by Gerri Hill
She shrugged. As Stella had said, she was paying a pretty penny for room and board. She didn’t suppose a “thank you” was required.
She went back into her room, intending to unpack her bags. Instead, she sat on the bed and stared out the window. She could only see the edge of the garden from there and Melanie wasn’t in her line of view. She turned in the direction of where the hummingbird feeder was, but it too was out of sight. With a weary sigh, she lay back and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.
Chapter Eleven
“It’s none of my business, of course…But you’ve pretty much slept the day away.”
“I believe you told me that if I was tired, I should take a nap.”
Melanie stabbed several green beans with her fork. “So I did. Is it because you’re not high on caffeine?”
Erin flicked her gaze at her. “High? Is that what it’s called?”
Melanie cut one of the small potatoes in half before eating it. She should just come right out and ask her, she supposed. Things between them couldn’t possibly get any more strained. She was tired of worrying that she would open the bedroom door and find her…well, not alive.
“Are you depressed?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
Melanie put her fork down. “Look, it’s obvious you don’t want to be here. The reason you’re here in the first place is still a mystery, but regardless, you’re here. And if you treat every day like you did today…You’ll drive yourself mad if you don’t get out and do something. Take a hike. Walk along the creek. Throw scratch out for the chickens. Muck the goat stall. Pick eggs. Help me in the garden. There are countless things to do here. Get outside in the sunshine. You’ll feel better.”
Erin eyed her. “What makes you think I don’t feel good?”
Melanie was too polite to say that she looked like hell. “Do you feel good?”
“I don’t know what feeling good is like. I feel like crap, honestly. I haven’t gone a whole day without a Red Bull in years. I have a pounding headache that hasn’t eased. My body is in shock. I haven’t had a drink or a cigarette in five days.”
Melanie wrinkled up her nose. “You smoke?”
“No. Not really. It was just…something to do.” Erin cut into the squash casserole. “This is pretty good.”
“Thank you. You’ll be sick of squash soon enough. They’re coming in like crazy.”
Erin motioned to the plate. “I notice there aren’t any beans.”
“Stella warned me to stay away from them. At least for today. Being vegetarian, beans are a staple, though. You can expect burritos at least once a week.”
Erin nodded. “I liked the green sauce you put on the eggs. Nice and spicy. And I don’t really hate beans. Rachel’s presentation was…well, rather tasteless.”
“Yes, I know. She brings them sometimes to our monthly dinners.”
“What dinners?”
“Stella has a gathering at her house once a month. It’s a potluck, nothing more, but it gives everyone a chance to visit and catch up, and this time of year, exchange vegetables.”
“So you don’t really see everyone out here very often?”
“Not often, no. Some do. Most of the others live closer together, closer to Stella. I’m back here by myself. I…” She smiled quickly. “I’m a bit of a hermit, I’m afraid.”
“A hermit? Guess me being here is cramping your style, huh?”
“To say the least.”
“Why are you a hermit?”
Melanie met her gaze. “Why are you here?”
Their stare ended in a standoff, neither feeling the need to answer the question, apparently. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.
* * *
She was used to the quiet, used to being alone, but the silence seemed exaggerated tonight. Erin had gone off to her room shortly after dinner. She had at least offered to help with the cleanup and washing dishes, but Melanie had waved her away. She wasn’t used to having someone in her kitchen. She, in turn, had offered the TV to Erin. Erin had seemed to consider it for a moment, but then she’d shook her head and murmured a quiet “good night” before closing the door to her room.
She’d spent a little time on her laptop, feeling a bit guilty for getting online when she’d refused to give the password to Erin. She’d almost given in, despite Stella’s rule. As Erin had said, Stella need never know. But she feared if she gave it to her, Erin would never step foot outside. She’d live the next three months in her room, online, coming out only for meals and coffee.
