Page 26 of Loud Unspoken Memories

The bed creaks slightly as the mattress shifts and Bex appears. I guess the floor was getting cold. He walks in a circle in the large gap between Dallas and me, then settles in next to me. When I reach out to put an arm around him, Dallas’s eyes slam shut. I swear I see him utter the word ‘fuck,’ but it’s dark, so I can’t be sure.

What Iamsure of is that he turns his back to me, not giving me another look for the rest of the night. And the reason I know this, is because for most of the night, I’m staring at the back of his head, snuggling a large furry dog, when I know I’d much rather be in the arms of the mercurial man three feet away.

Chapter Eleven

Martina

I must have eventually fallen asleep, because when I wake up it’s light out, and Dallas is gone.

Bex, however, is still nestled next to me. I don’t blame him. It’s getting colder. I wonder if the propane has run out or if Dallas merely turned down the heat even more to conserve it. I listen for a second and hear the sound of the generator. With a sigh of relief, I steel myself to get up and make breakfast before it does run out.

I pull on socks that I left by the side of the bed, then put on the Yale sweatshirt that still smells like Dallas even though I wore it yesterday, and head to the bathroom. When I emerge, Bex is staring at the front door.

“You have to go too?” I ask.

I pull on my tennis shoes and take a beanie off the coat rack by the door. I don’t bother with a coat. We won’t be out long.

Footprints in the snow indicate the direction Dallas went. The depressions are already filling up with more fluffy white powder, dashing my hopes for a rescue once again. Yet, I find I’m not that upset at the thought of having to stay another day. I miss Charlie, and I want to be with him, but the idea of having to tell him his father has died is more than daunting. He’s in good hands. Anita and her family love him. There is nothing I can do to bring Charles back. And I’ll be with Charlie soon enough.

A familiar cracking noise lets me know exactly what Dallas is doing. He’s chopping more wood. Surely he doesn’t chop this much firewood regularly. If so, he’d have a much larger pile. He’s only doing it because I’m here. But… why?

He looks up briefly when he catches movement in my direction. I wave. He lifts his chin. I point at Bex. He goes back to splitting the huge log.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” I mutter, following Bex’s trail in the snow.

Bex sniffs around the base of a few trees. I’ve always wondered what exactly dogs smell for, and why they choose the spots they do. Seemingly satisfied with the pine tree around the backside of the cabin, he lifts his leg, coloring the snow-packed roots of the tree. He wanders around to the very rear of the cabin and does more of his ‘business’ along what normally would be a thick, lush hedge, but is currently a huge mound of ice and snow.

I praise him for doing well and picking an out-of-the-way spot we’re unlikely to step in.

He prances around, likely feeling good now that he’s ready for the day, and he mouths a small stick that’s fallen from a tree above.

I laugh at the tiny twig in his large mouth. “You need something bigger than that.”

I scan the area, looking for any other sticks atop the fresh snow. I see a great one about thirty feet behind the cabin. The snow fascinates me as I head out to retrieve the much larger stick. I’m twenty-four years old and this is the first time I’ve seen it in person.

Dad never took us on vacations. After Mom died, he was both single parent and sole provider, putting his retirement plans on hold so he could give us the best life possible. That life didn’t include luxuries like vacations, but it did consist of a roof over our heads, decent enough clothes, and plentiful food.

Sure, we’d take day trips to Ichetucknee Springs and float down the river on innertubes. Or we’d pack a picnic lunch and go to the beach. But getting on a plane or loading up the car for a drive this far north was just never in the cards.

And after he died, it was even less likely, being that my twenty-seven-year-old brother was suddenly responsible for not only his hormonal twelve-year-old sister, but he had just found out he was going to be a father.

I lean down to pick up the stick, pleased that it seems the perfect size for Bex. When I turn and wind up my arm, Bex barks excitedly. This obviously isn’t his first rodeo. I launch the stick into the air, hurling it as far as I can with my amateur arm.

Laughing as he happily prances through the snow after the stick, I take a step toward him and hear a loud crack right before the ground falls away from my feet.

For a minute, my heart pounds until my feet once again hit the ground. But when they do, I’m standing in water up past my knees.Shit. I must have walked out onto a pond. It’s going to take forever for my shoes to dry after this. I step up onto the ice, my legs already stiff from the freezing water, and I hear another crack. This time, my feet don’t meet solid ground but come out from under me and my whole body submerges into the frigid pond.Damn, it’s cold!

I try to control my breathing as the water stabs my skin. Normally, I would laugh at my clumsiness, but not now. Now I’m trying not to panic as I attempt to claw my way out. Each time I clutch the edge of the ice, another piece breaks off in my hand. And the more the ice breaks, the more I get pulled under. I can’t scream or I’ll take in water. Completely submerged now, in waterandsheer terror, all I feel when I reach up is a solid sheet of ice.

My hands flail around frantically, searching for the hole I fell through. But it’s not there. I can’t see anything through the murky water and snow-covered ice above me. I hear a muffled sound. I think Bex is barking. He was watching me. Is he realizing the same thing I am? That I’m trapped. I’m trapped under the ice.

Everything is numb. My arms, my legs, even my mind seems to be shutting down as everything gets hazy. I can’t move. All I can do is hold my breath and pray for this to be over.

I can’t tell if seconds have gone by, or minutes, when my thoughts shift from praying to get out of this mess, to wishing for death. Because even though I know it will gut Charlie, and even though this will make him an orphan like me, I can’t take this paralyzing numbness another second.

I’m sorry, is the last thought that goes through my mind before I stop struggling and succumb to my frigid tomb.

Chapter Twelve

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