Page 162 of Soul So Dark
I grab the black iron handle and hesitate, reckoning with the fact that I’m here, standing in Aiden Rafferty’s house because I’ve embarked on a journey where there’s no turning back.
“Why do you think I’m here?” I say over my shoulder. “He’s already tried, Aiden.”
I hold his eyes long enough for him to see what he needs to see and know I’m not playing games. His mouth opens ever so slightly, but I’m out the door before he can respond. Maybe I’ll cry more about it later, but right now, I need to stay focused.
I start down the stone steps, only to startle when I hear a crash echo from inside, followed by a roar that reverberates against the door. Moments later, I catch the sound of glass breaking punctuated by furious grunts and curses.
I check my phone again—still on schedule. I should head to the airport. Soon, I’m back behind the wheel of my Civic, leaving Aiden to deal with the aftermath of my visit however he sees fit. Maybe I just made a deal with the devil. Only time will tell.
But I can’t dwell on it right now. There’s still more to do. And one thing’s for sure—maybe Colson was right…
I need to lean into being a prick.
???
Snow still blankets the landscape when the plane finally descends from the dense clouds on its final approach into Montrose. I recognize almost every mountain we’re flying over. In many ways, it’s like stepping into another world, especially since I left the Midwest in a t-shirt and have to put on a parka before setting foot outside the doors at baggage claim.
I don’t have to wait long until a red Jeep Cherokee whips into the first open space as soon as I reach the curb. It’s Mary, for sure, confirmed when she jumps out of the driver’s seat and scurries around the back bumper.
“Dallas!” she crows with excitement, wrapping me in a hug as soon as she’s within arm’s reach.
I squeeze her back, inhaling the familiar floral fragrance of her long sandy hair and the worn leather of her oversized coat. She pulls back and all I see are her radiant white teeth and the sparkle in her deep brown eyes as she scans my face.
“Where’d you come from?” I ask. “I literally just walked out the door.”
“I’ve been circling for the last half hour,” Mary replies as she opens the lift gate. “There’s no way I’d make you walk to the short-term lot in this.” She glances off into the distance as fluffy snowflakes start to fall.
A gust of wind blows through the terminal, turning it into a veritable wind tunnel. I cringe at the icy gust and relinquish my suitcase to Mary, who hoists it into the back. Then we both hurry back to the front of the SUV where it’s much warmer.
“Did you decide to bring one last storm with you?” she quips as she darts out of the space and back out onto the road. “Rude. But I brought you a coffee anyway,” she adds with a nod to the console.
I pick up the white paper cup and gasp with excitement. “A triple shot blonde honey oat milk latte? You remembered!”
“Please,” Mary casts me a sideways glance, “someone around here has to be responsible for the truly important things.”
She’s right, I doubt my dad could tell anyone what kind of coffee I like. But Mary understands these things. She’s only 11 years older than me and she’s usually mistaken for my sister or Colson’s girlfriend whenever we go out.
There’s a reason my mom harps so much on teen pregnancy; because she was 17 and my dad was 18 when Colson was born. It’s also probably why my mom only dated older men after that, and eventually married one. My dad, however, did the opposite and opted for eternal youth.
I’ve heard the story about a thousand times. Mary St. James was working at her family’s butchering facility in Gunnison one summer while she was home from college when my dad, Dean Lutz, rolled up with his cattle for slaughter. And every time he saw her after that, it was, “Hey, Bloody Mary,” until he finally asked her on a date.
Good thing she likes dad jokes.
The rumor was that he locked down Mary because the St. Jameses own the only meat processing facility within 200 miles, so now he takes priority on the schedule. He never bothered to correct anyone, but that’s how my dad rolls. And they never did get married, but they’re practically inseparable. I was too young to care before, but now I’m glad that my dad has Mary so that he’s got someone besides the cattle, especially in the winter.
Mary finally turns onto the gravel road leading further into the valley and a sudden relief washes over me when the house finally comes into view. The landscape is still stark, frozen and lifeless except for the pines jutting up from the earth. It’s mysterious and ominous in the cold months, but right now it feels like a life boat, a warm blanket…
A safe haven.
As soon as I open my door, three dogs—two Great Pyrenees and a black German Shepherd—trot toward the Jeep.
“Todd…Margo…” I coo, reaching down to pet the massive white dogs.
My dad doesn’t let me name his dogs anymore, evident from their monikers referencing a Chevy Chase movie rather than flowers or cartoon characters. But Colson does.
Todd and Margo run off to resume their patrols around the ranch, but the German Shepherd lingers, waiting his turn to make sure I’m not a threat. I’ve never seen this dog in person, just like I haven’t seen my brother in two years. I got a text from Colson one day with a picture of a black puppy with comical ears and giant paws, asking what he should name him. I could’ve picked anything, but only one name came to mind.
Ponyboy.
