It was at the end of August that the headstones began to appear, like toadstools emerging after a spring rain. At first, no one even noticed. The inhabitants of our town have been digging weathered granite from the earth, battling for every inch of garden or section of flower bed, for as long as anyone can remember. We’ve grown accustomed to craggy piles of stones jutting from the earth. And the cemetery…it’s just another landmark. “Swing a left at the stop sign and take the left fork through the graveyard. You’ll see it just past the old barn.” You know.
The first one anyone noticed was at the O’Henry’s. The pink granite, etched with a heart and writing we couldn’t read from the windows of our cars, looked weirdly luminous against the overgrown bushes on the edge of their property. No one wanted to say anything, so instead we whispered together on our porches in the twilight.
“It can’t be…there’s gotta be a law…”
“It’s probably a cat. You show Sherri’s crazy and has more money than’s good for her…”
“It looks like it tumbled right down the hill from the cemetery…”
“And landed upright? Don’t be stupid.”
So, we chalked it up to quirkiness and didn’t bat an eye when another, smaller stone appeared beside it a month later. Who knew…maybe the cats had gotten into the anti-freeze.
People muttered when they appeared in the fields. They were the only place left on the perimeter not designated as part of the cemetery, and there was something unsettling about closing the gap. The young couples, the ones who had just moved their families into remodeled ranches, all sparkly granite counters and brand new laminate floors and shiplap, frowned and fretted about property values, but who had time to attend the town meetings anyway? It’s no surprise they approved that when they can’t even fix the one stoplight in town. Others were more mathematically-minded. “We’ve buried everybody who’s lived in this town since 1784. Eventually we were gonna run out of room. And a hay field’s as good as anywhere else. What d’you expect, living around here?”
My grandfather wasn’t so philosophical. “For what they’re charging for plots, they’re not sticking me in a field with no damn cows.”
He didn’t have anything to worry about. He’d purchased his plot---a “two-seater”, as he called it—years ago when my grandma died. They were shoe-horned between the Lewises on one side and the Pearsons on the other, their headstone at an awkward thirty degree angle to the next row.
When my grandpa saw it, he laughed and adjusted the Velcro strap of his baseball cap.
“Well, I spent forty years fightin’ with Bob Pearson over property lines, so I’m a little relieved I won’t have to give it up.” He squinted his eyes against the glare of the summer sun against the glossy marble. “Get that quack grass out of there.”
I knelt and tugged on the stubborn clump of grass, the dry blades biting into my fingertips. As the roots came loose, I tried not to look at the crumbly dirt. “Got it.” I knew better than to rush my grandfather. He’d take precisely as much time as he wanted, and if he knew you wanted to leave, that amount of time would double. I picked moss out of the etching of the stones and tried to look busy.
“Well,” my grandfather sighed, “at least we won’t have cows eating our flowers like them” He nodded at the new graves in the field, some of them so new that the dirt hadn’t even settled, but lay in dusty clods, stark against the upturned grass. “You know, Steve’s son, Jason, you remember him.”
“Umm…” I didn’t remember Jason. I barely remembered Steve.
“He’s the one who went to welding school south of here, got a scholarship. He moved back a few years ago, got a good job over at the Forge, first shift.”
“Okay.”
“He got married to one of the Thompson girls over on Pine Ridge—you know, Jerry’s girls. Not the oldest one, she moved to Florida or some place down south, they visit her every year at Christmas. But one of the younger ones. Real nice girl. She’s probably around your age.”
“Oh, right. Thompson. Gosh, I can’t remember her name, but I know who you mean.”
I didn’t. I did know, however, that this recitation of the Thompson girl’s family history would continue unto the tenth generation unless I said something. My grandfather had an unshakeable belief that I, too, held a running record of everyone I’d ever met in my memory, and that recollection might be jarred loose by the name of their great-uncle who kept Holsteins up on Fulbright road, you know.
My grandfather shifted his weight, shaking loose his bad knee. “Well, Jason’s wife just passed away—cancer—and they didn’t have any plans made since they’re both so young, and Steve said Jason just didn’t know what to do. They’ve got two young kids and don’t have anything saved and Jason’s got a good job, but you wouldn’t believe what they’re asking for a plot now. Just thousands and thousands of dollars. It’s highway robbery. Anyway, Steve and his wife, they paid for the plot because the insurance only covered the vault, but all that was available were those new plots over in the cow field. Do you believe that? That poor girl laid to rest in a cow field.”
“Gramps, the cows are in the next field over. There’s a fence.”
He rolled his eyes. “And cows don’t jump fences?”
I said nothing, only shook my head slightly. This wasn’t a debate I was ever going to win. The sun was falling fast behind the mountains, filling the air with the green-tinged light we get in the valleys just before sunset, and I felt the hairs rise on my arms. “Gramps, you ready to go?”
He didn’t look ready to go. He had laboriously walked to my grandmother’s headstone and sat, perched upon its rough length. “You know, just about everyone I’ve ever known is here.”
“Huh?”
He paused before answering me. “All my family, most of my friends, my wife. They’re all here. Someday you’re gonna wake up and look around and realize…you’re the oldest person you know. And all those faces you used to see when you go out to dinner or get your oil changed…they’re here. Makes a person feel they’re late for something.”
My phone chirped in my pocket, and my hands itched to reach for it. “Oh, come on, Gramps. You promised me you’d live to be a hundred.” My grandfather was prone to these kinds of maudlin episodes. I blamed it on watching too many M*A*S*H* reruns.
