Burying Water (9 page)

I nod slowly. A quilt store. I could handle working in a quilt store. I think? My attention shifts back to the beautiful piece stretched out over my bed. “These must take her a lot of time.”

“Ginny
has
a lot of time.” There’s a pause, and I turn around to find Meredith gripping the back of a rickety whitewashed chair with her skilled surgical hands. “Look . . . Ginny takes some getting used to. Don’t take anything she says personally, especially in the next little while. This is a big change for her and she doesn’t adjust well. To anything. If you haven’t figured it out already, she isn’t a fan of people. She much prefers to be alone. And she doesn’t like anyone in her space.”

“Right. Don’t touch her things.” I remember her words from the hospital.
You can’t be touching my
stuff
, Ginny had said. Was that a warning? Did she already know that she’d be taking me in?

Meredith cringes. “Well, yes. But it goes beyond that. Until last week’s hospital trip, Ginny hadn’t left this property since she buried her father, almost
ten
years
ago. I pick up her groceries and drop her mail off, to pay her bills. The veterinarian comes to check in on the horses.
No one
besides Gabe has stepped foot inside her house in over seven years, and that’s because the only toilet backed up and she refused to let a plumber in the door.” She snorts. “Gabe didn’t know a thing about fixing toilets. He spent all weekend there, with a manual and a new set of tools, cursing. The porch is the only common space under that roof. So, don’t be offended when she doesn’t invite you in. Ever.”

“Okay . . . So she’s a bit territorial.”

“And paranoid. And frugal. You also won’t find a television or phone anywhere in her house. She disconnected all the lines after her father died.”

I walk over to study the television on the dresser with a curious frown.

“That was her father’s,” Meredith confirms. “She noticed that you liked having a television in the hospital room, so she dragged it out of her storage cellar. Apparently all of her parents’ things are stowed in there. Ginny’s a bit of a pack rat. An extremely tidy and organized one.”

“But . . . does it work?” I turn the knob on the top right. Gray static fills the tiny screen.

Meredith shakes her head. “She’s making an extraordinary effort for you, believe me. But that’s as far as she got. We can see about getting you a newer one.”

I smile at the thought of the old woman setting this up here. For me.

“Gabe arranged for a cable company on Monday morning to install a line for you. You may want to be on the lookout. Ginny’s liable to change her mind and chase them away with her broom. Amber has a cell phone and an old laptop for you that she’ll bring over. You’ll be able to pick up our wireless router signal from here. Just keep it out of Ginny’s sight so you won’t have to deal with her grumbling.”

“Okay. Thanks. That’s . . . great.” Not that I have anyone to phone. And will I know how to use a computer? I saw plenty of them at the hospital, but I never actually sat down in front of one to see how much of a “learned behavior” it is for me.

She sighs. “Well, I’ve got to get ready for work. Are you okay here alone?”

“Of course.” I’ve been completely alone for three months now.

“Like I said, Amber will be over soon. I’m sure you two will be spending a lot of time together.” A warm smile stretches across her face as she squeezes my shoulders. “Open some windows and enjoy the fresh air. Everything will be just fine. You were meant to survive. I firmly believe that.”

With those final words, she strolls out the door, pulling it shut behind her. And I frown at the peephole, the two deadbolts, and the latch lock that can’t possibly be necessary out here, in the middle of nowhere.

Unless you’re the victim of a rape that still haunts you almost fifty years later.

I close my eyes against the rising panic. Will this be me one day? Will I find comfort in the locks and chains, will I wish for bars across my windows?

I told Dr. Weimer about my talk with Ginny and the growing fears that sprouted from it. She didn’t make any sugarcoated promises or predictions.
It will be difficult
, she said.
You will wish you didn’t remember that part
, she said.
You may never remember that part, depending on how lucid you were at the time
, she also said. I found myself praying for that possibility. I’d like to know who did this to me, but I don’t need to relive it. It’s not like I’ll ever forget that it happened. All I have to do is look in the mirror to be reminded that it did.

But Dr. Weimer also reiterated that I am not alone and I do not have to live like I am.

I can choose not to live like Ginny.

I survey my space again. There are two dormer windows facing the driveway and one overlooking the side of the property, and a glass door at the other end of the long room. I slide it open and step outside. For an apartment this long and spacious, the wooden balcony is tiny. More a perch than anything. A green-and-blue woven lawn chair that has seen better days sits in the corner. There isn’t room for much else.

I rest my hands on the wobbly railing and take in the smell of clean, crisp air; the vista of land and trees and the three peaks beyond. It’s a view more beautiful than . . . well, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything like this before. And, except for the occasional chirp of a bird, I hear nothing but the creak of the wood under my weight and my own pounding heartbeat.

A blue canopy hangs over me, the clouds fleecy and white. I imagine that it’s a dome, enclosing me in this peace, separating me from my turmoil, which continues to swirl outside.

Motion in the grass catches my attention. A black-and-white cat creeps along the green expanse, its attention zoned in on something unseen, its body hovering low to the ground, its ears flat. I assume that’s Felix, out to earn her reputation. A string of frisky kittens in varying mixtures of all black, all white, and everything in between come bounding up behind her, oblivious to their mother’s endeavors. Whatever Felix was hunting must have been scared away, because the cat eases into a stand and shoots what I surmise is an annoyed glare the kittens’ way.

I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing. It’s a low, uncontrollable sound that begins in my belly and sails from my lips with abandon.

And I realize that it’s the first time I’ve ever heard my laugh that I can remember.

Was I a person who laughed a lot? Did I laugh at myself? At others?

I make a silent promise to learn how to laugh freely because that little burst felt like a release.

