WISHBONE (10 page)

He changed the subject quickly, brightening his tone again, “You’ll come up, enjoy the scenery and get away from the rat races, no?  Rachael was asking for me
to call you for weeks.  I would have called sooner, but I’ve been throwing myself into the business and…” A door slammed behind him. 

Julien, startled, sat forward then turned to look down over the loft’s edge. The coop door was closed, though the chickens were making a sudden ruckus.

The girl?

Sarah?

“Julien?”  Matt asked.

Julien kept his eyes glued to the coop door, but returned his attention to the call. “Yes,” he said, “I’m here…I’m sorry…I thought I heard something. Well, I should let you get back to work. Please, talk to Lily and tell us when you will come.”

“Will do. You guys take care… Oh...and Julien…I’m really glad things are better. Give Rachael a kiss from me.”

“Thank you. I will.” He was in a hurry to end the call now.

“On the lips.”  Matt added sarcastically.

Julien sighed, “Some things, they do not change. Good-bye Matthew. Call soon.” Julien hung up on him; his curiosity peaked. 

Since that morning on the porch, more than a month ago, Sarah had been elusive. Yet the coop was always in impeccable order. Julien knew the girl came and went on a daily basis, but it troubled him that she did this while he sat at his desk above, silently, and without him ever knowing she had been there. Sarah’s coming and going from the property
unseen
disturbed him.  He was intent on catching her in the act; he wished she would show herself, rather than sneaking around the place. There had been several occasions when Rachael was working in the mudroom, only to come out to find a basket of eggs on the table, never having heard the girl enter the house, nevertheless, the kitchen only a few feet away from her. They had talked about locking the doors, but Rachael did not want to hurt the girl’s feelings and suggested she was harmless enough.  Julien still didn’t like the idea.

An alarming cackle sounded from the coop and Julien jumped up. He did not know what he would say to the girl, or why he was so intent, but he felt compelled to see her. He quickly descended the ladder and went to the coop’s door. Without hesitation, he swung the door open and stepped inside. The birds scattered in every direction. There was no one there. He stood dumbfounded. He thought perhaps the closing door had been her leaving, and rushed back out into the barn. There was no sign of her crossing the property and he tried to assimilate how long it had been since the door slammed.

Where did you go to Sarah?

He looked back toward the ladder and then at his watch. He had not checked on Rachael in hours and was suddenly hungry. He lit a cigarette and grabbed the feed can for the ducks. He watched the birds eat but continued to watch the trees and look around for any sign of the girl.  Eventually he gave up and went to find Rachael for lunch.

As Julien approached the house, he found the front door open wide. He stepped inside hoping to find Sarah delivering their eggs, but instead found Cooper’s dog stretched out on the living room couch. At the sight of Julien, the dog lifted its head. Its blonde tail thumped against the firm cushions several times before scrambling to its feet, gleefully bounding toward him. It leapt into the air, bouncing high enough to look Julien in the eyes. The animal was so wiry; Julien could not get a grip on it.

“Down…Calme toi!” Julien ordered sternly, but the dog only grew more excitable with each syllable. It circled him and lurched back and forth, landing in a bow to the left, and then the right with the precision of a trapeze artist.

“Stop, stop... il est vraiment à l'ouest!” He compared its routine to a Wild West show. He wanted to be angry, sound authoritative, but found himself amused and showing it. He had never seen a dog so gleefully out of control. The harder Julien tried to calm it, the more the dog went berserk, its clumsy rear legs skidding between his front paws, slipping onto its side with a hard thud, then leaping back up unscathed.

“Mon Dieu! You are very crazy.”

Without rationale, the dog suddenly changed its course, darted past Julien through the open door and headed rapidly into the tree line.

“Il a son quart d’heure de folie.” Julien referred to its
fifteen minutes of madness
, shaking his head in wonder, before returning to his original plan to find Rachael.

“Rach…”  He called out as he walked toward the kitchen. He came to a halt at the archway, a strange feeling washing over him instantly; the air felt heavy and still. 

Something is not right.

