Page 8 of Finding Silence
“I followed them here,” she explains, pointing over her shoulder at the snazzy Mercedes SUV she drives. “Someone has to properly oversee this move. Besides,” she adds, “I wanted to see what could possibly have driven you to leave behind a gorgeous house in the Southwest Hills area of Portland, and move to the freaking mountains in Bumfuck, Nowhere.”
For all Grace’s professional portrayal, she has the foul mouth of a dockworker.
“Not nowhere,” I correct her. “Welcome to Silence, Washington.”
“It’s pretty,” says the very patient mover. “Betcha there’s some good fishin’ in that crick.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” I tell the man with a broad smile. “Which is why I had Grace here pack up my fishing rods and waders.”
The guy nods his approval with a grin that is missing a tooth or two.
“All right, enough chitchat,” Grace intervenes. She knows too well how easily I can be distracted from a task at hand. “Let’s get to work here; we’ve got a truck to unload and a house to fill.”
I show Bert—the burly mover—and his partner, Darius, where to move the truck and start unloading. Then I take Grace inside for a quick walk-around, so she can see where all the big stuff goes.
“It’s small. Much smaller than your house in Portland,” she observes.
“Smaller, yeah, but not small. More than big enough for just me here. Besides, I only used half the rooms in my old house, it was wasteful. This fits me, and aren’t the views to die for?”
We’re standing in the loft area over the garage, which I hope to turn into my music room/studio. The dormer at the front of the house has a great view of the mountains we’re surrounded by.
“Pretty, but it’s too quiet here. All you hear is crickets.”
“Guess they called it Silence for a reason. I happen to like how peaceful it is. Can you imagine the songs I could write with views like this for inspiration?”
She hums and nods, but it’s clear she’s not buying into it. That’s okay, Grace doesn’t have to love it, as long as I do.
“Hey…” I nudge her with my elbow as we head for the stairs down. “Once I’m all moved in. how’d you like to come vehicle shopping with me?”
She bulges her eyes at me.
“Why the hell did you ask me to sell your Lexus? I could’ve driven it up here.”
“That car in the mountains? I don’t think so. I’m gonna need something a little sturdier. A bit more basic.”
“Yeah, sure,” she answers, but is already focused on the two men lugging part of my sectional into the garage. “Don’t get it dirty!” she yells at them.
I escape into the kitchen to put on the fresh pot of coffee I have a feeling we’re all going to need. Filling the pot with water at the sink, I glance out the window and catch a glimpse of something white.
It’s a goat, in my yard, munching on my favorite purple lace panties.
Brant
* * *
I knew it.
That’s it for the neighborhood.
Granted, I didn’t see or hear much of her these past couple of days, but I knew that was only a matter of time. She doesn’t seem the type to appreciate peace and quiet. She’s altogether too colorful for that.
Driving by the house just now, it was impossible to miss the massive truck parked out front, and I happened to catch a couple of guys carrying guitars and what looked like a keyboard into her house. I’m telling you; this place is going to be party central, and I don’t know if the half mile that separates us is going to be enough. Already there’s a fancy-schmancy Mercedes parked on the side of the damn public road I had to swerve around.
City folk are all the same, and it’s only going to get worse when that developer gets his hands on Bender’s old homestead south of town. I hear they’re wanting to flatten the farmhouse and build an entire resort right along the creek. So far Bender has been able to ward off the developers, but he’s going into a seniors’ home in Spokane where his children and grandchildren live. He’ll need the money; he won’t be able to hold off forever.
I put the last of my groceries away and head out to drive the pickup up to the barn so I can haul the bags of feed from the back.
Bella—the mare Marie used to ride—is munching on the long grass by the fence post when I pass by. She’s old by a horse’s standard at twenty-five but still enjoying her old age, and she’ll have a home here for as long as she keeps her health.