But the sound must have startled the kittens because they have scattered, two bolting under the fence between Ginny’s and the Welleses’ properties. From this vantage point, I have a perfect view of the Welleses’ garage that sits to my left and farther back—a long structure that matches in color scheme the house, with a steep roof that allows for that room above, and a double garage door. It’s open, and the tail end of a shiny black car sticks out.

And Jesse is beside it.

Watching me.

The rest of my body jumps with my heart as I take him in, leaning against the back wall, legs crossed at the ankles like he’s been standing there for some time, tapping a silver tool methodically against his jeans. Even from here, those eyes feel like they’re penetrating my skin.

A strange sensation washes over me.

One I can’t identify. One I can’t say that I like.

But also one that I can’t say I don’t.

One . . . two . . . three
. . . Who will win this staring contest? He doesn’t seem to be letting up. I let my hair fall forward a bit, in case he can see the red line from that distance, though I doubt it. This is just ridiculous. This is Dr. Alwood and Sheriff Welles’s—no, Meredith and Sheriff Gabe’s—son. Why would I not say hi? I hold my hand up in a tentative gesture. It’s not really a wave. And I wait.

Wondering.

For some reason, not breathing.

“Hey,” a panting Amber calls out, stepping out onto the cramped patio in her tall riding boots, startling me enough that I jump yet again. I never heard her come in. “How do you like it so far?”

I drop my hand. “It’s perfect for me.” And it truly feels like it is. Maybe this is similar to my previous life, after all. The horses, the mountains, the fresh air, the quaint little apartment . . . it feels like it fits me.

Amber grins—her typical wide, white-toothed, flawless smile. “Good. We had cleaners and painters come in this past week to fix it up. You wouldn’t believe the fuss Ginny made.”

If it’s anything like that day in the hospital, I think I can picture it. Which makes my heart instantly soften for the old woman, because that couldn’t have been easy. She really does mean well.

I can’t help but glance over at the garage, but I try to do it covertly. My smile falters when I see that Jesse is gone.

“That’s my brother. He barely comes out to say hi. He’s so in love with that stupid car.” She turns inside. I hear her mutter under her breath, “It’s probably stolen.”

My eyes flash as I trail her in. This is the
sheriff’s son
we’re talking about, right? “Really?”

“No . . . not really.” She sighs as she opens the laptop resting on the table. “My brother just does things that I don’t understand. Things that have made my parents’ lives harder than they need to be.”

“Your mom said he comes home on weekends sometimes?”

She starts hitting a bunch of keys, her fingers moving fast. “Yeah. Over the last few months, he’s been doing it more often. Before that, I hardly saw him.”
Click-click-click
. “I think something happened, with a girl he was dating. He told my mom that he was going to marry her, which is weird, coming from Jesse, who’s never gotten serious with anyone. I guess it didn’t work out.”

So he was in love with a girl. Is he still in love with her? “What was she like?”

Amber sighs as she scribbles some letters down on a pad of paper lying next to her. “Don’t know. Never met her, and good luck getting any information from him. Jesse isn’t much of a talker. All I know is that she was from Portland.”

Portland. “How far is that?” Have I been there before?

“A few hours. I did my nursing program there. Here . . . I used this laptop for school, but I have an iPad now so I don’t need it.” She pushes a scrap of paper forward. “I wrote the passwords and some basic instructions down, in case it doesn’t come naturally.” She stands and stretches her arms over her head in an exaggerated yawn, her checkered shirt riding up over her taut belly. “I’ve gotta run now. I picked up an extra shift tonight.”

“You work a lot, don’t you?” When I was in the hospital, there was hardly a day that went by when she didn’t stroll into my room with her scrubs on.

Her hands slap against her thighs as she drops her arms dramatically. “For now, yeah. I don’t have a boyfriend, most of my friends moved away from this town, and my father’s the almighty sheriff, so . . .” She throws her hands up in the air. “What else am I going to do?”

I wonder what it’s like to have Sheriff Gabe as your father. He’s only ever been pleasant toward me, but if being married to the sheriff is sometimes difficult, as Meredith said, then I can’t imagine what being his child must be like.

“Bamboo,” Amber suddenly fires at me. It takes an arched brow for me to clue in.

“Panda?” I finally answer, feeling silly. Dr. Weimer has me playing word association games with Meredith and Amber. They say a word and I say the first thing that pops into my head. It’s part of my therapy, to see if something will trigger a memory. I’m supposed to keep a journal of all the word combinations and bring them with me to my weekly sessions. “Why bamboo?”

Lifting the small fabric-bound notebook that Dr. Weimer gifted me—the cover smattered with colorful hummingbirds—off the table, she opens it and scribbles down the words for me. “Because the end table beside your bed is made of bamboo.” That’s how this game usually goes. Random, meaningless words plucked from my surroundings as much as out of the air.

So far, I have half a journal’s worth of words that have enlightened me about nothing.

Except that apparently I’m aware of a panda bear’s dietary preferences.

When Amber’s gone, I head back out to the deck. I take a seat in that rickety lawn chair and simply absorb the peace and quiet while I wait. Because I have nothing better to do.

And, in the back of my mind, I admit that I’m waiting for Jesse to come out of hiding. Imagining what kind of girl he would have fallen in love with. She’s beautiful; I’m sure of it.

I’m also sure that I’m jealous of her.

He doesn’t poke his head out again.

The round white-wicker table is already set for two, the cutlery and glasses lined up tidily on either side.

“I hope you like chicken.” Ginny slaps a rectangular casserole dish in the center of the table. The dog, who was lying on the old whitewashed porch floor with its eyes closed and seemingly not a care in the world when I first arrived, leaps to its haunches, its nose twitching at the scent of meat.