Which maybe wouldn’t be so bad; she wouldn’t have to deal with her then. Like Stella, she wondered what her story was. Why was she here? And how could her father and sister make her come out here, for three months, no less? That thought, of course, made her wonder if Stella’s words were true. Had Erin really tried to commit suicide? And if so, why? Depression? That seemed obvious.
She knew all about suicide, didn’t she? She also knew about depression. That seemed like so long ago. Who knew potatoes and sunshine would cure her?
Her therapy sessions had shifted from a couch to a garden. The chickens and goats were her therapists now as she talked freely to them. Whatever demons she’d had were long gone, though. Well…buried, at least. She rarely even thought about that lonely time in her life. Rarely thought about Adam. Not consciously, at least.
She was physically alone now, but she was no longer lonely. Mostly. Oh, there were times when she wished there was someone here, someone to share her life with. But being alone and being lonely were two completely different things. She didn’t feel the need to surround herself with people like she’d once done. Her interactions with the ladies once a month were usually enough for her. Stella, much like old Fred, made the rounds, though. At least once a week, she’d drop by for morning coffee and they’d visit for an hour or more. She didn’t mind her company…in small doses. But she had her routine, which worked well for her.
She was up before dawn most mornings. As her coffee brewed, she would take ten or fifteen minutes for meditation. Coffee—when the weather was nice—would be taken to the front porch. She’d sit in the rocker, mentally planning her day as the sun rose from over the bluff on the other side of the creek. Before starting breakfast, she’d walk out to the chicken house and open it up, letting the hens into their fenced yard. The goats were next and she’d open their stalls, letting them out to mingle with the chickens.
Breakfast was usually potatoes and vegetables or rice and vegetables that she’d top with scrambled eggs most mornings. Chores began immediately after that and she’d be outside until noon or so. When the sun was high enough in the morning, she no longer feared Goldie or Rick would come by and she’d let the goats and chickens out of their fenced yard. They never wandered off very far from the cabin and shed. Her only worries then were the goats eating her rosebushes.
During the summer months, a lot of her afternoons were spent canning the vegetables she’d picked in the mornings. If she had a particularly good yield—like the yellow squash she had now—she’d put some aside to share with the others. And if she was feeling lazy, she might put off afternoon chores for a soak in the creek. She had a spot she liked to go to, and she’d ride her bike upstream a half-mile or so where some deeper pools were. Her favorite spot, however, was the hot springs. It was another half-mile upstream, but her bike couldn’t make it. It was steep and rocky and quite an excursion to get there. Most of the relaxation she got out of the soak was forgotten as she had to scramble over and around rocks to get back down to her bike. Still, it was something she did a handful of times a year.
Stella had told her “back in the day” they all used to go to the hot springs together, carrying lunch baskets with them. It was a once-a-month day trip, she’d said. Since Melanie had moved there, she wasn’t aware of anyone else using the springs. Of course, the trek would be too much for most of them now, except perhaps Angela.
She moved into the kitchen, opening the cabinet wh
ere she kept her cups. She took out her favorite—a heavy blue ceramic—and filled it with water she’d had heating in the kettle on the stove. She plunged an herbal tea bag into the cup, absently dunking it, watching as the water turned from clear to light brown.
After lacing it with a dribble of honey, she took the cup out to the porch and sat in her rocker, the creaking sound of the wood so familiar she hardly noticed it. She took a sip of her tea, then put the chair in motion with her foot. There was no moon this evening—it had already set in the west. While she enjoyed a full moon—it was a beautiful orange as it rose over the bluff—she liked the darker sky. She never got tired of seeing the millions of twinkling stars overhead. She sometimes sat out for hours on end, watching them move lazily across the sky.
She turned her thoughts to her guest, wondering how they were going to manage three months. She couldn’t make the woman go outside. She supposed she was going through withdrawals…and not just from overdosing on caffeine. She’d been taken from her world—in the city—and thrown out here in the middle of nowhere, against her will apparently, to a place where nothing was familiar. Erin must be feeling cut off from everyone and everything in her life.