 He looked around the room. The table was at an odd angle and slammed up to the sink. One chair lay on its side below it. On the counter, a featherless, butchered chicken sat on a plastic cutting board. 

It had become somewhat of a joke between them, that neither he nor Rachael could ever eat chicken again—duck would certainly be out of the question—not as long as they were keeping the birds on their property.

“Rach?”  He called out. He was about to turn and head upstairs looking for her, when he noticed the mudroom door was closed. 

That door is never closed.

  He went to it and jiggled the handle—it was locked.

“Rachael, are you in there?” Though there was no response, he could feel her presence behind that door. 

He rattled the door handle again. “Open the door!” he demanded then pressed his ear to the wood. 

The room was silent. He stepped back and rammed his shoulder against the heavy antique wood. 

 “P’tain.” He winced.

He leaned back and braced himself for a second try. This time the wood made a slight crackling sound, but the pain in his shoulder suggested he not try again.

Looking around the room, he remembered the junk drawer.

“Rachael, please open the door.” He spoke loudly across the distance as he rummaged through toaster manuals and appliance warranties, magnets from pizza parlors miles away in the city, a tangled ball of mostly unraveled string, a hammer, a wire cutter, and finally, a screwdriver. 

On his knees, he fiddled with the tiny screws on either side of the knob until it came away in his hand. The door swung open and he got to his feet. 

In the room the air felt stagnant and humid. He looked around before stepping in; a beam of sunlight, millions of minute particles of dust dancing in its glow, cut the room down its center. He stepped in further and peered into the open closet where he found boxes of art supplies and a folded easel. He moved slowly, turning around to face the worktable. On the floor, a large sculpture lay twisted, drying in a disfigured heap. He crouched beside it and slowly reached for the dangling drop cloth. Like a magician pulling a never-ending handkerchief from his sleeve, he reeled in the crumpled material until he had gathered it into a large ball. There, exposed below the table, he found Rachael, clutching herself and mumbling. 

Rachael stared past him; her eyes were vacant. She rambled incoherently to herself with inaudible words.

Julien could not make sense of the scene. “Rachael… What happened? What is it? Come here.” 

He reached for her arm and she screamed a shrill wail that terrified him, though he refused to let go and quickly pulled her from her hiding place, dragging her forcibly toward him.

“Okay, okay… You are okay, Rachael. It’s only me.” He attempted to reassure and calm her as she fought him angrily, punching and trying to yank herself free. 

The medication…it was too soon for her to quit.

He continued to hold on, eventually getting her closer to his body, pinning her flailing arms and ceasing her punches.

“Rachael, please. It’s me, it’s Julien. What happened? Talk to me. Tell me what is happening?” After several moments of fight, he felt her exhausted body give in and she went catatonic.

* * * *

“Really, I’m fine. I feel like an idiot, but
now
I’m fine,” Rachael said as she sat on the couch next to Julien. She sipped the tea she clutched with both hands, her elbows resting on folded knees.

“I think you should call the docteur in the city. Get a referral for someone up here, locally.” Julien insisted for the third time, still considerably shaken by the state in which he had found his wife. He could not trust her rapid recovery to be one of permanence.

“Jules, I said I’m fine.” She borrowed his cigarette, pinching it from between his fingers and allowing herself a long slow drag before handing it back. “Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. The music had stopped and I was deep in thought and… really Jules, I’m fine.”

“I will stop to talk about this, but you were not fine thirty minutes ago. That was very big, Rachael. It was very bad. You were right back to the start….maybe worse.” Julien eyed her suspiciously, but as if the relapse had never happened, she was back to herself again.

“It’s all over now.” She rubbed his arm, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I took a pill, Jules.”

One pill was not enough of a reassurance for him. “Maybe you should take the pills for a few days, just to be sure,” Julien suggested, knowing this was a losing battle.  

Rachael pouted; her heart went out to him.

Julien threw his hands up in frustration. “I am not saying anything more, Rachael…I am saying alone that your reactions…it was big. Too big to pretend it did not ‘appen.”

