Chapter 2
Jim eases out of consciousness, almost as naturally as the nine am sun slides into position in the sky.
She inhales the fresh crispness of her bed linen and stretches lazily like a cat against the cushiness of her pillows and comforter. The bed presses back seductively, hugging her curves perfectly as if to urge her to stay. She's tempted to do just that for a moment or two. She feels gloriously rested. This is why wine is her choice bedtime drink. It never gave her a reason to regret having it the night before and she never was forced to contemplate the act of suicide in grave seriousness like a jury deliberating over a bothersome case the morning after because of a hangover.
It takes her a moment but her nose picks up on the rather delightful scent of bacon and something else. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say that the second smell is either pancakes or waffles or some kind of sweetened flour cake. She flexes her toes as she stares up at the ceiling and spends a few blissful moments emptying her mind and existing. She can't remember the last time she was able to hover in the space of the universe and take the virtual second of time to just be flesh and bone and blood and air—breathe, breathe, you're alive, breathe.
Jim sighs and smiles—doesn't even think why she deserves to be happy—and she lets it fall naturally before hoisting herself up. She lets the sheets collapse to her waist before she laces her fingers and pushes them towards the ceiling (palms face-up). She stretches, curling her spine in and groans in satisfaction when she pops out all the kinks the contortion of her wild sleeping has caused. She sighs again and drops her hands as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip before looking out the window that sits adjacent to her bed to the fields of trees facing the west flank of the house and away from the direction of town, which happens to be north.
Through the trees Jim can see the sun peeking over the horizon like a blazing orange that's been peeled, tossed into a powder blue sky and set aflame. Jim snorts and rolls her eyes at herself and her own internal metaphor. She's using food and usually that means she's hungry. She'll need to eat or everything will become food. She knows this from painful experience. So Jim heaves her body out of bed, and eases her way across chilly creaky wooden floorboards with bare feet. As she floats down the main hall of the second floor, she begins to notice things she hadn't the night before: ironed-framed pictures, pastel colored vases, and walls that have obviously been repainted recently.
Jim slides her fingers across the cherry oak polish of the stair rail as she descends down the steps and towards the sound of sizzling oil and soulful humming. It leads her into the kitchen and within the sights of Eleanora McCoy, who is shoveling eggs and bacon onto two teal blue plates. Although she must be aware of Jim, she doesn't acknowledge Jim's presence until after she scoops out a spoonful of grits and distributes it onto the two plates.
"Mornin'," Eleanora grunts as she knifes free a couple of biscuits from a blackened iron pan. She pauses when she notices that Jim is hovering. "Well don't just stand there in the doorway—my God, I can say that there ain't nothin' I can't stand more. Come sit, child. I made food, and I expect for it to be eaten."
Jim smiles and carefully sits down at the kitchen table. "Thank you," she replies timidly. She's not used to home-cooked meals. It's makes her feel a bit—anxious to say the least.
"You ain't gotta look like that, Jamie. I'll say I don't expect nothin' from you that you aren't already about to give. And if I need somethin' more I'll fly it to you straight. I'm not much for subtle gestures." Eleanora tosses a half-grin to Jim before she hums and plops a jar of apple jelly on the table with a butter-knife.
Jim gets to work with spreading some apple jelly over her biscuits. She says, "Is this home-made?"
"Most of everything in my kitchen is. Mindin' the furniture and the tapestries and such," Eleanora replies.
Jim takes a bite of her biscuit, and her tongue tingles in the aftermath of the sweet taste of the apple jelly. The flavor is so raw and strong—quite impressive to say the least. She mixes her eggs in with her grits and shoves a spoonful in her mouth, contemplating how she can avoid eating the bacon without seeming rude. She's not an efficacious meat-eater.
"You slept well?"
"Better than I have in a long time."
"Good. There's some coffee that's done brewin' if you want some," Eleanora says as she sits with her own cup and breathes into the dark mug with a content sigh. She takes a few generous sips as she looks out towards the open backdoor, through the screen door, and out into her fields with silent thoughtfulness. Her dark brown hair is up in a messy bunny, and she's wearing some jeans with a red and white plaid shirt.
The shirt is obviously her husband's, judging by the size. Jim's keen on details, and she knows that even if there's no sign of him around, there are elements of him still lingering. Jim knows better than to ask about that though. "Thanks, but I'm not much of a coffee drinker," she confesses as she bites into her biscuit again.
Eleanora snorts. "Well, I admit I find myself unable to function without a bit of caffeine laced over my bones. Probably ain't good for me—at least my son would say so. He's been sayin' a lot in fact, ever since he got that goddamn degree from med school. Now he likes to tell me all about myself once in a while," she murmurs with wry amusement.
"I'm sure he's just looking after you. He wants to see you healthy," Jim suggests and spoons more grits and eggs into her mouth. She knows if she had such a comely mother as Eleanora, she'd do all she could to make sure she stuck around for the long haul. She doesn't say this out loud.
"Oh I'm sure he does. But he can be such a pain about it," Eleanora chuckles and takes another long sip of her coffee before she begins to eat. "I suppose he picked that up from me. I'm prone to needle away at people when I'm sure of my rightness. A little warnin' to you."
Jim smiles and chews.
Eleanora tosses a wink back.
Silence sails between them, and Jim finds that she slouches into it with ease. She's not used to this sort of morning pause. Usually by this time she'd still be sleeping off her night shift at the bar and waking up in time to wash it all off so as to begin again in the next few hours.
But it is nice, she thinks as she shoves the rest of her biscuit in her mouth. I never had it like this. This must be what 'home' feels like.
Something chimes and pings.
Jim amusedly watches as Eleanora frowns and sets down her cup.
Eleanora rises from her seat with some grumbling and swipes two fingers up across the communicator pad infused on the refrigerator door. She studies the name with some thought before she rolls her eyes. "My God, it's not even ten—what could that woman possibly want?"
Jim wipes her mouth clean with a napkin and scrapes her plate clean into a nearby garbage pail. She dumps the empty plate into a sink full of dishwater. "Should I—" she starts, making a gesture to the sink.
Eleanora waves her hand in a distracted fashion. "Don't worry about that—I'll sort it out myself. You can go get started in the fields. You'll find a steel cart and a handful of baskets at the bottom of the porch steps." She cuts a quick look to the communicator screen again before she rolls her eyes and continues, "Now I'm assumin' you never picked apples for a day's work. You got any idea how to tell if they'll be ready to come down?"