Melanie knew that if Erin would simply quit fighting the situation she found herself in and embrace it instead she might actually enjoy herself. And that, of course, would make things a whole lot better for both of them.
But again… She couldn’t make her go outside and sit in the sunshine. She couldn’t make her get in the garden or throw scratch to the hens. She smiled then, remembering the look of terror on Erin’s face as Rosie and the flock of hens had had her cornered. Wonder what she’ll do when she meets Bandito? The donkey, while friendly enough, loved to push you around with his head, demanding a carrot. He had been inherited along with Fred. They’d belonged to a lady who had died seven or eight months before Melanie had moved there. Stella had strongly suggested that Melanie move into her house, but it hadn’t appealed to her. It was within a stone’s throw of Valerie’s house. She did, however, agree to take the white dog and the miniature donkey.
With one last look into the sky, she got out of her rocker. She listened to the night sounds for a bit, hearing the faint yips and howls of the coyote choruses that were echoing along the bluff. They must be hunting far upstream tonight. It was probably a good thing that they weren’t closer. If Erin was sleeping with her window open, they might scare her half to death.
Chapter Twelve
On the morning of her sixth day in purgatory—the word she’d begun using for her so-called vacation—Erin had something rather odd occur to her.
She felt…different. For one thing, it was seven o’clock and she was awake. Not only awake, but up and dressed. Dressed for what, she wasn’t sure.
The other mornings, by the time she’d crawled out of bed, Melanie had already been outside. Each morning, her breakfast had been left in the microwave for her to heat as she wanted. Spicy fried potatoes with peppers and onions one morning. A rice and bean taco another. Eggs. She’d eat, then crawl back to her room where she’d hide until well after lunchtime. Again, her cold meal would be waiting for her. One day, there was even strawberry pie left out for her. However, by the time dinner rolled around, she’d had enough of her own miserable company, and she forced herself out of her room to share a usually quiet meal with Melanie. Last night she’d actually accepted Melanie’s offer of TV and stayed up to watch a medical drama with her.
And now this morning?
She felt different. She felt…well…good. Whatever that was supposed to feel like. Her head wasn’t pounding, for one thing. And as she was brushing her teeth, she noticed that the dark circles under her eyes were gone. She also noticed that her cheekbones didn’t seem to be quite so prominent. Her hair, though, was still… Well, it looked like crap, she thought as she tucked it behind both ears.
She paused at her bedroom door, however. She heard Melanie in the kitchen, imagined her cooking breakfast. She’d been rude, she knew. She wanted to say that wasn’t really her, but it was, wasn’t it? For the last year or so—yeah, she’d been a bitch to basically everyone.
She took a deep breath, then opened the door. Her presence was obviously a shock to Melanie. She paused in mid-pour, the coffeepot suspended in air as she stared, eyebrows raised.
Erin cleared her throat. “Good…good morning.”
Melanie blinked at her, then nodded. “Good morning.” She resumed her coffee pouring. “You want a cup?”
“Yeah. Please.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her slacks, surprised at her nervousness. “I…I owe you an apology.”
The expression changed on Melanie’s face, but she didn’t look at her as she pulled another cup from the cabinet.
At her silence, Erin moved closer to the bar. “I’ve been…well, rather difficult.”
At that, Melanie met her gaze. “Difficult? You haven’t really been out of your room long enough to be called difficult.”
“I’ve been rude.”
“Yes, you have. I’ll give you that.” Melanie handed her a cup, the steam rising off the top. “I think I’ve gotten used to it. Some people are just…rude,” she said matter-of-factly.
Erin smiled at that. “Yeah, I’ve gotten used to it too, apparently. That’s not who I am. Who I used to be,” she corrected.
Over the rim of her cup, Melanie met her eyes. “You’re up early.”
Erin shrugged. “Woke up. Feel good.”
A quick nod. “Okay. Does that mean you’re not going to spend the day holed up in your room?”
