The Babysitter

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "I wanted to get out of the house. And at eighteen with no money, there weren't a lot of ways to do that. So I enlisted. But I pissed off my old man by becoming a SEAL, not going into the Army like him. There was a sense of satisfaction in that," he added, lips quirked up in a bit of spiteful pride.

  "Did you like being a SEAL?"

  "I liked it at first. The training, the challenge, the brotherhood. It wasn't until I was called in to join special forces that things went a little downhill for me."

  "You can't talk about it," I assumed.

  "Most of it, no."

  "But it was bad?"

  "According to official records - that are heavily redacted, mind you - they say that what we did was good, was in the service of freedom and justice."

  "But?"

  "But it was bad. No one should be turned into the monsters we were turned into. No one should have to carry with them the shit we have to shoulder for the rest of our lives. So a lot of us don't."

  "Don't what?" I asked, my heart hurting for him, for those like him. I couldn't fathom that burden, having those lives on your conscience. I once hit a squirrel who ran out right in front of my car - death wish in hand - and had cried for hours, had it be the last thought I had every night for months, despite it being an accident, and 'just a squirrel.'

  "Don't live with it. As a choice."

  "You... you considered not living with it too, right?" I asked, remembering what he had said the night he had found me with the knife.

  "Yeah. Though, I think a big part of it was a medication mishap. But yeah, thought about it. It was right after that when I chose to come in here. Not like this, not at first. I was just trying to slip away in a different way."

  "Was there no one left to, you know, miss you?"

  "Some of my old buddies from the service. That was what finally brought someone in here years back. Quin had set up his office up in Navesink Bank. He assembled a crew. And he remembered me, wanted me. So he sent Gunner out here."

  "What does Gunner do?"

  "Tracks people. Or helps them disappear. Like an unofficial Witness Protection. He tracked me down. Which couldn't have been easy. Back in those days, I had my hiking pack, and that was it. But he found me. Made me the offer. Told me if I took the job, I had to have walls."

  "So you built walls."

  "I built walls. Learned how to set up the composting bathroom, the gray water solution, the well, the solar. Know it doesn't look like much now even, but back then it was even more bare."

  "I think it is amazing now," I told him, hearing a bit of dreaminess in my tone.

  "Yeah?" he asked, gaze holding mine, eyes looking thoughtful.

  "You live in the woods with a composting toilet, water that takes an hour to warm up, and electric that is sketchy some days. And yet it's the most comfy house I've ever been in. I could live here forever," I told him, then realized how crazy that sounded, clingy, presumptuous. "I mean, I ah, don't expect to be here for..."

  "You can stay as long as you want," he cut me off, then stood abruptly, taking his dish to the sink.

  He was just like that.

  It had been off-putting at first, made me feel like I was saying or doing the wrong things.

  But now, I was used to it. It was just his way. There was no reason to second-guess myself. He didn't subscribe to common ideas of manners and traditions.

  The reason that was an unexpected blessing came to me on one day when I hadn't been able to sleep, when Gadget had been restless, making me worry he was taking a sudden turn for the worse even though he had been nothing but healthy and happy, and Ranger had gotten up in a decent mood, but mine was in the gutter, and when he'd tried to engage me, and I had grumbled at him and stormed outside to be alone, he hadn't been bothered. He'd simply given Gadget his morning bottle, made the coffee, left enough for me, and went about his day. Un-offended.

  He let you have your highs and lows. Without feeling the need to comment on them.

  It was freeing not to hide my feelings, or make excuses or apologies for them when they popped out.

  I just got to be.

  I wasn't sure I had ever been able to simply be before in my life.

  Without the constant voice in my head telling me all the things I should - or shouldn't - be doing, what I was screwing up, what I needed to work on, what I needed to think, eat, do - there was so much quiet inside.