"Color, ease of separation, fruit drop, softness and flavor," Jim lists. She used to read up on all types of fruit back when she was younger—especially apples. Read what you love right? "Also, I heard location on the tree matters."
Eleanora looks at her with a new line of amused respect. "Fruits on the southern side of the tree often ripen sooner than those that get less sun," she expands, agreeably. "Color, both outside and under the skin, is a useful indication of maturity. Apples may be yellow, red, green or combinations of these colors at harvest. When the green has almost completely given way to yellow, a yellow variety is mature. With red blush or striped apples, the area where there is no red color usually changes from green to yellowish at maturity. You're gonna find all types out there."
Ping. Ping. Ping.
"Dear Lord in heaven, I'm gonna strangle this woman," Eleanora mutters as she places her hands on her hips with a stern frown. "Go on now, Jamie. I don't want you to see my disagreeable nature."
Jim chuckles and gives her a thumbs-up before she escapes through the backdoor and down the squeaking wooden steps. It doesn't take her long to spot the steel flatbed cart Eleanora was referring to. Beside it is a stockpile of baskets wide enough to fit over two dozen apples. She stacks as many as she can on the cart before she starts wheeling out down a path that leads to the farthest apple tree she can spot. By the time she reaches said tree, she is sweating and flushed from head to toe.
"God, this sun is killing me," Jim says with an squinty-eyed frown. She swipes the back of her hand across her damp forehead, and she takes a second to finger-comb her hair up into a messy bun at the very top of her head. She stumbles a few times over the scattered masses of fallen apples littered around the trees and through the grass.
A few paces off to the side lay a stable full of beautiful horses. This is where Jim finds a ladder. She takes a few moments going along the rows and observing the horses. They don't stir much in her presence but she doesn't try her luck. She leaves them be and sets the ladder on her first tree. She plops an empty basket at the base, climbs the bars of the ladder, and fingers her way through a plethora of apples, picking the ones that are ripe and dropping them down into the basket below with an audible thump.
Jim works and works, and never once pauses to catch her bearings. They're pretty caught. She's used to doing hard labor without any breaks, but in this case she doesn't mind because this really isn't that much of a hardship. She doesn't honestly believe she'll get every tree sorted and scoured. She has a good dozen under her belt by the time the sun dips fairly low in the sky, but not low enough that it might be considered the late evening.
All the baskets are filled and in light of that fact she decides to take a congratulatory nap. Once she's got the filled baskets all loaded onto the cart, she stretches out under a tree, tucks her laced fingers behind her head and closes her eyes to the sight of bright sunlight bouncing off shiny red apple skin.
When she dreams, she doesn't dream of much besides the twinkling stars and spinning planets. It's peaceful in its own way, like a lullaby.
"Are you an idiot?" a deep cranky voice drawls.
Jim frowns as she comes to and peeks a drowsy blue eye open. It takes a minute, but the outline that belongs to the shadow hovering over her is of an tan-skinned, hazel-eyed, bearded handsome man with perfectly parted hair. He's sporting a disapproving scowl as he glares down at her with his arms crossed. She drags her eye away from his appealing face long enough to look at what he's wearing. A white button down (sleeves rolled up at the elbows) tucked into some grey slacks, topped off with a pair of nice leather shoes that match the slim belt around his firm waist.
"No, my name is Jim," she finally answers as she opens both eyes, drags up her knee and crosses her leg over it. "Why? Are you looking for someone called 'idiot'? What an inconvenient name. Their parents must have hated them."
"Why would I be lookin' for someone who has that name?" he retorts with an exasperated glare. A muscle in his nicely defined jaw tics.
"I don't know. You tell me. You're the one that asked," Jim points out as she cocks her head. "What's your name by the way?"
He stares at her for a long moment before he mutters, "Leonard McCoy."
"McCoy? You're Eleanora's son right? The nagging doctor?" Jim questions and then grins innocently when his scowl deepens. "You always call your mother's hired help such disreputable names?"
"Only if they're reckless enough to take a nap in the sun," Leonard snaps back. "You look like you got fair skin. Do you know what that kind of overexposure can do? We're not just talkin' about a heatstroke. How's melanoma and nonmelanoma sound? There's also premature aging of the skin and other problems. Cataracts and eye damage. Immune system suppression—"
Jim begins to quietly laugh.
Leonard stops when he notices and bristles. "Fine. Cook up in the sun. But don't come cryin' to me when you fry right up with nothin' left but your bones."
"Bones huh?"
"I've seen worse," he grumbles with an agitated frown that suits his pouty mouth just fine. "It does happen and I don't need to be bothered by it when I've been so courteous as to warn you."
"Oh scouts honor, Bones," Jim says as she lifts one hand and places the other one over her heart. "I promise not to pester you with my barbequed carcass. I'm sure there are other doctors in this town I could go to anyway. But I'm sure they wont be quite as handsome as you." She shifts her eyebrows once.
Bones pinks. "Very funny, Kid," he mutters. "And do me another favor—don't call me Bones. It's Leonard McCoy."
"I know. I heard you the first time, Bones," Jim teases with a mocking grin.
"Great. Just great," Bones grumbles with a weary sigh as he rubs his forehead.
"Right," Jim drawls with an amused smile. "Listen, not to change the subject or anything but—what are you doing out here? I heard from a little birdy that you're not exactly on speaking terms with your mom."
"What bird is dishin' out my family business like a goddamn soup kitchen?" Bones asks with an annoyed scowl.
Jim has to admit that he looks kind of adorable when he's all riled up like that. "Just a bird. But you didn't answer my question."
"I was concerned," Bones reluctantly admits. "Because my sister-in-law mentioned that she sent some stranger to live and work with my momma. So naturally, I had to come and see for myself. Lord knows that no one else will."
"That's probably because everyone knows that your mother is one helluva woman who doesn't appear to take much shit. And," Jim quips as she hops to her feet. "As you can see," she drawls as she does a slow spin with her hands up and level with her shoulders. "I am not some psycho serial killer nor am I some whackadoo."
"Easy there darlin'," Bones sarcastically replies as he spends a quick second eyeing her profile before he stares at her bare feet pointedly. "I don't think we've spent enough time together for me to agree to the kinda person you are."
