End of Innocence
Chapter 5
Cimarron, Colorado, December 2013
The first snow had come down overnight. Light and powdery in the breeze blowing this morning. Sun had just peeked over the ridge and turned the trees to white-frosted jewels glistening in the glade.
Reese woke on the couch, chilled – one hand wrapped around a stout glass snugged against his thigh. His favorite brand of whiskey, glass after glass last night, until he'd slipped into sleep. He felt like sleep needed to last for the next year or so, just to catch up.
Poured a cup of coffee for himself and stepped out on the porch with it – steaming. So quiet here. Wind high in the tops of the trees, and a dusting of snow carried on the breeze. A little too bright out there. He retreated to the house while his eyes adjusted to morning sun.
Kept looking at his watch. Reese felt like there was someplace he needed to be. His motor was running.
No, he told himself. No place to go. Hard to unhook from – before.
It took nearly a whole pot of coffee before Reese could face the day. The light had brightened even more by then – nearly blinding in a sky so clear and blue. Needed sunglasses to venture outdoors. He spent most of the morning checking around out there.
He swept the walks free of snow, first. And then walked the perimeter next to the trees. Just looking.
Later in the day, he'd reckoned his wood supply on the deck. Out in the yard by the shed, they'd stacked a cord there. Maybe he'd need a little more kindling. Hatchet? He'd need a hatchet to split the wood to make more kindling. Puttered around in the shed, but no hatchet. Hmm. Maybe in the cabin.
Little by little, Reese was touching each space again. Learning, all over again, what was there, what was not. He'd been making a list and maybe a little later, he'd head down to town.
Plenty of time, now.
No place to go.
Well before dark Reese rolled his car down the drive, through town and out to one of the big-box stores to shop his list. A hatchet, a bucksaw, a better hammer, some electrical supplies, duct tape.
Something satisfying about a cart full of things like those. Makes a man feel like he can fix things, make things right.
On his way back, he stopped at the bar and looked for Chase. He had his back to the front door when Reese walked in. And then the smile when he'd turned around. Some of the others recognized Reese now, since he'd been there a couple of times. He made a point of setting them up with another round of whatever they'd been drinking, and that got a toast to his good health.
Chase asked about the cabin. If Reese needed anything. How he was getting around. Comfortable talk at the bar. He spent a couple of hours there, and then headed back home.
Still warm inside when he got there, and the glow out of the stove had gone to embers by then. He pulled in some logs from the deck out back and stacked them next to the stove, dropped a few inside and then blew on the embers to get them started. It felt good inside the house. He had a fire going, and the smell of oak and cherry in the air. Comfortable.
Reese poured himself a whiskey and sipped on it, while he cooked a little of the soup he'd brought in the night before. With a chunk of crusty bread, and some hunks of cheese, a pretty satisfying meal for himself.
Darkness had fallen outside. The night sky was clear and cold.
He policed his dishes and the pot he'd used for heating his soup. And pretty soon, all were back where they belonged, squeaky clean and hand-dried.
Reese decided not to ruin his evening with coffee. Stayed with the whiskey tonight. He sat on the couch in front of the fire. Kind of mesmerizing, looking at the flames dancing inside. Reese sipped his whiskey.
In time, the heat off the stove and the food, and then the first glass of whiskey settled him back on the couch. Feet up, and his head on the arm, he rested from the day. His fingers landed on his chest, over the top of the tear in his skin and that lump left over from the broken rib underneath.
The skin still looked bright pink and shiny, like a slash across his chest. Wide, where the real estate had been disturbed: it'd been that second shot on the street corner. The first had hit him in the side, down low, and twisted him around to the right. Lucky for him, he realized. If the second had hit him straight on, instead of left to right across his chest, a kill shot for sure.
He let his fingers explore the lump on the rib. Still hurt if he pressed on it, or if he lifted something heavy. Seems like it'd stopped hurting when he breathed. But still didn't wanna lay on it. The weight pressed too hard, and made it click, painfully sharp and sudden with the click.
Reese sensed he'd started down a path he needed to avoid. No good thinking about painful things that might lead to more.
He rolled up to sitting and went back for another splash of whiskey in his glass. Laid back against the arm, watching the fire dancing in the stove.
Quiet tonight. His breathing quiet, too, regular under the hand resting on his chest. The other wrapped around his glass, snugged up close against his thigh.
Colorado, June 1984
He'd hiked in from the road, where the sun had been beating down on him all the way to the woods. So, by the time he'd reached the pool where his favorite rock lay, partly-submerged at the edge of the stream, he'd needed a swim to cool himself.
He stripped off his shirt and the sneakers, then scooched forward on the rock to the edge - where the rock dropped below the water. He let his legs drop in first. Cold, especially compared to the heat on his skin. Goosebumps rose and he shivered.
Reese watched the water pass by and stared down next to the rock. Where the current moved just fast enough to keep the water fresh and clear. Minnows had gathered there, facing upstream, their gray-green bodies swaying in the push of water.
Little by little, he lowered himself down, until he'd gone in up to his neck. Splashing and kicking along the surface, he motored around the pool with his long gangly legs. His grandfather had been telling him he'd be tall, taller than his dad, he'd said. Took after his mother's side, he'd said. But nothing more about her. She'd always been a mystery.
Reese hadn't seen his father much, either. Stationed overseas, and he only saw him on leave twice a year. His father'd told him it was his duty to take care of his grandfather, ailing from some kind of breathing problem. Didn't get around much anymore.
So, he'd spent most of his youth there in his grandfather's cabin, and out on the mountain. Learned to hunt and fish. Found this special place of his to go, where the water always ran just right, and no one ever came.
Never seemed to have much use for people out there.
After midnight, he'd gone deep in his dream. Felt someone reaching over the top of him to the quilt on the back of the couch. Too deep in his dream to wake, and she hadn't wanted that. Needed his sleep.
Felt the glass lift from his hand at the side of his thigh, softly, so he didn't wake. And then the fluff of the quilt over him.
A poke at the logs in the fire. Warm again. It'd been getting cool on him, almost enough to wake him until she'd come by. Felt her sit down next to him and a hand on his chest over his. Fingers interlacing.
She never said a word this time. But he could feel it when she left. A softness across his lips, and her breath on his cheek. And comfort, with the touch of the quilt on him.
He slept the best he'd slept in months that night. Not quite what peace felt like. But maybe a little closer...