Big Noise

by Jen Wright

  When Jean finally pulled into the driveway and into their attached garage, he was waiting for her in the doorway. He felt a little sheepish as she unloaded groceries from her car.

  "You OK, Don? You're home early."

  "Headache." Don pointed to his head. "I took some ibuprofen. It's easing up."

  Headache, right! He's following me. Maybe he'll go to bed early. Maybe I can sneak out and see Frank. God, I feel so trapped. Jean stomped in and out of the house with the groceries.

  Why can't we just get a divorce like other normal unhappy couples? Because he's crazy, that's why. He'll kill Frank, and then he'll never let me out of his sight.

  She began unpacking the groceries. He was watching her.

  He won't even let me have any friends. I miss my friends. I miss my life. Jean felt on the verge of tears, so she went down to the basement to do laundry. She knew it would be too obvious for him to follow her down there.

  At least he isn't threatened by my poetry. Thank god for that. I'd be insane without it. She lingered over the laundry as long as she could. She felt like she had to watch every step, or it would all come crashing down on her. He was slowly but surely becoming a monster.

  I don't know if I can keep doing this. He's impotent unless he's forcing me to have sex and humiliating me. This is sick! How can I continue to be with him when I love Frank so much? I can't. What can I do? What can I do? I can't go on like this.

  CHAPTER 5

  Although Zoey had been willing to help Jo look for Rick right away, she seemed happy when Jo said, "No, let's go for a snowshoe," and turning to Sandy and Ree, she asked, "Want to join us?"

  "You go ahead and enjoy yourselves," Sandy said. "We have some projects to do. We'll catch up with you later."

  Jo and Zoey gathered all of their winterwear and two pairs of snowshoes, and ventured outside the cabin door to the Cloquet River.

  After they stepped outside, Jo stood there for a moment. She consciously put her worries about Rick away and let herself live in the moment with Zoey.

  "What are you smiling about?" Zoey wanted to know.

  Jo felt high. Filled to the brim with being in her element. She was much more at home in the woods than any other place on earth. She so rarely experienced the kind of euphoria she was feeling at that moment. She didn't know if it was how everyone felt when they were in love, but she was soaking it in. All of the colors were a little brighter for her, her sense of taste and smell heightened, every sense on high alert. She didn't have the words to express it, but she hoped that Zoey would understand.

  "I feel so good right now. I think it's being in love. I mean, everything is so vivid. I feel so alive." She waved a hand over the river landscape. "Look."

  Zoey paused and took in the wilderness tapestry spread out before her. "I feel it, too. I'm glad we came here. I could live like this forever."

  They took a moment to lock eyes before beginning their trek. Jo wanted to believe that Zoey was committed enough to accept her totally, including the distractions of her work life. The old Jo would have tried to hide it all. Now, she found herself smiling in spite of her fears.

  Jo stood to her full 5-feet, 10-inch height and looked both more relaxed and more alert in that moment than Zoey had ever seen her. Her light blue eyes and white teeth contrasted with her winter tan and short dark hair. Her lean, muscular body was loose but ready for an adventure. Zoey particularly loved seeing that satisfied perma-grin that had taken up residence on Jo's face.

  As they traveled slowly down the river, Zoey found that she could maneuver the large old-fashioned snowshoes around downed trees, large boulders, and pockets of open water. For a woman who had moved to northern Minnesota less than six months earlier, she showed no signs of running from the cold and snow. Zoey's bomber-style hat was completely snow covered, and her eyelashes cradled several delicate flakes. Jo watched Zoey as she stopped and looked around with amazement at the beauty of this new place.

  In true Zoey fashion, she just had to try her hand at being in the lead, a task usually reserved for experienced river trackers. She struck out confidently, with Jo following close behind. Zoey found that she had an intuitive ability to navigate the frozen river. Jo only had to warn her away from thin ice once.

  "You sure you haven't done this before?" Jo asked.

  She certainly hadn't gained any of this knowledge in her former home in the New Mexico desert. This terrain was a stark contrast to anything she had ever experienced. Cedar trees grew stubbornly out of rock formations bordering the river. A snowy blanket covered many large white pine branches that hovered over them. Their breathing produced short bursts of steam.

  Jo's loyal pups, Java and Cocoa, seemed to be enjoying the freedom of this vacation as well. Rarely staying on trail throughout the snowshoe, they jumped through snow up to their ears for jaunts up the riverbank in search of real and imagined animals to capture. Zoey knew from experience that large animals or anything that would give them chase would land them squarely underfoot in search of mom's protection. Zoey realized suddenly that she had already grown attached to these impetuous dogs.

  While Zoey was dressed perfectly for the snowshoe hike, she also knew that she presented herself as somewhat of a geek. All of her clothes were too new, and she was too well put together to look natural. When she made the move up north, she hadn't owned any jackets heavier than a light windbreaker. She had acquired quite a bit of gear since then, but she hadn't yet adjusted to the casual way most northerners cared for their outerwear. She rarely wore anything twice without washing it. She flashed on the memory of the day Jo caught her ironing her flannel shirts. Jo had chuckled as she gently pointed out that if she was going to iron flannel, she better not leave a crease or everyone would know.