Jim mouth wiggles before she rolls her eyes. "Good luck with that," she says and brushes past him to go to the cart. She grunts as she uses most of her weight to get the cart moving (it's heavily loaded). It takes a bit of force but she eventually gets it going and aims toward the house.
Bones walks alongside her quietly, and flicks his hazel eyes to her every once in a while.
Jim finds it vaguely amusing.
"How'd you get that black eye?" Bones finally asks, breaking the silence.
"Self-defense," Jim says simply. "I don't go looking for it if that's what you're wondering."
"No, I wasn't wonderin'," Bones says and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'd like to apologize for bein' rude and presumptuous. I've had a long day."
"It's whatever, Bones. You're just looking after your mom. I can respect that even if I don't have much experience with the concept." Jim tosses him a friendly look before she directs her blue eyes forward again.
Bones mutters something unintelligible. Then he says, "I got a regenerator if you need to sort those bruises out."
"Thanks for the offer, but I kind of like this look. It'll keep people from approaching me for a little while."
Bones looks like he wants to disagree, but he seems to decide to keep things civil for the moment. So he says, "Suit yourself then."
Jim hums and when they finally reach the house, she picks up a basket, climbs the steps, and carries it inside through the open back door.
Eleanora is sitting at the table with a pitcher of lemonade and sandwiches. "How many you get done?" she asks as she grabs three plates. She clearly knows her son is here.
"About a dozen, I think," Jim supposes with a shrug.
"Better than I'd hoped. But don't think I don't know you didn't give yourself a pause in between." Eleanora gives her a stern look. "I advise you to pace yourself next time. It's not a race, and I'm not a perfectionist. I guaranteed you a job and a place to stay. Slavery is over, James, and I'm no slave driver. Please don't treat this like indentured servitude."
Jim flushes with guilt. To keep from feeling awkward, or caught, she asks, "Where should I put this?"
"Just pile those baskets up on the back porch. I have a young man that comes by with crates. We'll pack them up tonight and drive them into town tomorrow, first thing."
"Kay." Jim turns and sets down the basket on one side of the porch, noticing that there are two baskets already there. She treks down the steps to see Bones picking up another basket effortlessly. "Hey, I don't remember asking for help."
"What a coincidence—I didn't offer," Bones merely mutters and sweeps past her, up the steps and sets the basket down next to the other two.
Jim smiles quietly and goes to grab another basket.
They work in silence for the next ten minutes before all the baskets are neatly arranged and sorted out on the back porch.
Jim blows out a breath that sweeps her blonde bangs from her face and she walks into the house, sitting at the table with a reach for a sandwich.
Eleanora smacks her hand away. "Go wash those hands!"
Jim pouts but she gets up and walks to the kitchen sink.
"Not in my kitchen sink either. That's not what it's for," Eleanora nags and gestures to the small bathroom around the corner on the other side of the stairs.
Jim rolls her eyes and marches to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she turns to leave, she almost runs into Bones, and they do this awkward dance around each other. She returns to the kitchen table and sees that Eleanora already filled her plate with a full glass of lemonade.
Bones joins them a minute later and quietly makes his own plate.
Eleanora squints her eyes at him.
Bones pretends not to notice.
"Well?" she finally says. "You come around here after six months of not speakin' to me. You're on the verge of divorce and I gotta hear it from Mrs. Gloria Albright—a woman who I am most discontent with, for she is a smug, insufferable gossip. Oh I can keep goin' boy, so you can fix your face right now. You don't even have the grace to give your momma a hello?"
"Hi," Bones huffs and takes a greedy bite of his sandwich. He winces when she gives him a smack on the back of his head. "Damn it, woman!"
"You watch that mouth. I raised you better than that, damn it," Eleanora warns (quite contradictory) as she picks up a wooden spoon and waves it threateningly at him. "You will talk to and at me like I raised you to talk to me! Grudge or not!"
Bones makes a face and says, "I'm sorry."
Jim snickers and ignores the glare that Bones shoots her way.
"You'd better be sorry. That insufferable wife of yours called me this mornin' lookin' for you. Apparently you had some kind of lunch date together. She's convinced you're pushin' your hand at this divorce and that you don't want to try and make things work," Eleanora says. "I told her you wouldn't be crazy for not tryin'."
Bones snorts but he doesn't say anything else.
Eleanora sighs into her glass of lemonade and she flicks her gaze between Jim and her son. "So. I see you've met James. Did she check out with you or should I let her go now?"
Bones tosses his mother a look. "I was concerned. Of course I had to come see," he contends.
Eleanora's hard gaze goes soft and warm all at once, and there is an unspoken calmly love that washes through her expression. She says, "You're forgiven. Come by more often, I'll be less lonelier for it."
"Hey now, I wasn't even given a fighting chance. I'm sure you and I will become the firmest of friends," Jim interjects playfully and smiles when Eleanora chuckles. "You seem to enjoy wine. I, as well, enjoy wine. We're twins practically—soul mates even."
"Now hold on," Bones says with a serious frown as he observes Jim closely. "How old are you?"
"Old enough, I think," Jim lightly supposes with a grin.
"I think you're not a day over sixteen, Kid," Bones gripes.
"Oh hush, Leonard," Eleanora rebukes and pats her hand over his. "Leave the girl be. If she says she's old enough than that's more than we oughta know."
"Thank you, Eleanora," Jim drawls and tosses Bones a pointed look over the rim of her glass.
Bones just mutters something and polishes off another sandwich.
Eleanora chuckles and rises from her seat. "Excuse me. I think I hear someone comin' up the drive. I do believe it's Mr. Knight." She exits the kitchen to disappear out the front door, which leaves them alone.
Jim finishes up her sandwich and pretends not to notice the darting and speculating looks being sent her way by Bones. When her plate and cup is empty, she takes it to the sink and dumps it into the dishwater before she walks out onto the back porch steps to watch the sun begin to set. She puts her small hands in her back pockets as the dark orange sun descends into the horizon.
Bones joins her, and he doesn't say anything. He watches her watch the sunset, and he doesn't pretend that he's doing anything else besides that.
"They say the sun is new each day," Jim remarks. She presses her fingers to the slight swell of her chin. "I don't see it. At least not how I do with the moon. But that all seems the same to me too. Very predictable."