  Occasionally, when one of my stitches would poke at me, when I would catch sight of the scars on my face or the new one on my arm, when I would go to reach for my ring necklace out of habit and find nothing there. The space was a bad thing, when it left room for the ugly to sink in again, to dampen my mood even when I was standing in the sunshine surrounded by happy animals, when everything that brought me a small amount of joy was there for me.

  I had no idea if it was right to say I was getting better. I wasn't looking for a permanent end to the pain. I was looking for ways to cope, ways to let the thoughts go when they popped up.

  I wasn't stupid.

  Living in the woods wasn't a cure for whatever trauma was left, whatever depression, anxiety, or maybe even hints of PTSD still existed within me. Fresh air and clean eating and goat and dog snuggles couldn't make all the bad go away. This was going to be a long road. I was going to have setbacks and bad days.

  Healing wasn't linear.

  That said, the lack of pressures here was absolutely - I felt - making a difference, easing me forward, but acting as a buffer for me when I fell back.

  "Coffee?" Ranger growled at me, making my head snap up.

  "Is that even a question?" I asked, watching as he shot me a small smile.

  Ranger wasn't one for vice. You never caught him snacking between meals, over eating, lazing about except for when it was bedtime, being attached to his phone, drinking.

  But he likely had more caffeine than blood in his system most days. Despite it being a multiple step process to make it each time.

  I had been a big coffee drinker in my old life, but it had reached a whole new level since moving in with Ranger.

  It was put to good use, too, during the days as my body adjusted to its new schedule, the hard work that would sap all my energy if it wasn't for the constant liquid gold Ranger constantly plied me with.

  "So what is Finn like?" I asked as I took my plate to the sink to start to wash.

  "No," Ranger barked at me, making me turn just in time to see him approaching, hand reaching out, sinking into my hip, and pushing me out of the way. "You cooked," he added, meaning if I cooked, I didn't wash up. And I usually found that insistence sweet, but at the moment, I was too busy focusing on the way that the skin on my hip felt a little tingly from his giant hand.

  Tingly.

  That made no sense.

  "He might take some getting used to," Ranger said as he turned on the water.

  "Who?"

  "Finn," he told me, shooting a look over his shoulder, brows drawn low.

  "Oh, right. Yeah. Why would he take some getting used to?"

  "He's a little OCD. He's going to come here and clean. He doesn't mean it like an insult. Like we don't keep the place clean enough or something. It's just... something he has to do. You kinda just need to go with the flow."

  "I think most people would count themselves lucky to have a friend who cleans their place without expecting anything in return. What does he do? For the company," I specified.

  "He cleans," Ranger told me, shrugging. "If something happens in someone's place, some tragedy, he cleans it up. Or if someone needs to be disappeared by Gunner, he will erase all traces of them from their old apartments and such. He's got a ridiculous eye for detail. Not like that," he told me when my gaze moved downward, looking at his giant flannel swallowing up my body, thinking about my utter lack of makeup. "About the job," he clarified.

  "Does he like it here, or does he grumble like you said Gunner does?"

  "It's a little out of his comfort zone. Dog hair everywhere. Di
rt always being tracked in. I don't think he has ever lasted more than one night here before. It's not just here. He doesn't like staying anywhere but his own place for the most part."

  "He's going to have a hard time with Gadget," I mused, looking at where he was trapped in a pen. There was a little puddle beside him, something that didn't bother either Ranger or me. We just cleaned it up as we saw it. But for someone with cleanliness issues, I could see that being anxiety-inducing.

  "One time, one of the dogs got into something outside that didn't agree with them and got sick over by the fireplace. I think he nearly scrubbed the coating off the floor. Maybe we can rig something up to make the cleanup easier," he suggested, turning to hand me the coffee.

  With his giant hand, there was no way to take something from him without our fingers brushing. And up until today, I had never given it a thought before. But the little shiver and tingle incidents had me taking a breath before reaching out, sliding my fingers into the small open space between his. As he pulled away, his thumb brushed the length of mine.

