by Hart, Alana
They ate in companionable silence, John making a point to squeeze her leg repeatedly beneath the table.
By noon, they were making the trip back down the miles long dirt road, meandering through thick forest and nothing. Catherine had quickly realized halfway through breakfast that her phone was missing, and John packed her into the truck to go searching for it.
Catherine’s stomach turned at the idea of returning to those woods. She’d known great joy there to be sure, but she’d also known the greatest fear she’d ever experienced there – the moment she saw the second bear and thought for a moment that John was dead.
John made a b-line into the woods, seeing her discomfort and assuring her she could wait in the truck.
“No, I’ve got it. You sit tight,” he said, hustling off into the woods.
“But you don’t know what it looks like!” She called after him.
He just laughed. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll smell like you!”
Catherine gave a startled laugh at that. Jesus, she thought. I’ve fallen in love with a bloodhound.
She sat there a moment, listening to a song by Fleetwood Mac on John’s iPhone. She glanced toward the woods every few seconds, trying to remember the direction and distance of her escape route the night before. A breeze picked up through the trees and she startled, catching sight of something moving in the trees by the road. She watched it, waiting for the shape to explain itself. When it didn’t, she hopped out of the truck and sauntered over toward the trees. Stevie Knicks crooned from inside the truck – Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision. I keep my visions to myself.
Catherine moved slower than the night before, her bruised backside still throbbing despite a dose of Tylenol from John’s medicine cabinet. She took another step toward the swaying object, her eyes focusing on the strange shape dangling from a rope in the tree. It was one of the stick men, shaped into a head and four limbs, its sticks tied together at the ends by ripped black fabric. She reached out, pushing at its feet, watching it swing. As she watched, the same pattern of movement caught her eye in the distance, and she spotted three more hanging shapes – stickmen dangling from ropes around their necks.
“Got it. Nice case, goober.”
She startled, turning to find John coming up behind her, waving her phone at her, smiling at the cheerful picture of a pop tart on the back.
“Why thank you. Look what I found,” she said, giving the stickman another push.
John stared at it. “What the fuck is that shit, anyway?”
“Oh, cut it out. I know your game. Seriously, you had me terrified last night.”
“What, you really think I put that there?”
Catherine glared at him a moment, shaking her head. Then turned back toward the truck. “I can’t believe you went that far to scare me, but my god, it fucking worked.”
“Catherine, I didn’t -”
Another breeze picked up as Stevie sang – Thunder only happens when it’s raining.
“Don’t even. You and Paul and your hermits -”
“Catherine?”
She turned to look at John. Something in his voice had unsettled her, and she wanted to soothe this strange uneasiness in her stomach.
They will come and they will go. When the rain washes you clean you will know.
Before she met his gaze, let his presence calm her, John spoke again. “Sweetheart, get in the truck.”
“What? Why?”
But before she could make him answer, John was moving toward her, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her back toward his truck. “Come on, baby.”
He doubled his pace, and something about his energy, about his tone, frightened her with a new sneaking fear. John was six foot three, no small man in presence or in size, but something about his gait, about his body language felt wrong, as though he was frightened himself. The thought of John being frightened inspired her to triple her pace, surging past him to her side of the truck. She climbed inside, slamming the door and locking it as though she were being chased. John’s energy spoke in volume loud enough to make her want to be away from the woods, and still she didn’t know why.
John jumped into the driver’s seat, started up the engine, and pulled the fastest three point turn she’d ever witnessed. The tightness in her chest didn’t subside until they were well over a mile back down the dirt road.
Catherine reached for him, rubbing his knee and finally spoke, desperate now to break the silence. “Thank you for finding my phone.”
He forced a smile.
“Stop it, John. Are you doing this to scare me again? Do you think the whole bear thing isn’t enough?”
John frowned. “No.”
He slowed as he rounded a potholed corner and reached into his pocket. He pulled a strange bundle of twigs out and tossed it onto the seat beside Catherine. She reached down, picking up the tiny stickman to inspect it.
“Seriously, you’re still trying to scare me? You made your point!”
He shook his head and spoke so softly, she almost didn’t hear him. “Catherine, look at the fucking fabric.”
The stickman was like the others in the woods, though this one was smaller, a string tied around its neck. It had a head, four limbs, all tied as the rest of them, but unlike the bigger ones she’d seen, this one wasn’t tied with black fabric, this one was tied with red fabric.
She stared at it a moment, silent.
The stickman was made from the torn pieces of the t-shirt she’d been wearing the night before.
She had goosebumps on every inch of her body.
“You alright, baby?” John asked.
She turned toward the door of the truck and pressed the button to roll down the window. As soon as there was enough space, Catherine threw the stickman out into the raod, watching in the rear view as it splintered and then exploded under the wheels of another truck coming up behind them.
John noticed the other truck. “Shit!”
He didn’t slow, coming to pull into his driveway three minutes later.
“Stay in the truck, baby.”
“What?”