"Nature's never predictable," Bones debates, finally looking away and off into the distance. "Science makes it predictable. It takes the heart out of it and paints it with logistics and equations and reasonin'. Leaves it cold and dead. Not everythin' can be explained."
"Are you a naturalist, Bones?" Jim questions with cheerful curiosity.
Bones scowls but he doesn't direct it towards her. "No, Kid. I just like to balance the use of my brain and my heart instead of keepin' one without the other," he gruffly explains. He seems a little embarrassed.
Jim doesn't know why. She thinks what he's saying makes sense. "Hey, you're preaching to the converted. I think that too."
Bones snorts, but he also relaxes noticeably.
Jim studies him for a long moment. He really is a handsome man. He looks like the type that wears his heart on his sleeve. That's not exactly common. "I like you," she decides aloud.
Bones blinks and then flushes uncomfortably. "Jesus, Kid. That's, uh, very flattering—"
"Oh my God," Jim laughs and shakes her head. "I said I like you. Not that I want to go to town on your dick!"
Bones turns scarlet. "How old are you?" he asks, staring at her like she fell right from the sky.
"Spiritually, I feel sixty-five. A very eccentric sixty-five," Jim jokes.
Bones goes right back to scowling, even though his flush hasn't completely died.
"How old are you?"
"Too old," Bones complains with a weighty sigh.
Jim takes a moment to study him. "I'd have to guess…" she drawls as she looks at him. "Twenty-three?"
Bones stiffens and slowly looks at her with a mixture of burgeoning regard and suspicion. "You couldn't possibly know that," he decides. "Just what all did my momma tell you about me?"
Jim laughs colorfully and says, "Not enough for me to pretend to guess at your age. I really did pull that one out of thin air. Impressive right?"
Bones looks stuck between a scowl and smile.
Eleanora returns to them with an Asian male who's as tall as the doorway. He's all broad shoulders, chocolate eyes and a killer smile.
Jim's instantly interested.
"James, this is Tomoharu Knight. Tomoharu, this is James Kirk. My new helping hand," Eleanora introduces.
Knight nods politely, a bit timidly, and takes off his hat. His hair is a bit long so he has to finger-comb it out of his face as he says, "Nice to meet you, Ms. Kirk."
Jim flushes for no other reason besides that she just likes the way he says her name. "Hi," she replies stupidly.
Knight just gives a small grin as he wrings his hat between his large palms, brown eyes flicking nervously.
Bones scowls and crosses his arms, clearing his throat.
Knight looks guilty. "Oh, I'm sorry. How are you Len?" he greets.
"Same as always, I suppose," Bones mutters and he straightens. "How's your mother?"
"She's alive to see another day thanks to you," Knight praises with a grateful smile. "I really can't thank you enough for what you did."
Bones just shakes his head grimly. "Didn't really do anythin' no one else in my field would have done," he supposes.
"So modest, this one," Eleanora drawls with an amused look.
Jim is a bit curious, but she's not curious enough to ask. She knows that Bones is a doctor, and a nagger at that, but he must really be something to garner such a grateful expression from a huge man like Knight.
"I'll tell my mother you asked after her," Knight goes on to say. "I'm sure she'll be extendin' a dinner invitation to you real soon. She's been anxious about gettin' you at her table."
Bones doesn't look any particular way about that but he does give a short nod. He glances at his mother and then to Jim before looking away. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks again before he mutters, "Guess I should get goin'."
Eleanora immediately frowns. "Hush, boy. I'll hear none of the such. You'll stay here," she decides.
Bones's expression turns absolutely mutinous.
"Don't start," Eleanora warns. The she gentles her tones, "You're gonna go back to Dixie's place and you gonna get your things and come right back. You're stayin' with me until you get everything sorted all out, you hear?"
Bones looks distinctly uncomfortable and bolstered. It's quite a feat really. He says, "Yes, ma'am."
Eleanora looks to Jim and Knight. "Excuse me. I'll be seein' my son out. Won't be but a moment," she promises before she curls her fingers over Bones's shoulders and gives him a sort of forceful shove through the doorway.
They speak in hushed tones as they disappear from sight.
Knight wrings his hat with a bit of awkward shyness.
"So," Jim starts. "Eleanora said something about crates?"
Knight looks relieved and he nods. "I've got a stack in my truck. I'll grab them."
Jim watches him go before she walks over to the baskets of apples. She picks up a yellowish-green one, takes a moment to toss it up and down before she takes a juicy bite, sighing in satisfaction at the sweet/sour taste that hits her tongue.
"Don't let Ms. Eleanora see you pinchin' off the apples meant to be sold. She's real particular about that," Knight warns but with a good-natured smile.
Jim nods and swipes the back of her hand against her wet mouth.
Knight sets down a few wooden crates made of light brown plywood. The insides are lined with saran wrap. He explains, "It's to keep them from bein' too bruised. And also protects them from all the critters."
"Sensible," Jim reasons and she watches the way he packs the first crate with apples. It's like a gentle work—a sort of dance of fingers and fruit. There's a carful alignment in the way he does it and Jim can see it takes a great deal consideration in the size and the angles and how it all fits. She doesn't know why she likes that. It's almost comforting in a way to watch the way it all stacks together and fits like some kind of fruit puzzle. Jim smiles a little.
Knight catches the smile and he flushes before he quickly straightens as he ducks his gaze. "Well, um, I suppose that's it then. Not too hard, don't think," he mutters as he looks down at his work.
"No, it's perfect," Jim compliments. "Almost intimidating."
Knight laughs a bit ruefully as he rubs the back of his neck with one hand while the other taps the rim of his hat against the side of his leg. "Yeah. Sure. Maybe," he concedes. He clears his throat as he drops his hand and wrings his hat between his large palms again. He glances noticeably at her black eye. "So, if you don't mind me bein' too curious—you're new to town. So I heard at least. Not that I bother with rumor, mind you. I just—well word gets around whether you mean to hear or not."
Jim shrugs neutrally as she grabs a crate and starts mimicking the work she saw Knight do with the apples. It's not easy, she has to keep doing it over before she can recognize which size apples fit better with others and so on. As she does so, she admits, "It is true. I'm not from here. I think it's my lack of accent that makes me a dead giveaway. Plus Dixie—you know her right—well she said I don't have the smell." She laughs a little as she recalls.