  She wondered if she was really cut out for this adventure in the woods with no washing machine or iron. Zoey reflected on how opposite she and Jo were in so many ways. Regarding their clothes, they were like north to south, yin to yang. Jo appeared to care little for what she wore. She donned virtually the same outfit every day for work or play: one of her twelve button-down Pendleton shirts with one of the dozen pairs of permanent-press, khaki pants she owned. When her work clothing became worn, she rotated it into her casual clothing. Zoey did notice, however, that Jo had brought along some fleece shirts and pants in anticipation of their rustic adventure. That totally cracked her up.

  Where the river narrowed for a curve, they found themselves nearly encircled in snow-covered branches. Zoey knew from experience not to stand under them, as it would afford her lover the opportunity to give one of them a shove, causing snow to fall on her head and down her neck.

  As they entered a clearing with no trees overhead, Zoey slowed, moved in a large circle, and turned to face Jo. She inched her snowshoes in closer, placing one in between Jo's legs and the other to one side, and leaned in. She knew Jo couldn't possibly move now, without toppling both of them over into a snowshoe/human heap.

  Zoey gave Jo a wicked little grin and moved in for a kiss. She could feel Jo smiling as those warm lips melted into her own. Jo gave in easily and fully to Zoey, and Zoey could tell that Jo's entire body was warming over with pleasure. Jo let out a laugh after the kiss.

  "What?" Zoey inquired.

  "I could take you again right here." Jo was still laughing.

  "You really can't get enough, can you?"

  "I'm smitten. What can I say? I love seeing you out here. It totally does me in." Jo flicked a little snow off of Zoey's hat before they started back toward the cabin.

  The warmth of that kiss easily lasted for the mile-long return hike.

  CHAPTER 6

  Don had finished bringing the last of the supplies out to his bunker. He felt so satisfied with his work. Here he had control of everything. Here everything was perfect. In the real world, so many people were always fucking up his plans. It felt good to be able to control everything about this place.

  As he relaxed at the thought of his safe bunker, h
e heard in his mind his father's harsh words: "You stupid idiot! Why do you have to wreck everything?"

  He was sitting in a boat the one time when they had tried to go fishing together. He had been so happy when his father offered to take him. Just the two of them. They didn't do things together like the other ten-year-old boys in his school did with their fathers. He wanted so badly for his father to be proud of him and to want to spend time with him.

  Sitting in that boat, he could see it all falling apart. He had tangled his line with his father's. He'd also gotten it wrapped around the propeller of the motor. He felt helpless as his father angrily tried to untangle the mess. He could feel his father's rage mounting. Not only was the fishing trip over, but he would get a sound beating before they even made it back to the car.

  He fought back the urge to cry. To cry now would only result in a more immediate beating. He began counting the number of rivets holding the three sections of the boat bottom together. By the time he got to thirty-seven, he realized that his father was yelling at him again.

  "Donald. Are you listening to me?"

  Donald looked up. He had made another terrible mistake. "Yes, sir."

  "Then what did I just say?"

  "Dad, I'm sorry. I don't remember."

  "Then you lied to me, didn't you?"

  "I didn't try to."

  "Come here."

  Donald was frozen. He knew his father was going to hit him, so he couldn't move. One day, he was going to fight back. He would become strong enough so that his father would never even think about hitting him. One day, his dad would pay for beating him like this. He knew that other boys weren't beaten like he was.

  He cursed himself for being so stupid. Why couldn't he stop screwing things up?

  The boat rocked from side to side as his father got to his feet and moved toward him. A strong arm grabbed him as another one cracked him on the side of his head.

  His father slowly made his way back to the rear of the boat before speaking.

  "Don't lie to me."

  Donald knew that even if he had been honest about not hearing his father, he would have been hit for not listening. He felt what would become for him the familiar feeling of helpless paralysis about how to behave in his father's presence.

  CHAPTER 7

  After their snowshoe, Jo and Zoey followed Sandy to the post office for her afternoon shift (this branch of the U.S. Postal Service apparently had rather limited hours, as Sandy was the only employee). They were curious to see where she worked. Before entering, Sandy chatted with a couple of waiting customers as she unlocked the crude padlock protecting the tiny post office from would-be burglars. As she entered the customer area that housed two chairs and no room for a line, she asked the customers to hold off on coming in until she could open the inner door to her service counter. The door opened out, and if they came into the building with her, there wouldn't be enough room to open the door.

  Once at her station, she turned up the heat and used her key to open the cash register. She had a four-hour shift ahead of her, and she hoped it would be a busy one. If the waiting customers were any indication, she thought she might get her wish. When things got slow, she had to do online data entry, a task she did not enjoy.

