Hi readers! I am really pleased with this chapter. The whole idea came to me as I was reading using a Himalayan salt lamp. Enjoy! Read & review :)
Dean pounded on Bobby's front door. He was anxious to be back. He hadn't seen Sophie in eleven weeks. And he knew he'd been a shit husband the last time he was here.
He'd come right after John died. Bobby had, wisely, kept Sophie away from the hospital during that entire ordeal. And she'd been so happy when Dean made it home in once piece. But he'd ignored her, berated her, and was definitely rougher with her in their bedroom than he should have been. She started sleeping on the couch after the first two nights. She'd kissed him goodbye, but barely.
Their phone conversations since had been a little brief, a little cold, a little clipped.
He wouldn't be surprised if she'd gone back to Canada.
And when Bobby opened the door, he was almost certain that was what had occurred.
"You boys alright?" Bobby asked, ushering them in. Dean scanned the room for signs of his wife and found none.
"Where's Sophie?" Dean asked, ignoring the older man's question.
"At her house," Bobby replied simply.
"Her house?" Dean furrowed his brow, "She left?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"What, that she moved out? No," Dean bit back.
"Well she only sorta moved out," Bobby's tone was placating now, "Just go out back. You'll see."
And so, begrudgingly, Dean did.
Behind Bobby's ramshackle old farmhouse - obscured from view of the road - was a pretty, dark red A-frame cottage with a blue metal roof. There were flowers stenciled around the door and an arbor heavy with vines framing it. There was a white picket fence surrounding what must have been over an acre of cleared land, free from metal debris and salvaged cars, now full of raised garden beds and…if Dean wasn't mistaken…several sheep.
He paused at the gate, took a deep breath, and walked to the door.
He knocked once using the pink rock-salt door knocker. And then he waited, eyes on the ground.
He heard the door unlatch, then creak open. Then felt the sudden impact when Sophie threw herself at his chest.
"You're here!" She squealed with delight, squeezing him in a tighter hug than should have been possible given her size.
"And here is…" Dean prompted.
"Do you like it?" Sophie asked, pulling back to look at him, eyes bright.
"It's gorgeous I'm just…" Dean was stumbling over his words. Before he could get any further Sophie ushered him inside.
"Come here let me show you around," she said, "Watch your step."
She gestured at the floor, where Dean noted a raised molding of polished pink rock salt.
"Bobby said it would keep me safe," Sophie offered by way of explanation, "I've got it on the windows too and the fireplace. And that arbor? Devil's trap woven into the lattice on top. He thought of everything. Really. Everything."
The house was small but not cramped. There were big windows on either side of the door and a fireplace on the lefthand wall. Big tropical trees filled the windows and cast shade onto a couch and two chairs clustered around the fireplace. The back portion of the room was separated off with black wire shelving, stocked with baking ingredients, jars of dried beans and grains, and baskets of produce. There was a kitchen back there and Dean noted flour on the countertops and a fantastic smell wafting from the oven. Everything had rounded edges and there was plush, dark-colored carpeting on the floor.
"Shoes off," Sophie instructed - pointing to a rack by the door, "Let me show you the upstairs then we can go see the garden."
Dean hadn't processed enough to respond, so he just pulled off his boots and followed her up the steps that came down between the kitchen and the living area. The stairs were carpeted, he noted, with closed risers and a design that included four landings and short flights in between. It'd be safer if she passed out, Dean realized. Bobby really had thought of everything.
Upstairs was a bed nestled into a big bay window - Dean noted the pink rock salt molding along the window's bottom edge and Louie the Lamb propped against one of the pillows - with a nightstand on either side, a wardrobe against one wall, and several plants and a sourdough starter all fighting for attention from a little skylight tucked into the far side of the sloping roof. There were books everywhere: cookbooks and volumes of Native American lore, Polish fantasy novels and instructional guides on raising everything from cherries to mushrooms to ducks.
Dean sat down on the top step and just took it all in.
"So," Sophie said, sitting down beside him, "Do you…like it?"
"Did you build this?" Dean asked.
"Bobby helped. And an architect friend. And five guys Bobby picked up on a street corner then sprayed with Holy Water. But don't worry, we had it inspected, it's structurally sound," Sophie assured him.
"Sophie it's gorgeous," Dean said, "I love it. It's beautiful. I…"
"I didn't want to perpetually feel like a guest," Sophie said, "And Bobby offered to clear out some space and help me build something. For us. So I'd have somewhere to live and you'd have somewhere to come home to."
"And the farm?" Dean asked.
"We'll look at that next," Sophie said, "I've got a new doctor at the big hospital here who's all about avoiding chemical exposure to reduce my symptoms. So I took some online coursework in agricultural management. I'm also nearly done with my masters in Comparative Religion. But anyways, I've got five apple trees, five peach trees, a fig tree that requires significantly more labor than its worth, some tomatoes, Brussels sprouts, potatoes, carrots, onions, beets, herbs, greens, eggplant, zucchini, the works. And sheep! I got sheep! And I learned how to make cheese!"
"When?" Dean asked.
"I started when you left after the wedding. Big structure wasn't up until maybe ten weeks back though. And you were…distracted…the last time you were here," Sophie said.
"I'm sorry about that," Dean said, looking at the carpet between his feet.
"I forgive you," Sophie said, putting her head on his shoulder, "It was a bad time for everyone."
"I want to see the garden," Dean said, twining his fingers with hers, "But I also smelled something fantastic downstairs…and…I'd like to christen the bed."
He turned to face her and kissed her gently, taking his free hand and running it through her hair.
"That can be arranged," Sophie said, "Sheep will still be there in the morning."
It was bliss to have her in his arms again. Especially after how they'd left things nearly three months prior. She smelled like spices and soap and she kissed him like it was her last chance. Dean thought about the way his last visit had gone and suppressed a shudder. He'd given her enough reason to try and seize the good moments when they happened. And when they'd finished she slept on his chest again, tangled in the blankets. He stayed awake though, just breathing in the smell of her, appreciating the familiar weight of her head on his shoulder. He'd nearly ruined this last time. He vowed to do better.
It was the timer signaling dinner was ready that woke her. Sophie rubbed her eyes and fumbled for her phone, grabbing Dean's t shirt and scampering down the stairs.
She'd made moussaka and honey-soaked donuts - with eggplant she'd grown and sheep's milk from her own flock and honey from beehives she'd stashed out back by Bobby's hoists.
"You seem happy," Dean noted as they ate by the fire.
"I am," Sophie said, "Especially now that you're here."