Knight snorts as he hunches down and attempts to help her. "Yeah, Dixie's prone to say things like that. I wouldn't pay it all to mind." He gives Jim a disarming grin before he ducks his gaze again. "So if you aren't from here, where are you from?"
Jim doesn't even pause as she says, "Cabbage patch. I'm a Cabbage Patch Kid. Well, not so much a kid anymore. More like a Cabbage Patch Adult."
Knight chokes on something between an exasperated laugh and the beginnings of denial. "Oh, Ms. Kirk. I'm not sure how we seem, but we ain't all that naïve," he points out, southern drawl receding into something less formal and into a warm familiarity.
Jim takes a note of that. She'd kind of noticed that with Bones. He hadn't quite talked to her like she was a stranger, but—well she's not sure what to peg that man as. She says, "What about you? Where are you from?"
"Certainly not a cabbage patch," Knight quips as he pushes in the last apple into the crate. "But I am from here. My parents aren't, though. My father's from Beijing and my mother's from the Philippines."
"That must be an interesting clash of cultures," Jim supposes as she watches Knight fix the lids to both the full crates.
Knight gives a nodding shrug. "Never had a dull childhood, suffice to say," he admits. But he smiles gorgeously as he thinks on it. "My mother's a carpenter and my father manages Savannah's biggest library. The Hudson Hill Library. I work with him when I'm not delivering furniture for my mother or here giving Eleanora a hand."
"Ah, so that explains why you're so good at stacking these apples and fitting them inside such a confined space," Jim reasons with a grin as she grabs another crate and begins piling in more apples.
Knight moves to stand on his knees opposite her and they work in tandem. "I suppose you could say so. Doesn't really make me all that grand with the software at the library though. I can manually organize the books, sure, but…" He trails off with a thoughtful frown.
"Software, huh?" Jim says. "Well, I'm a bit of a whiz kid when it comes to technology. I can see if I can minimalize the effort on your part and make it easier to enter and log things into a manageable database."
"Oh, I wouldn't wanna bother you with that, Ms. Kirk. Really," Knight says, concerned. "I've got a minor degree in digital cataloguing, and really I should know what to do but—I just really can't get the hang of it. Wave of the future as they say, but I'm still building my raft by hand, pardon the metaphor."
"Listen," Jim says and places her hand on his wrist to catch his eye. "If I say it's not a problem, then I'm pretty sure that roughly translates as not being a problem. I'm not just an apple picker, you know. We Cabbage Patch Adults have multi-faceted talents."
That earns a laugh and Knight still looks unsure but he eventually nods. "Okay, then. But I do insist on repayment," he firmly states. "I refuse to have you help for free."
"If you're dead set on paying me off, who am I to argue?" Jim counters with a sly smile that makes a wild blush spread across Knight's face.
Knight stammers before he quickly pulls his wrist from her grip and nods. "Good. Yes. Um. T-Tomorrow, we uh, we could get to—to do that—to work, I mean. Thank you, Ms. Kirk."
Jim's smile shrinks into a small grin. "Call me Jim," she urges.
"Oh, um—" Knight looks uncertain about that.
Jim wonders if all the men in this town are so old-fashioned and gentlemanly, because if so—well, she might stick around for a bit longer. You know, just to corrupt a few of the natives and all that.
Knight swallows and looks two seconds away from fleeing at the lecherous smirk that begins to spread across Jim's lovely face.
Eleanora reappears and glances between the two of them before she rolls her eyes. "Good Lord, Jamie. Don't scare the boy half to death with those pretty blues of yours. Behave," she warns as she gently slaps Jim's right cheek a few times.
Jim laughs and rubs her hand over the spot before she goes back to packing.
Eleanora notes their progress with the apples with approval. "Well I see you showed her how it's done then, Tomoharu. Saved me a headache," she murmurs.
Jim scoffs. "Totally resent that, Eleanora. I'm a quick study."
Eleanora just makes a thoughtful sound. "Now I expect you'll be able to drop this off at the post for me, Tomo. I'm already a day and a half late. I don't need anyone callin' and kickin' up a fuss."
"Yes ma'am, Mrs. McCoy," Knight guarantees. "I already spoke with Robin. He knows I'll be swingin' by and he promised to keep open a little while longer to push your shipments through."
"Oh, good," Eleanora says simply. She pauses briefly before she adds, "Suppose I oughta help you with this then. Jim, you go grab my purse."
Jim thinks to protest because she's starting to get really good at this, but one firm look from Eleanora makes her swallow down her reply. She stands and moves to search for a black bag she finds on the table in the foyer. She hands it over when she returns to the back porch.
Eleanora relays her gratefulness before she wanders off into the kitchen, motioning for Jim to follow.
Jim tucks her hands in her back pockets as she waits for what ever it is that Eleanora is trying to do.
Eleanora finally pulls free a credit card and presents it to Jim. "Here," she says.
Jim looks at it.
"Take it."
Jim looks at her.
"You need clothes. You can't keep wearin' the same outfit day in and day out like a cartoon character."
Jim immediately straightens out her expression into something neutral. She's trying not to feel offended. "Why not? You've got a washer and dryer."
"Don't be dull. It is certainly not becoming," Eleanora scoffs. "What kind of woman would I be if I let you go on like that?"
Jim looks away and shrugs to hide how uncomfortable she feels. "I'll live. I've—survived on less. I can make it work or whatever."
"James—"
"I'm not really your problem," Jim firmly interjects. "And anyway, I'd eventually earn enough to buy my own clothes."
"I am completely of aware of that, James," Eleanora calmly counters. "But in the mean time, I'm offerin' to give you somethin' else to work with. I'm not gonna take this out of your earnings. I'm not gonna hold you to it. I don't even expect anythin' back besides what you've already been doin'. This is somethin' from me to you. Point and blank."
"I'm not a charity case," Jim argues.
"No. You're not. But you are unnecessarily prideful," Eleanora says as she grabs Jim's hand and slaps the card in her hand. "This is me tellin' you to go and do somethin' for yourself without the expectation that I'll want somethin' back from you or that you're indebted to me or whatever nonsense is runnin' circles in that pretty head of yours. Now buck up, Jamie. Say thank you and we'll speak no more of it. Ain't nothin' wrong with acceptin' a bit of kindliness from a well-intentioned individual. The sooner you understand that, the better it'll be for the two of us."
Jim doesn't say anything, but she does curl her small fingers around the card.