  And I swear, it was a Lizzie Bennet and Mr. Darcy moment from the Hollywood remake. It took everything I had not to try to shake the sizzle off.

  "You alright today?" Ranger asked, gaze on me, penetrating.

  I wasn't like Miller.

  I didn't lie well, let alone convincingly.

  And, I imagined, Ranger was probably a human lie detector.

  "I... dunno. I feel a little off."

  "Off like you're about to be curled on the couch demanding chocolate, or off like I should sleep with all the sharp objects in my room with me?"

  It was almost a joke.

  Ranger wasn't someone who would often kid around.

  This was as close as he got.

  I felt my lips curve upward, shaking my head. "I think I just need to get a little more sleep tonight," I told him, though, really, I could be on the couch demanding chocolate soon. Though I had yet to find the nerve to ask him exactly what was supposed to be done with used lady products. I couldn't figure that would be a comfortable conversation. A small part of me wished it would be Miller visiting again instead of Finn. At least I wouldn't feel weird asking her.

  "Are Gadget and Cap taking up too much room? Gadget doesn't need your warmth so much anymore. And you can make Captain sleep on the floor."

  "No, I think they, ah, help. You know. With the... bad dreams."

  He didn't make a comment on that. Didn't pry. And I had never been more thankful to a person before. "You want to switch? Take the big bed tonight? I can crash on the couch."

  Take his bed?

  Where everything would smell like him?

  The idea was way, way too tempting to agree to do it.

  "You wouldn't fit on the couch," I told him with a smile. "No, the couch is fine. I think I should just turn in earlier. Once I finish this. What time will Finn be here?"

  "Late morning. You can sleep in too if you want."

  Ranger never slept in. Ever. He got up early. Or earlier. That was it. I bet it was partly his military training and part out of necessity, needing those daylight hours to be able to work outside - planting, harvesting, chopping wood, shoring up the animal pens when any weaknesses became apparent.

  And the idea of sleeping in while he was already hard at work felt wrong.

  "I'll be up," I told him with a certain nod, knowing my system had adjusted to the new earlier hours, that my internal clock was usually pretty good and waking me up around the time the water was just finishing boiling for the coffee.

  Usually, I was someone who grumbled at her alarm clock, who had a rough time getting the day started.

  It never occurred to me that it wasn't that I was just not meant to be a morning person, but that I simply had no motivation to get up, that my life didn't inspire me, didn't fulfill me at the most basic of levels.

  I grew up with an extremely pragmatic mother. Someone who needed to be that way by virtue of necessity, who had no partner to help pay the bills. So she took whatever job guaranteed her the most stability. And when the time came for me to think about work, that was what she encouraged me to pursue as well.

  It wasn't romantic.

  It wasn't living the dream.

  But I was comfortable enough.

  Not everyone came from circumstances that allowed them a cushion to chase their passions, to soften the blow if they fell while pursuing them.

  And had I been so lucky, I never could have known that this would be what would make me happy. Me, who managed to kill an unkillable pothos plant, who hated bugs, who would have thought that a composting toilet was in the realm of hippie weirdness, and certainly not for me.

  But there was no mistaking that this was what my soul had been yearning for. The idea of seeing Gadget and Captain, of collecting eggs, making breakfast for a good man, collecting food that would nourish us, hand washing clothes, getting dirty and achy.

  So, like I had predicted, I woke up bright and early the next morning, excited for my day, curious about this elusive Finn.

  I couldn't have known, surely, that it would be the day that changed everything.

  SEVEN

  Ranger

  It wasn't until after noon that the dogs started going apeshit, always a sign of something - or someone - they weren't expecting.

  I ducked out of the pen where I'd been brushing one of the donkeys, leaning back against the fence, waiting.

  It was another ten minutes before a figure could be seen in the distance, a giant cart trailing behind, loaded down with too much weight for Finn's admittedly much thinner frame.

