we came, but I’m not satisfied. Not at all. Because this girl has a ring on her finger, a new baby, and she’s alone in a strange place with no money. Crossing the mountains unprepared in the dead of winter is stupid. And in spite of the fact that I did the same thing, it’s not even remotely comparable. I’m a man, I’m rich, I have a house along the way. I’m from here. I, at the very least, have a survival kit in my truck with very expensive blankets that will keep you warm in subzero temperatures even if you sit your ass outside in the snow.

  She has nothing and she’s not the least bit bothered by it beyond keeping it to herself.

  And I don’t like that one bit.

  Because this girl is starting to remind me a little too much of the old Rook.

  Chapter Nine

  “The car is locked inside.”

  I feel a little bad for her as I fool with my phone web browser. She’s genuinely distraught at having all her things locked away inside Jason’s garage. “He won’t come open it so you can get your stuff, so we’ll just get what you need at the store.”

  She turns away from the window she’s fogging up with her breath and stares at me. Silent.

  “What?” I ask absently, still paying attention to the search results on my phone.

  “Nothing,” she sighs. “If you say so.” She turns back to the window and I put my phone away. I pull out of Jason’s and make our way back onto I-70 to get to the west side of the village, and then she turns back to me. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m not more appreciative. I’m just…”

  I wait. The car is silent except for the blast of hot air coming from the heater vents. But she’s dropped it and I hate that. “You’re just what?” I prod.

  She waits again. And then, just when I think she’s ignoring me, she says very softly, “I’m just not sure what’s happening.”

  I slow the van down so we don’t slide into the car in front of us when we get off the freeway, but as soon as I turn right to go to Safeway, I can’t wait anymore, so I ask. “You’re not sure about what? I don’t understand your confusion.” I figure she’s gonna ask me what my intentions are. Hell, if I was a girl with a new baby traveling alone, and some guy picked me up and wanted to pay for everything, that’s the first fucking thing I would’ve asked.

  But she’s done talking about it because she changes the subject. “Do they have a Wal-Mart here?”

  I laugh.

  “What?”

  I laugh again. “This is Vail. We have a Patagonia, a Sports Authority, a million ski and board shops, several survival gear stores, one 7-11, and a Safeway. Unless you count the boutiques in Vail Village, but I do not. We can go there tomorrow and get you more clothes if you need it, but not today. You have to walk in from the parking garage, and even though the sidewalks are heated so snow is not a problem, I’m not in the mood to boutique shop in Vail Village during a blizzard. So I’ll hit the Safeway for groceries and you can shop for clothes in the consignment store next door.”

  “What if it’s not open?”

  “I already checked, they’re open until four.”

  “Well,” she says with a little sigh that might be relief. “I guess you’ve got it all figured out, then.”

  “I do,” I say as I pull up in front of the consignment shop. She gets out and opens the back door and the wind whips snow inside. She grabs that pain-in-the-ass baby carrier and I get out some cash from my wallet and thrust it at her. “Here, get whatever you need.”

  She stares at the bills in my outstretched hand for a moment, then looks up to my eyes. “Did he send you?”

  “What? Who?”

  She shakes her head and mutters, “Nothing.” And then she grabs the cash and the baby carrier and whooshes the door closed.

  “Did who send me?” I have a paranoid vision of her being some mob boss’ daughter on the run after witnessing a triple murder of some important politician’s family… and then I laugh myself out of it. Fuck, Ford. You have some imagination. Not everyone is a criminal. I’m not sure who this girl is or what that remark just meant, but right now I do not care. The snow is getting worse and I just want to get this shopping crap over with and go home.

  Home.

  That word in association with Vail evokes feelings in me that I’m not sure how to identify. I’ve lived here on and off my entire life. In that house. In that bedroom. But now this place feels… empty for me. It’s missing something.

  No, that’s not right. It’s missing everything.

  I park the van and jog towards the entrance before the snow drenches me.

  The Safeway doors slide open when I approach and I’m bombarded with leftover Christmas shit. I skirt around an employee trying to hand me samples of corned beef, and then grab a cart. I hit the alcohol first. I grab a few local brew six-packs and then head to the meat department.

  I can cook. Regardless of what Spencer thinks, I have no problem cooking. I might not push a vacuum around, but that’s only because I have maids who do that for me. But eating is something I have to do a few times a day so cooking is a survival skill.

  I grab a few pounds of boneless chicken, some rice, and other small things to make it taste a little better. I wander around the produce department and pick up some vegetables for a salad. I’m perusing the drinks aisle when I hear the baby behind me.

  “Hey,” the girl says as she comes up laden with bags and the carrier.

  “That was fast.”

