Page 40 of These Rough Waters

“The grill is warm.” He replies turning back to the grill and places the meat on top.

“Torin.” I say his name knowing what he’s thinking, picturing what’s going through his mind. Because it’s going through mine.

“We’re revisiting this.” He declares, “Soon, little doe. Real fucking soon.”

Nineteen

She had avoided me. All week, she’s avoided me, and I didn’t fucking like it. Not one damn bit.

This new obsession with the little doe was going to kill me, I was sure of it and yet I couldn’t stop myself. Couldn’t stop myself from chopping wood like a mad man to ensure she had enough firewood for the little cabin, couldn’t stop myself from making repairs to the outside of her cabin that didn’t really need doing. But I was finding any excuse to go over there, just to catch a small glimpse of the woman that had completely thrown me for a loop.

It was worse than going overboard on that damn boat, because at least then I knew it would be the dark ocean to steal my breath. But with her, a woman harboring secrets likely dark enough to rival even mine, I couldn’t predict how it would end.

But the glimpses of her I was stealing in the moments I was forcing upon her were like a drug shot straight to my veins. She hadn’t told me to leave but then she hadn’t spoken to me at all either. I caught her though, peeking through a crack in the curtains or watching when she thought I couldn’t see.

And Harper spoke with me every day, acting like the two of us had been best friends for years. Let me tell you, that kid could talk and a part of me felt guilty for using her if only to catch information about her mother.

I could still clearly picture the way she looked when she rode my thigh, how her skin looked so damn pretty all flushed, eyes closed, lips parted as she chased that high, unable to stop herself from cresting and freefalling with the bliss of the climax. And I almost had her, almost had her taste on my tongue, so close I could feel the phantom whisper of her soft lips on mine.

I wanted it.

“We have a lot of wood now,” Harper says, swinging her legs from where she sits on the back of the truck, a little knitted hat on her head and gloves covering her fingers while she chews on a candy bar, I’d got for her at the store. So maybe the kid was also growing on me too. But then the chicken that she had somehow tamed clucks at me and ruffles its feathers, and I realize maybe there is still some way to go if I have to keep cleaning chicken shit off the bed of my truck.

I glance to the wood store and wince, seeing the logs piled as high as they can get inside plus the mounds of excess at the side, I’d had to cover with tarp to keep from getting damp.

But it was getting cold, snow was moving in, and she’d get through this wood in no time to keep this place heated. And it wasn’t like I was neglecting my own house or Ruthie’s.

“You need it, kid,” I tell her, dusting off my hands on my Levi’s and readjusting the cap on my head. It was a rare sunny day even if it was close to freezing and the wind chill coming off the water gave the air a bitter bite.

“It never got this cold in the city,” Harper tells me, giving me a rare bit of information from their life before. I tried not to pry, I mean I had little morals but even I knew it was wrong to get that kind of information from a child.

“Yeah?” I say, acting casual to see what else she might say.

“It snowed but I never got to play in it!” She gasps in horror, “Will it snow here?”

“Yep,” I tell her, “All winter.”

She shimmies excitedly, “Can you teach me how to build a snowman?”

“I don’t build snowmen, kid.”

“But we’re friends! You gotta teach me!”

“Your momma can teach you.”

“I don’t think she knows how, Torin, maybe you can teach her too.”

I add the final pieces to the pile and cover it back up with the tarp, “How about I think about it.” I lie. There would be no playing in the snow.

I’d only ever played in the snow once, with Leo the year before he died and no matter how hard this obsession was hitting, I couldn’t forget how this felt like a betrayal to both my son and my late wife.

And I think it’s that, that keeps me from pursuing harder. I didn’t deserve Maya, just like I never deserved Grace or Leo either.

“You will?” Harper jumps down from the bed of the truck, tripping slightly as she beams up at me, “When will it snow!?” She asks, shoving the candy wrapper in the pocket of her pants before she lifts Pickles the chicken into her arms and cradles the bird.

“Harper,” I hear Maya call from the door and whip around to look at her, very clearly staring at the woman with her messy bun and oversized tee. She looks away quickly, keeping her eyes on her daughter. “Time to wash up for dinner, take Pickles back to Ruthie now please.”

“Did you change your mind about the festival?” Harper asks before she follows her mothers instructions.

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