“Come on,” he laughed.
She lowered her face into her hands and massaged her eyes. “You just don’t understand. It’s complicated, Jack. There’s more to this than you realize.”
“Tell me. You can trust me.”
“That’s just it—one of the reasons I agreed to come here is so I wouldn’t have to talk about it anymore. Let’s say I made a crazy decision. An insane decision. The wrong decision. This isn’t for me.”
“It wasn’t just burnout, was it?” he asked her.
“I got rid of everything that tied me to L.A. and ran for my life. It was a panicked, crazy, irrational decision,” she said. “I was hurting all over.”
“I assumed as much. A man, maybe. A heartache or something.”
“Close enough,” she said.
“Believe me, Mel. This is as good a place as any to work through a heartache.”
“You?” she asked him.
“Yeah, in a manner of speaking. But I didn’t come here in a panic. I was looking for a place like this. Good fishing and hunting. Remote. Uncomplicated. Clean air, decent values, hardworking people who help each other out. It serves.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s going to work for me in the long term.”
“That’s okay—no one asked you to make a long-term commitment. Well, no one except Hope, but no one really takes her seriously. But you shouldn’t rush out of here with the same panic as you rushed in. It’s a healthy place. It’s a loving place. Who knows? You might find it helps you get through…whatever.”
“I’m sorry. I’m such a downer sometimes. I should be so thankful. Grateful. And instead—”
“Hey, easy,” he said, throwing the truck into gear to take her back to town. “I blindsided you. You had it in your head that you could use the excuse of having no decent housing. And now Chloe isn’t holding you here. But I figured, you don’t have to stay at Doc’s now, and if someone’s going to give birth in your bedroom there, maybe it’s time you have your own place. If you want it, that is.”
“Are there bears out here?” she asked.
“It might be best if you kept your trash indoors, and drive it into town to put in the Dumpster. Bears so like garbage.”
“Oh, for the love of God!”
“We haven’t had a bad bear scare in ages.” He reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “Just give yourself a break. Work on your particular heartache. And while you do, take the occasional temperature. Give a pill now and then. No one’s holding you hostage.”
She watched him as he drove. That strong profile. He had a solid square face, straight nose, high cheekbones, bristle of stubble on his cheeks. He was a hairy guy; she noticed that he shaved his neck down to the top of his chest and she found herself wondering what was under his shirt. She remembered Mark’s complaints of his receding hairline, which did nothing to detract from his boyish good looks. But this man, Jack, wasn’t boyish. He had the hard good looks of a woodsman. And, though his hair was cropped short in that military buzz, it was so thick that it looked as if it should be thinned. The big hands on the steering wheel were calloused—he worked hard. The guy was dripping in testosterone.
What was this magnificent man doing locked away in a little town of six hundred, where there were no women for him? She wondered if he had the faintest clue about her—that she had no heart. He had just given so much and she had absolutely nothing to give. Nothing. She was hollow inside. If she weren’t, a man like Jack would appeal to her.
This was the worst thing about grief, she thought as she walked back to Doc’s house. It emptied you. She should be flattered and pleased with what had been done for her in the renovating of the cabin. She should be thrilled that a man like Jack was interested in her, because clearly he was. But instead she was sad. She had lost the ability to be moved by these acts of kindness. Instead, it made her feel depressed and alone, because she didn’t feel up to the task of receiving gifts and kindnesses graciously. She couldn’t respond to a handsome man’s interest. She couldn’t be happy. Sometimes she asked herself if she was paying some tribute to Mark’s memory by hanging on to the sadness of losing him.
Ricky worked at the bar after school every day and some weekends, whenever Jack wanted him. He dropped Liz at the store after school, then parked behind the bar next to Jack’s and Preacher’s trucks. As he was going in, Jack was coming out. “Grab your gear,” Jack said. “We’re going to run out to the river, see if we can make a catch.”
“There isn’t anything out there now,” Ricky said. The good catch was in the fall and winter, dwindling by spring, starting to pick up again in summer.
“We’ll cast a while,” Jack said. “See what you got.”
“Preacher coming?” Ricky asked, going to the storeroom in the kitchen to get his rod, reel and waders.
“Nah. He’s busy.”
Jack remembered the first day he’d met Ricky. The kid had been thirteen and had ridden his bike up to the cabin that would become the bar. Skinny and freckle-faced with the most engaging grin and sweetest disposition. He let him hang around, help with the carpentry during the renovation if he could pay attention. When he found out it was just Ricky and his grandma, Lydie, he kind of took him under his wing. He’d watched the boy grow tall and strong; Jack taught him to fish, shoot. Now he was damn near a man. Physically, he didn’t have far to go, but mentally and emotionally, sixteen was still just sixteen.
At the river’s edge, they cast their lines a few times and then it came. The real reason for fishing when there were few fish. “You and I should have a little talk, I think,” Jack said.
“About?”
Jack didn’t look at him. He just cast in long beautiful arcs. And said, “About all the places you can put your dick that aren’t statutory.”
Ricky snapped his head around and looked at Jack’s profile. Jack turned his head and met the boy’s eyes.
“She’s fourteen,” Jack said.
Ricky looked back at the river, silent.
“I know she doesn’t look fourteen. She’s fourteen.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Ricky said.
Jack laughed. “Oh, gimme a break. I saw your truck over at Connie’s the first Friday night she was in town—you moved on her fast. You want to stick with that story?” He reeled in and turned toward Ricky. “Listen, son, you have to keep your head. You hear me, Rick? Because this is dangerous ground you’re on. She’s a little hottie—”
“She’s a sweet girl,” Rick said defensively.
“You’re already hooked,” Jack said, hoping they weren’t already doomed. “How hooked?”
Ricky shrugged. “I like her. I know she’s young, but she doesn’t seem that young, and I like her.”
“Okay,” Jack said, taking a breath. “Okay, maybe we should talk about the things you can do to avoid putting your sixteen-year-old swimmers in contact with her fourteen-year-old eggs. Hmm?”
“You don’t have to,” Ricky said, casting. And casting pretty badly.