  “Yeah, the shop girl practically kicked me out. I was her only customer all day and she was just thinking she could close early when I walked in. I got a few things real fast. I didn’t spend much.”

  I take the bags and put them in the grocery cart and she balances the baby carrier on the front seat and takes over the driving.

  I shake my head at that. Fucking girls. “I got a few things, but you can get whatever you want.”

  “I have to get diapers.” She looks back at me. “If that’s OK?”

  I wave her on. “Whatever you need.”

  She leads the way after that and I follow, feeling a bit uncomfortable to be doing something so personal as grocery shopping with a total stranger and her child. But then, I spent last night with her, she’s staying with me this weekend, and I paid for he
r car to get a new engine. So I guess grocery shopping is not so strange after all.

  She whips the cart around the corner and looks up at the aisle signs as she walks, then takes a hard right into the baby stuff. She barely stops, just grabs things off the shelf as she walks. Tosses in diapers, a bib, and a box of something. “I have a bowl and spoon, so I don’t need that,” she explains when she notices me watching her intently.

  “OK,” I reply. She stops at the end of the aisle. “You done?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do you need anything specific? Milk?” She glances down at her breasts and I let out a small chuckle. “For you, I mean.”

  “Oh, I’ll eat whatever, but thank you.”

  “OK.” And that’s that. Shopping is over. We stand in the checkout line, which is long since there’s a threat of another storm coming and people are reactionary when they think they might be snowed in for a day. I pay and the girl talks to the baby as the bagger loads our cart back up. And then we go back out and brave the snow. It’s really coming down and the parking lot hasn’t been cleared since earlier in the day, so I have to fight the cart through the slush.

  We load the kid and the crap, then climb back into the van. Our doors slam at the same time and we let out a collective sigh. She looks over at me and gives me a smile again. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem. Jason will be at the shop tomorrow, so we can go by and get your stuff if you need it. The Bronco will be done on Monday, but he won’t be able to start your car until later in the week, so you’ll have to stay up here in Vail until it’s done.”

  “Oh.” She seems disappointed and that’s all she says as I drive carefully through the snow, the tires making that crunching noise as we go.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, looking at her frown. “You can stay at my house. Just call the property managers when you leave and they’ll come lock it all up again. I’ll leave you some cash for food, and you can use this rental if you want.”

  She nods and looks out the window.

  “What?” I ask as I get back on the freeway.

  “Thanks,” she says with an almost too cheerful smile. “It’s very nice of you to help me out like this. You don’t even know me.” And then she snorts a little. “You don’t even know my name.”

  “Ashleigh,” I say quietly. “You’re Ashleigh.” She gives me a quizzical look. “Your key chain. It said Ashleigh and Tony Forever or something like that.”

  “Oh, right.” The smile disappears.

  “But yeah, I’m not usually so nice. You caught me on a bad day.”

  “This is a bad day? What are you like on a good day? A saint?” This brings the smile back, at least partly.

  “No, on a good day I’m myself. On a good day I would’ve left you in your car all night.”

  She looks over at me quickly. “Would not’ve.”

  “Yes, I would. On a good day I would never’ve knocked on your window when I went to get the blizzard blankets. I would’ve pretended I never heard you and your baby. And then I would’ve walked back to my hotel and gone to sleep. I’d have forgotten you before I even reached the motel door.”

  I get off the freeway at our exit and turn right onto Starburst. The snow is even thicker over here and I start to worry about the driveway. I punch in the gate code once we make it to the house, and then hold my breath as we climb the steep hill. We slide even more this time and it’s freaking her out.

  “I don’t like this. Drop me off, I’ll walk up.”

  “I’m not dropping you off. Just relax.”

  She looks nervously behind us. “I’m afraid we’re gonna slide backwards and—”

  “Stop it. I’m not going to let us slide backwards.”

  “But what if you can’t control it?”

  I shoot her an annoyed look and she turns away as I accelerate a little, making the tires spin. She makes a few indescribable noises and grips the seat, but after a few seconds of sliding sideways, we get traction and continue upwards. When I finally pull around to the garage she lets out a long breath like she was holding it in the entire time. “Told ya,” I say smugly as I put the car in park so I can go open the garage door.

  “Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

  I glance up at her as I get out to see if this was sarcasm, but she’s already scooting over into my seat. We’ve got this down to a routine, I guess.

  She smiles at me again. Like she trusts me completely even though three seconds ago she thought I was gonna let us slide backwards down a steep hill. I open the garage and she pulls forward with the same careful attention she did earlier, and then I close the door behind her. I start grabbing bags and she messes with the baby.

  I set all the bags down on the kitchen island and start taking things out to put away.