That seems to be enough for Eleanora. "Well then. It's early enough. There'll be a good amount of shops open. I'm sure you know what you like so I won't bother to make any suggestions. Take my truck. The door will be open for you when you come back and dinner should be good and ready by then."
Jim nods quietly.
"Since you worked so hard today, I'll finish up with Tomoharu. Just this once," Eleanora says with a slight smile. "Go on now."
Jim finds Eleanora's black pickup truck around the side of the house. Sitting behind the wheel, Jim feels somewhat small but a bit like one of those monster truck drivers. She reigns in the urge to finds some dirt hills and run amuck, choosing to just take the fifteen minute trip to town. She finds a spot to park and eases onto the sidewalk, taking care to observe her surroundings.
Cikala Closet
Jim enters the shop and smiles secretly at the way the bell tolls over her head. She glances around and takes in dream catchers hanging from the ceiling, the smoky atmosphere, the hunting gear and bowstrings and arrows hanging along the walls. There are birdcages full of hawks at each corner of the room. On the main floor is sliver racks lined with denim, leather, and other bohemian and indie clothing.
"You see something you like?" a voice says to her immediate right.
Jim almost jumps out of her skin as she sends a mild glare to an older man with yellow-brown skin, salt and pepper hair braided with a feather on the end and smiling hazel eyes. "You almost gave me a heart attack," she mutters.
"So sorry," he says with a bland tone. "I've had two of those myself. Would not wish it on anyone."
Jim blinks and crosses her arms over her chest.
"My name is Ohanzee," he introduces. He taps his chestnut cane into the ground before he uses it to limp to the front of the store. "I am not very good with customers, or as my granddaughter likes to tell me so. The many lines on my face, perhaps, make me seem intimidating."
Jim watches him limp behind the counter and grab a pack of cigarettes hidden in a small box with a triumphant sound. She smiles a little.
Ohanzee notices and he smirks. "She thought she could hide it from me. But I know her as well as I know…" He pauses with a frown as he looks up. "I should feed the birds," he remarks as he shoves a single cigarette and lights it. He looks to her. "You must be the new stranger everyone has been chattering about."
Jim shrugs and eases over to a clothes rack.
"Don't worry. I won't bother you about that," Ohanzee promises as he settles down in a rocking chair. "When I moved from the mountains, they treated me like a stranger. Even though, generations ago, my people and our tribes worked this soil and lived in what used to be, what I can imagine, a vast amount of woodland areas that this town has now cut through. My granddaughter rolls her eyes every time I try to tell her the stories. She fusses about the past and looking to the future, but I say that old wounds never heal. There are only scars to remind what once was."
Jim silently agrees as she sorts through a rack of denim shorts and tank tops. The smell of ash reaches her in no time.
"Can I trouble you for a name?" Ohanzee petitions.
Jim bends down for a pair of beige cowboy boots and calls out, "Jim."
"Jim," Ohanzee echoes. "Short for James, must be. Like the king."
Jim smiles. "Yeah. Like the king."
"You must be royalty," Ohanzee murmurs as he taps his cane into the floor with an amused tone.
"Hardly," Jim laughs as she peeks at him from over the tops of clothes rack. She grabs a few more shirts and skirts before she goes to one of the dressing rooms, pulling the curtain back for privacy.
"Not royalty," Ohanzee says. "What would you consider yourself then?"
Jim starts trying on clothes. She says, "More like a wanderer."
"Ah, the traveler. I sensed that about you," Ohanzee claims. "I have the gift of discernment. I can read people rather well, among other things." He goes on to say, "For instance, I know there is a very unpleasant thing headed our way."
The entrance bell chimes, followed by the sharp, unforgiving click of pumps.
Jim frowns as she listens.
Ohanzee says, "Mrs. McCoy. What do I owe this pleasant visit?"
A woman scoffs and Jim immediately knows it's not Eleanora by the scornfulness in it. The woman says, "Spare me your native pleasantries, Mr. Blackfeet."
"It's pronounced Sihasapa," Ohanzee curtly corrects.
"It's translated," the woman carelessly replies. "More easily pronounced this way."
"Ah, I see," Ohanzee says. "I would prefer you stick with the original version, Jocelyn."
Jim quietly changes back into her original set of clothes.
"I did not come here to debate with you. I came here to discuss an important business matter with your granddaughter." Jocelyn pauses. "Where is Zonta?"
"Far away from the likes of you. I warned her you were coming and she took an immediate holiday with our family in Alaska," Ohanzee calmly reports. "Hard to tell when she will be back. May be three full moons before she migrates to town again.
Jocelyn just hums and clicks away.
Jim steps out of the dressing room with her clothes and shoes and dumps it on the front counter. She glances at Jocelyn, a slim but curvy woman, who seems to be measuring the dimensions of the shop with some measuring tape. She's wearing a white pencil skirt, grey silk blouse and leather pumps. Her hair is dark auburn, neatly pressed straight, shiny and cut to fall right around her delicate chin. Her full lips are painted with dark purple lipstick, while her mint green eyes are lined with smoky eye shadow, which only adds to her sort of malevolent aura. She's like a modern wicked witch or something, which is kind of funny but not because this must be the infamous woman that Bones is trying to divorce.
Holy hell, good luck with that you poor bastard, Jim thinks as Ohanzee begins to ring her up.
In a freak coincidence, as soon as the thought passes from Jim's mind, Jocelyn's devious green eyes tack onto her as the measuring tape in her hand snaps back. Her dark purple lips twist into a smirk that's at the borderline of being a sneer. "What do we have here?" her sultry voice says rhetorically. She clicks over and stands before Jim with judgmental eyes. "Ms. Kirk, I presume. You're the farmhand staying with my mother-in-law."
Any respect Jim might have given to this woman shrivels up and dies. She replies, "I'm sorry. How exactly is it that you know me, Miss…" she trails off purposefully.
Jocelyn's expression flattens out into something unpleasantly neutral. "Mrs. Jocelyn McCoy. I'm acting second to my father, Mayor Treadway," she coolly explains. Her words artfully exude a concealed threat. "So you can say I make it my business to know just what kind of riff raff blows into our quaint little town. Not to mention the fact that you're sharing space with my mother-in-law."
"Oh, well." Jim simply shrugs, playing at ditzy blonde. "Eleanora never mentioned you. I'm sure she meant to though."