She understood that Julien was afraid.  She could see the panic in his eyes. Seeing her once again in
that way
had been terrifying for him. Their lives had only recently returned to some semblance of normalcy. She placed her tea on the table and crawled into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He tensed instantly and looked away, chewing at the inside of his cheek.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Jules.”  She rested her head on his shoulder, but he remained aloof.

“Hey…talk to me. Don’t be angry.” She hooked his chin with her finger and forced him to face her. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I promise you, we’re never going to live that way again.  I got scared and overreacted, but it’s over now.”

He gave her a sideways glance and asked, “Will you take the pills for a few days?”

“I will take the pills
if
there is any residual problem. But I honestly believe this was a solitary incident and I will not need a pill again tonight…or tomorrow.” She gazed into his eyes.  His furrowed brow was unwavering. 

She decided to change the subject. “What are we going to do about that dog?” she asked.  

He grinned and explained, “It is very crazy, this dogs.”

Rachael smiled. “It’s crazy, and it knows how to open doors.”

Julien’s eyes grew wide. “No, I think the door was left open by
your friend
, Sarah.”

Rachael scoffed, “Sarah?”

“Yes, the chickens on the counter. Her handy-job, no?”

“Handy-work.” Rachael tried not to laugh at his inadvertent, near-erotic mix up. “What chickens?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

He repeated himself. “The chickens. Did you see it?” He motioned for her to get up from his lap. “Come…”

In the kitchen, they stood gawking at the carcass.

Rachael was appalled. “That’s disgusting…” She shivered. “Oh my God! I feel like we’re eating the family pet.”

Julien scoffed, “Oh, but this is not the family pets.”

“Jules … we feed these things. They’re out there … alive … wondering where their friend is.”

Julien laughed, “Do you know, my grandfather raised one pig every year. I would play with it and watch it grow, even name it, and then…
Whack!
We would ‘ave fresh bacon one day.”

Rachael grimaced. “That’s cruel,” she whined, her eyes instantly glassy, as if she might actually cry.

“Ah, but it is how it is on the farms.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Cook it,” he offered. “I bet it’s the best chickens you ever eat.”

Rachael looked down at the plump bird, tiny hairs poking from its dimpled pale flesh. “But, at the grocery store we said—”

He cut her words short. “That was when I thought
I
would have to kill it. This is already dead. Why waste it? That would be cruel, no?” He poked her in the ribs playfully. “Do you want for me to do it?”

She glared at him. “I’ll cook it. I can’t promise I’ll eat it, but I’ll cook it.”  She grabbed the pepper mill, her nose crinkled in disgust; she seasoned the bird.

“Good girl. When you are done, come with me to the loft. I need to shut down the computer and close up for the night.”

“
You’re
quitting work early?” She asked while slicing a lemon.

“Well, I thought maybe you want for me to stay in the house with you for the rest of the day.”

Rachael stopped slicing to face him. “Go work, Jules. I promise you, there will not be another incident.” She turned her attention back to the bird. 

Julien watched her cook for a moment. He did have work to finish and she seemed surprisingly well-recovered from the incident. He had watched her swallow the Xanax, which would keep her on an even keel for the rest of the day, regardless. 

He grabbed an apple from a basket on the table. “I won’t be long,” he assured her. “A few hours at the most.” He motioned to the chicken. “Call me when that thing is ready.” He kissed her forehead and left her to prepare dinner on her own.

* * * *

Once again, Julien looked up to find the sun setting behind the mountains. Awestruck by the picturesque beauty of the panoramic view and the serene soundtrack of chirping crickets and leaves rustling in the warm breeze. 

How lucky are we to find this place?

A gift from God, perhaps.

For what we have been through…in exchange.

He thought about the scare Rachael had given him earlier. How she had both crumbled and recovered so quickly. Part of him wanted to continue to urge her back into therapy, but another part of him relished the idea of sweeping the incident under the rug, to live a normal life without constant reminders like pill bottles and psych appointments. He questioned if he could ever truly believe her recovery would be one of permanence.