Erin put her cup down. “I…yeah…I need to do something. I think I’m slept out. I had a lot of catching up to do. My two, three, sometimes four hours a night caught up with me, I guess.”
“God, how could you survive on that little sleep?”
“Obviously, I didn’t. Six or more Red Bulls a day will keep the motor going, though. I’m testament to that.”
Another nod. “So you finally crashed?”
“Crashed and burned.”
A quick smile. “Okay. So you’re ready to do something?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You can start by helping with breakfast.”
Before she knew what was happening, a cutting board was placed on the bar and a rather large knife was slid her way. She assumed they were having those spicy fried potatoes as onions, an assortment of peppers and, yes, red-skinned potatoes appeared.
“Chop,” Melanie instructed as she pulled out a cast iron skillet and heated it on the stove. “Onions first.”
Erin did as instructed, her mind flashing back to a time when she’d help Sarah in the kitchen. Joyce’s words were still fresh in her mind.
“She used you.”
Had she? She sliced the onion in half, then paused. Sarah liked nice things, sure. And Erin had provided them. That didn’t mean she’d used her, did it? They were happy. She frowned. They were both happy, weren’t they? Yeah. They were. At first.
“You know how to chop an onion, right?”
Erin blinked, chasing away her thoughts. “Sorry.”
Melanie drizzled olive oil in the pan, then reached over to scoop up the onions that Erin had managed to chop, adding them to the pan. They sizzled when they hit the hot oil. She chopped the rest of the onion, then started on the peppers, watching as Melanie cut and cubed potatoes.
Before long, everything was in the skillet and Melanie put a glass lid on top and turned the heat down a bit. They both leaned against the bar and sipped from coffee cups.
“What do you do?”
“Do?”
“In real life,” Melanie explained. “Job?”
“Oh. My father owns a construction company. New homes. Houston. But we advertise statewide so we’ll contract anywhere.”
“Big company, then?”
“Big enough. My sister and younger brother work there also. It’s still a family business.” That made Erin wonder how her projects were doing. “I�
�I was lead project manager. I was usually in the office by six each morning. Didn’t leave until eight or nine. Worked at home. Grabbed a few hours’ sleep. Rinse and repeat.”
“No wonder you crashed.” Melanie added more coffee to her cup, then offered Erin some. “I take it eating wasn’t a part of your day? I’m sorry, but you’re very thin. Not my business, of course, but unhealthily thin.”
“Eating took time away from work.”
“So—all work, no play?”
Erin looked away, glancing out the kitchen window. “No play for the last year and a half, for sure.”
“Why?”
Erin gave a slight shrug. “Things changed.”
“Bad breakup?” Melanie guessed, then she quickly held up her hand. “Again, absolutely none of my business.” She took the lid off the pan and set it aside as she stirred the potatoes. “Feel like getting outside today? Sunshine on your skin will do wonders for your mood.”
Erin was thankful she’d changed the subject. “My mood needs improving, huh?”
Melanie only smiled as she took eggs out of the fridge.
“Okay, I suppose it does. What do you have in mind?”
“The goats’ stall needs mucking, for one.”
“Okay, so don’t know what that means but…your goat tried to attack me, remember,” she reminded her.
“They don’t attack. They don’t bite. They’re mostly pests, if anything.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three. A momma—Carly—and her twins, Rosie and Nora.”
“Interesting names.”
“Carly was already named—and pregnant—when I got her. Rosie got her name because she loves to nibble on the rosebushes. Nora…” Melanie shrugged. “That was the name of my favorite teacher when I was in school.”
“So…mucking a stall? What does that mean?”
Melanie smiled, a smile that was…well, Erin didn’t really know what it was. Sly? Scheming?
“I’ll show you. It’ll be fun.”
So less than an hour later—after stuffing herself with two soft, flour tortillas filled with crispy fried potatoes and scrambled eggs smothered in spicy green sauce—she found herself standing in a smelly stall with a shovel in her hand. She finally knew what that smile was all about.