Catherine glanced into the rear view as Patrick Fenn barreled out of his silver Chevy. He passed John, coming straight for her side of John’s truck. If there was anything that could scare her as much as the night before, it was an angry Patrick Fenn, especially given what she knew.
“Gramps!”
Patrick’s hand was reaching for the door handle when John took hold of his wrist, coming to stand between the older man and his truck.
“Get out of the way, son.”
“No, sir. You have business with anyone here, it’s me.”
Patrick glared down at his grandson. “This is my land and I’ll have business with any damn person I like. Come on out of the truck, Catherine.”
She swallowed, reaching for the door handle with a shaking hand.
“Stay right there, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” Patrick repeated, chuckling. “Don’t argue with me, boy.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Gramps. Just protecting what’s mine.”
Patrick snorted at this. “Is that so? Catherine. I don’t want to have to ask you twice.”
With that, Catherine opened the door to the truck and shimmied out of her high seat, John helping her down as she winced from the pain in her backside.
“I thought I told you to be on your way last night,” Patrick said.
“You did, sir.”
Patrick exhaled sharply. “I don’t need you to agree with me. I know full well.”
He glared down at her, but Catherine couldn’t hold the man’s gaze.
“Now, not only did you come onto my property without asking, but you then refused to leave when told to do so. You’ve now offended me twice. I’d say that doesn’t please me, but -”
“She’s here with me in my house,” John said, stepping forward.
“It’s my ho
use, boy! Until I’m dead, everything as far as you can see is mine! Don’t you ever forget that!”
John’s lip curled and Catherine grabbed his arm. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved, but she could feel him coiling like a snake, ready to strike. She wouldn’t have this man challenge Patrick Fenn on her behalf.
Catherine pulled him back. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll leave now. I didn’t mean to offen -”
“I don’t want to hear it. I gave you the benefit last night. You’ll not have it again. Take her home, then come down to the house.”
Patrick turned for his truck.
John made to follow. “Gramps! You can’t fucking do this!”
“I just did!” He bellowed, surging toward John like a fury. John didn’t flinch, meeting the man’s charge, their noses just an inch from one another. “You want to press this further, next you’ll be homeless.”
Catherine moved toward the men, too cautious to draw close enough to touch him. “John, baby! It’s my fault. Come take me home.”
“No! God fucking damn it!”
But Patrick wasn’t listening anymore. He was already in his truck, pulling out of John’s driveway, kicking up gravel and dust in his wake.
Catherine took a deep breath, the air feeling lighter in Patrick’s absence.
John turned back toward his truck and punched the passenger door, planting a massive dent from the impact of his fist. Catherine lunged for his hand, checking him for injury. His knuckles looked as though he’d simply rapped on a doorjamb.
“Come on, baby. It’s alright. Just take me home.”
“It’s not alright. I’m so sorry, Catie. I’m sorry that happened. He’s a fucking bastar -”
Catherine took his face in her hands before he could punch something else. “Shh, it’s ok. It’s ok. We’ll figure it out.”
John paced a moment, unwilling to get in the truck, but Catherine did, buckling her seat belt on the passenger’s side, waiting for him. He finally climbed in and started the truck. There were no words between them on the ride home.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Where the hell you been?”
Catherine climbed out of John’s truck just as Uncle Bodie was putting the padlock back on the shed. She gave him a wave, but he didn’t return the gesture, raising his eyebrows in public display of distrust as he met John’s gaze.
“Hey there, Bodie,” he said, feigning complete ignorance to the slight. John had never been one to acknowledge poor manners – unless he needed to teach someone better ones.
“You staying for dinner then, John boy?”
John and Catherine both turned for the front door as Bennett appeared, a platter of burgers and dogs in his hands and a massive set of tongs dangling from his hip.
“No, Benny. Thank you for the invite though. Gotta head back.”
Catherine frowned at this, but she knew it to be true. The Fenn family had their ways, and one of those ways was to never let Patrick Fenn stay angry at you. He would need to go smooth things over, and she knew it.
Catherine quickly put in her burger order, and let John lead her around the house toward the woods. Given the events of the past two days, the last thing she ever wanted to do was go wandering in those woods again.
“I’ve been thinking,” John said as they reached a solid distance from the house. They could hear Bodie and Bennett arguing by the grill, Grampy Calhoun now settled into one of the Adirondack chairs on the deck, sipping at a beer. He was most likely deaf to the commotion taking place over the burgers.
Catherine turned to John, waiting for him to go on. He stared down at the ground, as though counting blades of grass.
“I’m gonna go talk to Gramps, and I’m gonna tell him he can shove it.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped. She reached for him, ready to still him, but he kept going.
“There’s nothing keeping me here. I’ve no ties. Mum has Deacon and she’s traveling down to Portland almost every weekend these days. Dad’s still driving a truck, isn’t home half the time.”
“Calm down, honey. Don’t jump to conclusions. Just wait for this to blow over.”
“It’s not going to. And I don’t want to have to wait for someone else to tell me I can have you in my own home. I won’t fucking have it.”