  “Nope,” she says in a light tone. She walks over to me and puts her hand on my chest to push me away, and then grabs the bag with her other hand at the same time. “You paid, so I’ll put it all away and cook us dinner.”

  I try to remove her hand from my chest, but she whirls around before I can even come to grips with the fact that she touched me again.

  Fucking girl. That’s three times now.

  “Go,” she says. “Shoo. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Shoo?” I chuckle. It feels good to laugh after all this bullshit that’s been rattling around in my brain these past few months. “I can cook. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  She stops what she’s doing and looks over her shoulder at me. “Just go, OK? I got this. It’s my way of paying you back. Don’t ruin it for me.”

  She goes back to the bags and leaves me to decide. I watch her from behind for a moment. Her small body is busy as she takes things out and sets them on the counter. And then the baby whines and it breaks the hold this girl has on me.

  I don’t exactly hate babies, they just freak me out. They’re all needy with the feeding and the diapers. Plus, most of them like to be touched.

  I shiver at the thought and make a quick escape before she asks me to do her a baby favor.

  Chapter Ten

  I head downstairs immediately. This is the front of the house and it’s not your typical dark basement. For one, it’s got a whole wall of windows on the far end of the lower floor great room, and for two, it’s a walk-out basement, so it’s built into the side of the mountain. If it wasn’t dark I’d be enjoying a spectacular view of the mountain peeking out from the tall pine trees. There’s no skiing on the mountain we face, it’s just wilderness. I prefer it. I can imagine nothing worse than looking out the window and seeing tourists.

  I drag my gaze away from the dark window and look to the left at my dad’s office door. I haven’t been back here since the day he died. And as Mrs. Pearson pointed out to me this morning, I even missed the funeral.

  I don’t do funerals. I don’t do weddings, or baby showers, or anniversaries.

  I did one birthday. For Rook. I did Ronin’s get-out-of-jail-free party. Again, for Rook. And I’ve been to Antoine’s New Year’s party twice, including yesterday. The first was to get drunk with Spencer and Ronin after Mardee died. A formal goodbye from the three of us. And last night was to say goodbye to Rook. A last-ditch attempt to disconnect whatever it is we have between us.

  I flick the light on in my dad’s office and take it in. Books on shelves, of course. We are alike in that respect. A large mahogany desk, spotless. I huff out a puff of air at that. Because his desk was never cleared off when he was alive. I walk around the desk and sink into the burgundy leather chair. It’s soft. It probably cost more than that girl’s car.

  I slide open the top drawer and take out the key, twirling it between my fingers before inserting it into the bottom drawer and pulling it open. The light oak color of Macallan 1939 is apparent even in the shadow of the desk. Farther inside the drawer are two copita nosing glasses tucked inside some dark purple cloth.

  My dad was a whiskey man and I bought him this bottle at auction a
fter I completed my first job producing a two-week reality show in Japan. I spent my entire salary on this bottle of liquid gold. I told my dad to just drink it, shit, that’s why I bought it. But he said he was saving it for something special.

  That’s a hard lesson to learn. You should never save anything for something special. Because something special might never come and that ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch you admired in a desk drawer will just to go to waste on your piece-of-shit son as he mopes about losing yet another girl to Ronin fucking Flynn.

  I open the bottle and grab both glasses. I pour a little whiskey into each glass, then walk over to the window, open it up, and toss it outside.

  I pour again.

  Apparently I’m secretly hoping the girl will wander down here and join me. Save me from my wallowing. Or maybe just get drunk with me. I smell the whiskey in my glass, then do the unthinkable with such a fine grade of drink. I guzzle it.

  It burns like fuck as it goes down, but after that’s over I’m left with a rather pleasant taste.

  I drink the girl’s glass too, and then pour us another.

  Those two go down a lot easier and the coldness that has permeated my body all day is gone. In fact, my body is so warm I open the window back up.

  Courage, that’s what I’m drinking. It’s not liquid gold, it’s liquid courage.

  I reach into my pocket and take out my phone and turn it on. I’m almost afraid to see what’s waiting for me since I turned it on earlier in the day to make calls. It takes its time powering up and then the damage stares me in the face. Seventeen messages in all since last night.

  I page to the list of missed calls. Rook, Ronin, Rook, Rook, Rook, Ronin… I study them for a moment, then realize she’s got a pattern. She calls on the hour. Ronin’s calls are random.

  Just like him. He has no pattern—he’s random. That’s why luck likes him.

  I hate it. I hate it because Rook does have a pattern. She’s symmetrical, she’s even, she’s… perfect. And he’s… not. I check the time real quick—ten minutes to seven—and then press the number for the other missed calls on my screen.