Page 23 of The Caretaker
“You can talk about him,” he said. “If you want.”
“It usually followed him being told to eat all his vegetables or to brush his teeth before bed. In actuality, I was the more lenient parent. Or maybe the more…” I reached for the right word.
“The more emotionally available parent?” he supplied, no doubt remembering my description of Patrick.
“Yeah, that sounds more accurate.”
“I was going to suggest other options when she got back from her trip,” he confessed, jaw working. “The baby didn’t need to be biologically mine. I’d have loved any child.”
“And any child would have been fortunate to have you as their parent.” I believed that with every fiber of my being.
We spent the next couple hours trading war stories and holding hands when needed. Noon had kept me distracted and engaged in conversation, keeping me occupied from my pain—even during the topics that saw me diving headfirst into it. I hoped I’d returned even an ounce of the comfort he’d given me. He’d taken care of me, and when he tilted his head toward my plate, I looked down to find it empty. I’d unknowingly devoured all my food.
That night, in hopes of reducing how often my mind drifted to Patrick and everything that happened, I moved into the other guest room. Leaving our bed didn’t help. Images of Patrick having sex with Noon’s wife still slaughtered me. The sound of his desperation when he told her he loved her, kept me from sleeping.
Eventually, the bedroom door creaked open and closed and then the bed depressed as Noon curled behind my trembling form. I turned to face him in the dark, to meet him there, to commiserate with him there too, because his body shook far worse than mine. He hauled me into his arms, and I went willingly, sighing in unison with him. He placed a kiss on my forehead, and it didn’t feel driven by lust, only the desire to make me feel better.
His body temperature ran hot, likely due to his size, and my body thawed, my limbs going slack. Within minutes his soft snores filled the room, and I was on my way to join him in deep slumber, already knowing I never wanted to sleep without him again.
Noon
Now
SOLACE AND Iagreed it would be best to explore the town before the rest of his property. That way we’d be off the major roadways before the second round of heavy snowfall touched down that evening. There was also the concern of businesses closing early in preparation of the inclement weather.
We’d stopped at the museum, had a late lunch at one of the more popular places in town, then watched a local band play a short set at the cultural center. None of it sparked new memories—or old memories, rather. There were no tugs, no flickers, not even a soft buzzing in my brain. None of it felt familiar to me. Defeated and angry, I’d called it quits before venturing to our next and final location.
Solace convinced me to spend another night at his place, and so we stopped at the bed and breakfast for some of my things. He seemed worried about me, and I got the impression he didn’t want to leave me alone to wallow in my self-pity all evening. I felt terrible for dragging him into my mess, especially when he too became solemn on the drive back to his place, as if my mood had rubbed off on him. He’d spent the whole ride staring blankly out the window, his heavy sighs filling the cabin of the truck.
“Keep driving,” he said when I veered toward the front of the house.
“I figured you weren’t up for the tour anymore. Figured you needed a break from me,” I said, even as I continued down the snowy path.
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re introspective. I guessed that within minutes of knowing you. But your silence now feels different. I can’t help but think I’ve ruined your mood. Your day.”
“You didn’t ruin my day,” he said, then huffed. “If anything, I thought I’d ruined yours.”
“How so?”
“Nothing worked. You didn’t remember.”
“That’s not your fault,” I assured him, but he didn’t seem convinced as he crossed his arms and went back to gazing out his window.
I didn’t know what else to say, so I kept quiet about it and turned in the direction he indicated.
“You have someone who comes out and plows the snow for you?” I asked, noticing the snowbanks off to the side, rock salt crunching under my tires.
“My friend Pauly. He owns a bistro in town. He offered to plow while we were out.”
“That was nice of him,” I said, even as I wondered why someone who had his own business to run would take the time to plow and salt a property of this size.
“Yeah, Pauly’s great like that.” His tone held affection, and his disposition became lighter. My hands tightened on the wheel. I wanted to be the one to make him feel better.
We passed a rundown loafing shed and a barn. The wire fencing, which I assumed had kept the cattle in once upon a time, sagged in spots. Otherwise, the old farm was beautiful and spacious. I imagined how it would look when winter cleared out and the tree limbs filled in and the grass was green again. Thesudden need to capture that future on camera became a living thing inside of me.
My mind began firing on all cylinders the farther we drove, and that overwhelming sensation of knowing started crawling up my spine. I couldn’t verbalize what it was that I knew, though. I sat straighter in my seat, my gaze darting all around me.