“But your house,” she said, trying to still this fervor he’d found. Yet, she’d known him well, and he’d changed very little. When John had something in his teeth, he didn’t give it up.
That suddenly seemed so fitting, knowing what she knew.
John snorted. “You heard him. It isn’t my house. I just live there.” He exhaled out his nose again, sharply. “Having a place to live is nice unless someone’s holding it over your head. Then it’s more a prison than anything else.”
Catherine watched his face, waiting for him to go on. He wasn’t meeting her gaze.
“I mean, we could get a place, right? You and I?”
“What?”
The shock of her statement sounded a little more appalled than simply surprised. She flinched to think he might have heard it that way.
“John, I just got here.”
“So? You’re mine. I want to be with you.”
She took hold of his lapel, searching for words to calm him. “We’ve only just seen each other again two days ago. You can’t be making these kinds of claims after only a couple days -”
“Why not? I know what I want. Why? Do you not want me?”
She froze, staring at him. He was all she’d ever wanted. Still, hearing him proclaim such devotion – the kind that would make him completely upend his life? It felt huge. It felt like being in the presence of a bear all over again. “I do. I want you.”
“Then it’s settled.”
John turned back toward the house, sauntering as though he’d won some fist fight. She gave chase, tugging at his shirt sleeve to slow him. He just glanced back, his intentions too settled to be slowed.
“Please, John. I don’t want to be the reason you leave your family.”
He scoffed. “If I’m leaving, it’s their fault, not yours.”
They rounded the house, coming into earshot of the dinner conversation. Bennett held up a cheeseburger, perfectly dressed with all the fixins. Suddenly, Catherine couldn’t imagine taking even a bite.
“I’ll come back by later this evening. We’ll figure the rest out then, yeah?”
Catherine moved toward him, ready to protest further, but John turned his attention to his phone, pulling it from his pocket.
“Hey Ma, what’s up? – No, haven’t heard from him since last night, why? – Oh yeah? Well, alright. I’ll give him a try on the way home. – Love you, too.”
With that John hung up and climbed in his truck. He leaned a hand out the window, grasping hers. “Gotta go harass Deac on the way home and see why he’s not answering his phone. Probably hungover or some shit.”
He pulled her hand to him and kissed it. Then he threw the truck into reverse and began to pull out of the drive.
“Don’t you fret while I’m gone, beautiful. I promise, it’s all going to be fine. You’ll see.”
Catherine watched his truck disappear down the drive before turning back to the house. Grampy Calhoun was sitting there, seemingly oblivious, as was Bennett, wholly ensconced in ravaging his cheeseburger. Bodie was giving her the side eye, then an eyebrow waggle.
“You shouldn’t be spending time with that fellow, girl.”
Catherine startled to hear her Grandfather speak. She’d been sure he was oblivious to them all, caught up in his own world.
“And why is that?” She asked.
Grampy Calhoun shook his head, his mass of coarse salt and pepper hair stiff over his head. “Those Fenns are trouble.”
“No they’re not!”
Bennett swallowed hard, gesturing for her to calm down. She would not be calm.
Grampy was oblivious to her protests. “You never know when som
ethin’s gonna happen with that family. They’ve already lost two.”
“So you’re blaming the dead for getting shot?”
He smacked his teeth gently, the sound of his dentures moving in his mouth when he was lost in thought. “They keep to themselves, we keep to ours. It’s how it’s done.”
Catherine’s mind raced. Of course they kept to themselves. What would the world think if it ever got out what they were – what they could do? She wanted to plead John’s case, plead his family’s case, but Grampy hadn’t heard a word she’d said. He was simply finishing his thought, apathetic to any counters she might have on the subject. She grabbed her burger and stormed into the house, slumping down at the kitchen table to eat, alone. She regretted the fervor of her actions, instantly, her backside sending sharp pangs up her spine as it impacted with the wooden seat. She took one bite, and her stomach turned.
She sat there alone a moment, cursing nearly every member of her family as she took out her phone. Catherine sighed as she discovered another three missed calls from ‘Mom.’ She set the phone aside and tried another bite of her burger. The bite failed.
Bennett finally joined her at the kitchen table, feasting on the rest of her burger when she confessed her lack of appetite.
“Don’t mind Gramps, Catie. He’s just set in his ways, is all.”
Catherine shook her head. “I know, but that’s not an excuse. They don’t deserve the reputation they’ve got.”
Or did they? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
By dusk, Uncle Bodie and Gramps were in front of the TV again, scanning through the millions of channels on their satellite dishes. Catherine kept her phone glued to her, leaning against the kitchen counter as the sun set, watching out the windows for headlights in the driveway.
She wondered how John’s conversation with the great Patrick Fenn would go, how terrifying a sight it must’ve been. Though she felt almost cornered at the idea of John throwing away his life there in Falkirk’s Seat to be with her, the more she thought of him changing his mind, the more her heart hurt. How could she want him so badly after all this time? How could she be so sure, so ready to run away with a boy she last knew – truly knew – over a decade before?