Jocelyn's lips tighten only a fraction. "Yes, I'm sure she did," she murmurs before she switches her gaze to Ohanzee. "You tell your granddaughter that I stopped by and no amount of hiding will change Mayor Treadway's mind. This little shop, along with its neighbors, will be bulldozed into the ground come Christmas, whether they should want it or not. We're being very generous by offering a settlement." She gives a cutting smile before she looks to Jim. "You have a nice night, Ms. Kirk. Give Eleanora my best." With that, she clicks her way right out of the shop.
Jim makes a face. "What an awful woman. I can literally feel myself being a better person after dealing with her," she comments.
Ohanzee gives a deep chuckle as he bags her clothes. He says, "She's gone now."
Jim frowns in confusion before she hears the sound of footsteps venture from the back and the outline of a woman walks through the doorway of hanging beads.
An olive skinned woman with hazel eyes and long raven hair appears with a tentative smile. "That sounded like it went well," she says with a long sigh.
"She's right," Ohanzee says as settles back in his rocking chair. "You can't keep hiding forever, Zonta."
Zonta makes a face. "God, I know. But that woman is literally the devil," she says. She looks to Jim. "Sorry you had to deal with her firsthand, but there's no way of avoidin' her, mind you."
Jim shrugs. "I've dealt with worse," she admits.
Zonta steals the cigarette from her grandfather's shriveled hand and sucks away at it. "You sure about that? I haven't met a woman yet that could go toe to toe with Jocelyn. Seriously. She's is the bride of Satan." She blows out a puff of smoke.
"Bride of Leonard, actually. But that is only for so long if the rumors are anything to go by," Ohanzee remarks. "He would be smart to get away."
"Oh hush, tunkašila," Zonta reprimands but her eyes twinkle much like his does and it is so painstakingly obvious that they are kin. "It's none of our business."
Ohanzee just huffs. "You say that, but I know that you will be the first to give glory to the Great Mother and you'll try your hand at his heart because maĥpiya knows you have been in love with that boy since high scho—"
"Tunkašila! Please! Spare me!" Zonta cries as she flushes. She quickly rings up Jim, swearing and muttering under her breath.
Jim fights against an amused smile as she hands over Eleanora's credit card.
Zonta clears her throat and says, "Thank you so much for your patronage. Please come again."
"Sure," Jim says as she grabs her bags. She pauses before she turns and continues, "You know, I met Bon—Leonard—and I have to say, you wouldn't be a fool for trying."
Zonta splutters as Ohanzee gives a hearty laugh.
Jim smiles beautifully as she winks at them both before she swaggers out of the shop. She climbs into Eleanora's pick-up truck and drives back to the house and ends up parking alongside a sleek, black mustang. She figures it must belong to Bones and she internally approves of his choice in cars as she grabs all her bags and makes her way up the porch steps. She walks through the front door and smells the pleasant aroma of food. She sets her bags down at the base of the steps and goes to investigate.
Eleanora is pulling a mouthwatering casserole free from the oven and setting it down on top. When she spots Jim lingering in the doorway, she says, "Did you get what you needed?"
"I did," Jim says and hands over her credit card. "I—um. Just, uh, thank you."
Eleanora waves her off. "You go get washed up. Dinner will still be waitin' for you when you're all settled," she promises.
Jim is all too happy to oblige, if only to escape the awkwardness she feels. She carries her bags up the steps and to her room, pausing in her doorway as she hears the quiet creaks of footsteps from across the hall and behind the door opposite to hers. She figures that must be Bones's room. She twists her mouth thoughtfully before she kicks her door shut with her left foot. She hangs most of her clothes up in the closet, and places the rest in some of the drawers of the dressers. She kicks off her shoes and places them with the others at the base of the closet before she treks into her bathroom for a shower.
Fifteen minutes later, she's detangling her wet hair before she braids it down the middle of her head before tying the end. She puts on a pair of plaid pajama shorts and a tank top (no bra) just because it really is quite warm in the house, what with the lack of air conditioning, and she waltzes barefoot to the kitchen.
Eleanora rolls her eyes, but she doesn't look surprised by Jim's lack of shoes. "Sit down, I'll make you a plate," she says.
Bones is already sitting at the table and tucking into his plate of food. He glances up briefly to acknowledge Jim before his attention is turned to his food again. He's dressed a little more casually now—dark jeans and a t-shirt with some boots.
Jim tries not to stare but she just finds it so unfair that he can make anything look good. And to add to her grievances, it appears that he's shaved, which makes his more comely features all the more blatant. She sighs and crosses her legs when she sits down.
Eleanora sits down a plate with casserole and cornbread in front of Jim.
Jim gives a murmur of gratitude before she begins to eat.
"So what stores did you find yourself in?" Eleanora asks as she pours herself a glass of white wine.
Jim declines when offered and says, "Cikala Closet."
Eleanora smiles briefly and asks, "Got to know Zonta and her grandfather, hm?"
"Yeah, they were very friendly," Jim assures and Eleanora nods. She looks at Bones then away before she adds, "And I sorta ran into Jocelyn."
Bones's fork screeches unpleasantly against his plate, causing Eleanora and Jim to wince.
Eleanora takes a hefty sip of wine. "What exactly—how was it?"
"Well," Jim starts, really choosing her words carefully because Bones is staring at her with this intense expression on his face. She squirms and continues, "No one died?"
Eleanora snorts and shakes her head fondly.
Bones doesn't look quite so amused. "Do you think you could be a bit more specific than that, Kid?"
"Oh, so you do speak," Jim retorts with a grin and it spreads into a smile as he glares at her. "Well I got the impression from her that she likes to eat children. But seriously, she just came off a bit cold and unpleasant."
Bones relaxes slightly. "That sounds like Jocelyn," he mutters. "What'd she say to you?"
Jim shrugs and takes a bite of her cornbread. "Called me a farmhand and riff raff, which, I mean, I didn't even know people used those terms anymore. I would've laughed if I wasn't busy being offended." She shrugs again. "So I pretended like I didn't know who she was and that Eleanora never once mentioned her. You know, petty stuff like that."
Bones's lips curl slightly. "I'm sure she didn't take too kind to that," he supposes, sounding heavily amused.
"Well, you know, if looks could kill…" Jim smiles as she eats some more of the casserole on her plate.