  After she had served her first several customers, she brewed a pot of coffee, pouring cups for everyone.

  "So, how'd you get to be postmistress?" Zoey inquired.

  "Well, the previous one — Mabel Swenson — retired two years ago. They put an ad in the paper, and I was the only one to apply." Sandy shrugged. "The old post office was in Mabel's garage. When I was offered the job, it was under the condition that I either build a new one or oversee the new construction. I'm pretty sure they banked on me wanting to build it myself."

  Sandy looked around at the snug structure with pride. "I added it onto the fire hall. There were some funny code requirements, though. Studs had to be six inches apart. The walls a foot thick. Don't want anyone breaking in to steal the mail."

  Ten customers and an hour later, Sandy had a break of about fifteen minutes. "When I first took this job, I envisioned myself reading novels or catching up on my correspondence. No way is that going to happen. I have to inventory, fill out online forms, etcetera. For such a small operation, there's a lot of busy work."

  They heard a car pulling into the parking lot. Sandy could see through the small window on the door that it was an Explorer, driven by Jean Anderson, whose mailing address was in Two Harbors. Sandy couldn't really figure out why Jean did so much of her mailing business in Big Noise. Once Sandy processed Jean's package and the woman got into her car, Sandy turned back to Zoey and Jo.

  "That is one troubled woman. Hangs out at G's Café and reads poetry. Her writing is dark. From what I heard in her poems, she's married to a sick, controlling bastard. She seemed lonely, so I kept trying to draw her out. There's a certain vulnerability to her."

  "And?" They all knew Sandy had more.

  "And she's working up to leave him. I think she's seeing someone up here. Why else would she drive all the way from Two Harbors to mail her packages?"

  "Do you think it's a woman?" Jo's eyebrows shot up.

  "I doubt it. Didn't get that vibe from her. She's scared shitless of the husband, though."

  "Women are at the highest risk of abuse when they leave. I specialized in domestic violence offenders for years," Jo said.

  "Well, I hope that doesn't play out up here," Sandy said.

  "Abusers get off on the control they can exert over their victims," Zoey added. "But they're hurting themselves, really. Someone taught them that they have to maintain power to survive. They need help, and if they can get that help, we're all a little safer."

  CHAPTER 8

  The sauna was hot, and Jo found it hard to understand how her friends could stand the heat. After they all stripped off their clothes and settled in, a wash of sadness and anxiety must have shown on her face as she looked at her friend Sandy's scarred breast area. Sandy must have sensed her feelings and spoke to relieve some of the tension.

  "I kind of like the scars. It makes me feel like a survivor, you know," she said as she looked down at her own chest.

  Jo had gone to see Sandy in the hospital when she underwent a double mastectomy. She had also been there when Sandy decided against reconstruction. Sandy's justification was that she didn't want a longer recovery time but also because they would place the breast augmentation under her pectoral muscles. She feared it would impact her strength — the strength she so needed to do the construction work she loved. At just under five feet, she needed all of the strength available to her. Jo moved to a lower bench so that she could tolerate the heat enough to continue their conversation.

  "So what does your doctor say? Have you had more follow-up visits since we last talked?"

  "Still all clear. No reoccurrence." As Sandy said it, she crossed her fingers.

  "And are you back to full strength? It's been, what, eight months?"

  "Ten actually, and I feel great. They didn't take any muscle, so I'm feeling as good as new."

  "Has it changed you at all? You know, facing a cancer scare like that?"

  "Well, I think I'm even more grateful that I only work part time. I have time to really enjoy life, Ree, the people I care about. I think it reaffirmed for me that I'm living my life the way I want to."

  Jo felt an instinctive need to touch Sandy's scars, but she held back the urge. They looked like smiles. Somehow being close friends with a lesbian added more rigid boundaries. She wondered if she would hold back that urge if they were heterosexual friends. Instead, she reached for Sandy's hand and gave it a tug. This small gesture captured more than either one of them could have put into words.

  Jo only lasted a short time before wandering out into the cool winter air. Every inch of her steamed as her body temp. came back down to a comfortable level. Inside, she could hear murmurs of a conversation about the Big Noise Fire Department. She was sure Zoey was full of quest
ions, and she made a mental note to ask Sandy and Ree for a tour of the fire hall and trucks before the vacation ended. She had her hopes up about getting a ride in the fire truck. She had heard that Sandy had been assigned to run the engine/pumper. That was no small feat, given Sandy's height, but Jo was picturing it as she steamed outside the sauna. She imagined Sandy sitting in the truck on top of a phone book, steering the big rig.

  Outside of the hot sauna, the wind had picked up a bit. The trees behind her were creaking in their effort to resist the blasts. Little swirls of snow rose and then died down in the opening between the sauna and the cabin. Jo knew that she never would have noticed such simple beauty before falling in love with Zoey. She breathed in the deep scent of winter and then stepped back into the sauna.