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He snorts as he follows me inside. Neither of us remarks on it, but I know he’s here in case things escalate tonight. I had no intention of sleeping anyway.
“Do you know there’s a storm coming tomorrow night?” he asks.
“Snow?”
“Ice, maybe snow. They’re talking it up pretty good. Calling it a shutdown storm.”
“Do you need help getting any of your properties ready?”
“No, they’re good. I’ll get my wood in and generators out tomorrow. We probably won’t get anything. You know they always get that shit wrong.”
Calli joins us in the living room for most of the evening, but we avoid any discussion of the situation at hand. It isn’t until later, once she goes to my bedroom for the night to read, that I revisit the conversation with Lee.
“Do you have someone in mind?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I pull back the curtains. The thin blinds block anyone’s view inside, but if any of the motion lights around my house or barn are triggered, we’ll see it immediately.
Lee props his foot up on his knee, leaning back. “I do. He won’t be cheap, but he’ll find out who you’re dealing with and won’t involve any authorities or worry about what you intend to do with that information.”
“I don’t care about the cost. I appreciate this. I know it probably means reaching out to people you’d rather not talk to again.”
He brushes off my concern. “It’s not an issue. You’re pretty confident this is Handleman?”
“It makes the most sense. If it is, it wouldn’t be hard to get him sent back to prison. The cops here may not care, but I bet one call to report his new address to his parole officer would do the trick.”
“Likely,” he agrees, then stares at me over the top of his glass. “But if it doesn’t, or it isn’t him, do you know what you intend to do?”
It’ll depend on who is targeting us and how much proof I can get. There’s only one thing I know for sure. “Whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
He nods his approval.
We sit in silence, letting the night deepen around us, each lost in thoughts. Mine keep coming back to the woman now curled up under my covers. I’m not being fair to her. She hasn’t asked me for anything, or for any clarification of how things might be between us but telling her I don’t want anyone to getattached to me, then spending every day with her in my arms, in my bed. What am I doing?
The answer seemed so clear to me before. I could lessen the pain of my family and never inflict that grief on anyone else. I could live out my life with nature and art and let that be enough. Except eventually it wasn’t. I hadn’t even realized I was lonely until she showed up.
Being away from my parents didn’t diminish the love I have for them, and it wouldn’t mitigate my grief if one of them were lost. Why would that be true the other way around? Have I been wrong all this time?
Calliope thinks it’s fear. A fear of being loved in a way I’ve never felt for another person...until now. Is that the truth of it? Am I giving up relationships and meaningful connections because it's better for everyone else? Or because I’m afraid?
The therapy suggestion may be a good one. It feels like too much to sort out.
Lee lives the same way, essentially alone except for his sister, but not because he’s afraid or trying to spare anyone. He told me once that no one could ever replace his wife, and he has no desire to try. If there’s anyone to answer one question for me, it’s him.
“I want to ask you something.” He looks over at me, waiting. “About Isla.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only pours himself a second glass of whiskey, then sits back and gives a silent nod.
“After everything you went through, if you could go back and change things so you never fell in love, would you? Would you spare yourself the suffering?”
“Fuck no.”
His reply is immediate. Not one second of thought was required. After watching him teeter on the brink of suicide multiple times because of his grief, I’m stunned.
He looks me in the eye as he adds, “I’d go through it all again, every day for the rest of my life, for one more minute with her. I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.”
I nod, unsure how else to respond. The window to our right is suddenly illuminated by one of the outdoor lights, and both of us are on our feet to look. A deer raises its head to look at us for a second before bounding off.
“I’m going to have a look around the house,” I tell him, picking up my gun.
“Scream like a little girl if you see anything,” he replies, breaking the tension.