  Feeling a little guilty, I shushed the dogs, rushing out to take it from him, finding him almost wet through with sweat, his eyes full of the strain I knew he was feeling from the long trek that had shot dirt up his pant legs, got onto his hands and arms so that he had unintentionally swiped it across his brow.

  "Shoulda come to meet you," I told him as way of an apology.

  "That would have made it easier," he agreed. "Think that's about a thousand pounds."

  "It's the feed. Didn't want to head to town and leave her alone just yet," I added as we broke into the clearing.

  "Where is she?" she asked, glancing around.

  "Took the goat and Cap to the greenhouse to get some greens for dinner. Should be back soon. Probably happy to have some pants."

  "She has no pants?" he asked, eyes dancing a little.

  As a whole, Finn was often prone to seriousness verging on sullenness, trapped in his own personal hell he called a brain. He didn't find amusement easily.

  But, apparently, he found it at my expense. And, well, I couldn't even blame him for it. Because me, a self-proclaimed loner, who bitched about every client who had to come and stay with me - no matter for how long or short - had now opened up my home to a woman. Indefinitely.

  I had to expect some ribbing.

  "No shirts either, but she's been wearing mine."

  "How's she doing?"

  "She's alright. Still getting the dreams, but well..."

  "The dreams never stop," Finn filled in for me, having them himself, knowing that there seemed to be no end in sight.

  "Exactly. Go on in," I invited, nodding my head toward the house. "I will handle all this."

  He didn't even pretend to object, just tore through the house with his backpack, making a beeline for the shower I knew he would be washing thoroughly first.

  He was in a bad spell.

  You could always tell when his nail beds got bloodied from too much scrubbing that he was going through some shit.

  Maybe I should have asked before requesting it be him to come.

  But it was too late for regrets now.

  Surprisingly, I had just finished stocking most of the outdoor shit and the food away when he reemerged, hair wet. There was no way he had tackled the bathroom, let alone the rest of the cabin that quickly.

  It wasn't until his head jerked up when he heard Captain bounding forward that
I realized what had kept him from his usual rituals.

  Curiosity.

  About her.

  Who the fuck knew what kind of crap Miller was feeding the team about her, about my connection to her, about what it meant that I allowed her to stay when I once kicked Lincoln out after three days because I was feeling twitchy about having someone in my space.

  Captain pulled to a stop, back arching up as his head went down, hackles rising, a low, angry growl vibrating through his chest.

  "Cap, enough," I told him, brow raising when he didn't stop.

  As a general rule, my dogs listened to me. Maybe because they knew I was what had saved them from a lethal injection, that I didn't fault them for being surly and difficult, let them run around and be dogs without any complaints so long as when I did bark an order, they obeyed.

  Captain had always obeyed.

  Always.

  But, if anything, the growling got louder, meaner, his gaze on Finn as though he hadn't seen the man a dozen times before.

  "What has gotten into y..." I could hear Meadow say before she stepped into the clearing, coming to a stop at seeing Finn standing near me. "Oh," she said, voice low. "Okay, that's more than enough," she told Captain, fearlessly pressing her hand down on his shoulders.

  In a blink, the hair went down, the stance relaxed, and the growling ceased.

  "Sorry about him," she said, stooping down to grab a wandering Gadget around the middle, tucking him under her arm before approaching.

  "Shut it," I growled at Finn whose gaze was on me, lips twitching.

  "Didn't say anything," he shot back, but we both knew what he was thinking.

  "So, you're Finn," she greeted him as she put down the basket she was carrying. There was a long second where she went to raise her hand, but realized before it got awkward that her nails were caked with dirt, choosing instead to rub Gadget's head. "I'm Meadow," she added, giving him a tentative smile. "Thanks so much for bringing the stuff to us. I know how long a trek that is. You must be exhausted. Has he offered you any coffee yet?" she asked, shooting me a look that I swear said Where are your manners.