"That woman—if there's one thing she prides herself on," Eleanora says. "It's her reputation. Good or bad."
"All fairytale villains usually do," Jim mutters and that earns an identical snort from Eleanora and Bones. "Judgments aside, she is pretty hot."
Bones chokes.
Jim pretends to be concerned. "You okay?"
Bones glares at her.
"What?" Jim widens her eyes innocently. "I'd let her kidnap me to her evil layer and tie me up so she can—"
"You watch that filthy mouth of yours, James," Eleanora smoothly interjects. "I won't have you spoutin' smut at my table."
"Pardon me. I'll just write it out in my diary tonight," Jim cleverly counters and laughs when Eleanora gives her a playful glare. She watches as Eleanora goes to the oven, where she has an apple pie on.
Bones looks like he's swallowed something sour.
"What was Jocelyn doin' at that shop anyway?" Eleanora asks.
"From the sounds of it, being kind of thuggish and threatening to knock the whole block down on behalf of her father, Mayor Treadway. Which, I have to say, raises some interesting questions about what kind of man he is. I mean, Dixie seems to be the most pleasant of that family, but I don't know if that's luck or if it's just Jocelyn that's the bad apple."
Eleanora shakes her head as she carries the pie out to the back porch to cool down.
"No," Bones replies. He grabs a napkin and wipes his mouth clean before he stands to wash his plate in the sink. "If Jocelyn is considered cold and unpleasant, it's really nothin' compared to her father. That man could swing talk an innocent man into confessin' to a murder that happened six galaxies out of his reach."
Jim ties not to sigh at the metaphor, as useful as it may be, she's not fond of them. "When you put it like that, I kind of want to meet him," she jokes.
Bones dries his plate and sets it in the dish rack. "Trust me, Kid. You don't want to–good God woman!"
Jim frowns. "What?"
Eleanora returns with the pie and she pauses in the doorway as she stares at Jim. "Jamie, sweetheart. You wouldn't happen to have any food allergies you neglected to mention?"
Jim's expression turns into something sheepish and she scratches the side of her neck as she feels her eyes water while her lips begin to swell painfully. "Um," she says as causally as she can manage, even though her throat is tightening. She chokes, "I might have a few."
Bones swears colorfully as he dashes from the kitchen and up the stairs.
Jim begins to wheeze as her tongue starts to swell behind her teeth.
Eleanora quickly sets down the pie and cups her hands under Jim's reddening jaw to tip her head back. "Open your mouth dear, let me have a look," she softly urges.
Jim obediently opens her mouth as she breathes hoarsely.
Eleanora looks fairly concerned and agitated. She steps back without a word when Bones returns with his medical tricorder and a hypospray.
Bones jabs her in the side of her neck.
Jim jumps and yelps. "Ow! Fucker!"
"Call me Doctor," Bones simply retorts, unmoved by her spiteful glare. "You can breathe now, can't ya?"
Jim grumbles as he waves his medical wand around her face and neck.
Bones frowns at the results that pop up on his PADD. Without looking away from the readings, he says, "My mother's gonna give a list of her ingredients and you're gonna point to which of them you're allergic to."
Jim's mouth twists unhappily as she crosses her arms. She looks to Eleanora expectantly.
Eleanora shakes her head as she runs through all the contents of her casserole and cornbread.
Jim calls attention to at least fifteen different things that she's allergic.
Bones scowls at her. "You got a death wish, Kid? This is somethin' you mention to the people you live with," he rebukes.
Jim shrugs. "If I did, then she'd just be weird about it."
Eleanora looks like she wants to brain Jim with a pot. "Dear Lord, James. I'd rather cut back on a few things than watch you leave this house in a body bag. Now you're gonna write out a list for me and I'll manage the best way I can."
"But—" Jim tries not to blush but she does. "I—it's not fair to do that to you because there's a lot that I'm—I just—"
"I don't have time for your fool excuses," Eleanora says. "You write that goddamn list or I will shake it out of you."
Jim snaps her mouth shut and nods quickly.
Eleanora smiles. "Good. Pie?"
Jim nods again.
Bones just stares at her like he's not sure what to make of her or what to do with her. He says, "Who's your main physician?"
"Don't have one," Jim mutters and tries not fidgeting under his heavy gaze.
Bones's scowl deepens. "Well you got one now. First thing in the mornin', you and I are goin' down to my clinic and I'm screenin' you for every test I can think of."
"Oh?" Jim says and she gives him a mutinous look. "Even a pap smear?"
Bones does bat an eye. "I've got a colleague I work with that is certified to do that procedure, so don't think you can use your gender against me." He straightens as he goes back to studying her readings. "It's a miracle you've survived this long with these fool habits of yours."
Jim rolls her eyes and thanks Eleanora for the piece of pie she sets before her. She ignores the way they both watch her carefully as she eats it. She makes sure she gives them both a pointed look after she takes the last bite with no incident.
Bones looks quietly amused before he moves to exit the house.
Jim watches as he disappears in the shadows of the trees. "Where's he going?"
"Probably to ride that wily horse of his," Eleanora supposes as she sets a small notepad and pencil before Jim. "Write."
Jim frowns but she does. "He has a horse?"
"I believe I said so."
"What's the horse's name?"
Eleanora levels her with an amused look as she moves to make tea. "I'm sure Leonard is better suited to answer these questions than me, Jamie. Why don't you wait till he comes back?"
Jim shrugs and goes back to penning her food allergies down. She declines when Eleanora offers her a cup of tea and is glad when Eleanora doesn't press to know why. It's an hour and a half before she finishes her list, sourly noting that, "It might not be all of them. There's few I might be unaware of but I think that's all."
Eleanora leaves her alone and takes the list with a satisfied sound, studying the contents with her hazel eyes.
Jim slips from the kitchen and ventures back up to her room. She closes the door behind her and shuffles over to the window, opening it to let the cool summer air filter in. She goes over to the small bookcase lined with books and pulls free one that looks the most interesting. She takes it to bed with her and settles in under the clean linen sheets and begins to read page after page, laughing frequently at the old century humor of it.
She hardly notices the sound of footsteps pausing outside of her door sometime around midnight, too busy laughing to herself about the ironic mishaps of fictional characters.
Author's Note: Long time coming, I know. I had to reevaluate the plot and what not. But I think I might know what I want to do with this. So, yeah, gonna get right to the begging for this one. Please comment and review.