He stood, patting the headstone absentmindedly. “Yeah, I suppose I did. Just don’t let them bump me out of my space and plant me with the damn cows!”
As we drove home, I could see the rounded edges of the cemetery, stretching in an infinite swath of polished marble. As the sky faded to navy, the neatly trimmed lines between the graves blurred and seeped into the golden lines of the hay fields and the wet, green mowed lines on our neighbor’s lawns. Beside me, my grandfather closed his eyes in weariness and reminded me to turn right past the cemetery and go out toward Callens’. Gotta see how the soybeans are coming on. They say it’ll be another dry summer, like the one we had in ’89, you know.
As I crashed through the door of the schoolhouse, the late August sun was just dipping into the west. It dazzled me, blinding my eyes to the wooden stairs, but I didn’t need to see them anyway. I jumped them in one leap and tore across the parched grass, hearing behind me the faint wail of my sister, Babs. “Wait for me, Rudy!”
Her high-pitched voice was faint in the thick, humid air and she stretched my name out long. R-uuuh-deeee. I kept running, but slowed my pace a little, just a little, so she could catch up. It was afternoon, but it was still painfully hot and I could see the waves of heat radiating up from the pavement and the hoods of the cars parked on Currahee Street. As I ran past, I glanced longingly at Mr. McNeely’s brand new 1940 Ford Deluxe Convertible Club Coupe. Even the name tasted expensive as I whispered it to myself, and I wanted to brush my hand across the shimmering maroon paint. I tucked my elbows closer to my body, though, and kept running.
Babs caught up to me as we ran out of town and down the road toward Toccoa Falls. Her cheeks were bright red and her knapsack slapped between her shoulder blades as she ran, the canvas making a whooshing sound in time to our footfalls. “Where we goin’?” she panted.
“Barnes Lake. Pug’s got the poles.” I answered, puffing out the words in sharp bursts as I pushed the heavy air from my lungs.
“I hate fish!” Babs muttered. She put her hand to her side and grimaced, whether from a cramp or the idea of fish, I couldn’t tell.
“Well, nobody invited you anyway!” I shot back and put on a burst of speed, hoping to lose her. To my annoyance, she kept up.
We found my brother Wallace napping in the shade of a cluster of pines, his shirt off and pants rolled up to his knees. The fishing poles lay scattered on the bank beside him, next to his discarded shoes and balled-up socks. Babs and I walked silently across the thick mat of fallen pine straw, but Pug’s eyes shot open before we were within ten feet.
My brother may have gotten his nickname, Pug, from the slight upturn of his nose, but he’d kept it because he was as obstinate as a dog with a bone. He wasn’t fussed about much, but once he got an idea into his head, there was no budging it. He was just turned eighteen and started work with Daddy and our oldest brother, Tom, up at Kelly Barnes Dam, running errands for the tunnel workers.
Wallace stood up and brushed dirt from his creased and filthy pants. “What’d ya bring Babs for, Rudy?” He playfully tugged on my sister’s ponytail. “Need your baby sister to keep an eye on you?”
Babs slapped his hand away and protested, “I’m nobody’s baby sister. I’m twelve, as you very well know, Wallace Reed.” She looked annoyed, but the light of adoration was in her eyes. Babs would turn herself inside out for Pug, and we all knew it. It made it all the easier for them to gang up on me.
“Are you two gonna jaw all day, or are we fishing?” I said, bending down to untangle the poles.
“Can’t you think of anything more fun than fishing?” Babs said, her sunburnt nose crinkling in disgust.
Pug raised an eyebrow at me. “Too hot for fishing, anyway, Rudy. I’ve been out here an hour and nothing’s biting.”
“How’d you know? You didn’t even have the pole in the water.” I grumbled.
“We can go swimming instead.” Pug said.
I looked out across the glistening water of the lake with its pine-edged shores. It looked dull and hazy in the humid afternoon air, but I knew the water would be deliciously cool. Suddenly, my shirt seemed much hotter and sweatier than it had moments before. “I dunno…Mama said we shouldn’t swim in the lake ‘cause of the men working. She said Daddy wouldn’t want us causing problems.”
“We’re clear down on the end of the lake.” Pug said, already unfastening his pants. “What problems could we cause by swimming up here?”
I saw that Babs was slipping out of her skirt and blouse as well, carefully folding them and placing them on the dry ground. I hesitated. “Mama’s gonna be mad…”
“She won’t ever know. Not unless somebody tells her.” Pug stared at me hard, then his face broke into a grin and he charged at me. Before I could react, he swept me up and over his shoulder and ran toward the lake. He was only three years older, but he outweighed me by fifty pounds. I didn’t stand a chance. I heard Babs’ laughter echoing across the water as Pug and I plunged into the lake, and I felt his arms around my waist and millions of tiny bubbles skittering across my skin.
The sun had lost some of its intensity and was starting to slip down behind the tops of the tallest pines when we got out of the water. We sat on the ground, our wrinkled hands and feet stretched out to catch the last few rays of sunlight filtering down through the trees. Babs was twisting her wet hair into a braid and Pug was looking out across the lake with a preoccupied expression on his face.
“Pug?” I asked.
He seemed a bit startled, as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Huh?”
“What’s it like? Working with Daddy and Tom on the tunnels?” It was a question I’d been holding in for a while now, not wanting to sound like a baby. But all day, while I stared at the chalkboard, I imagined I could see the, my father and brothers, burrowing into the earth with their great machines, reshaping the world with their hands, like the ancient gods I read about in my history book. I longed for that power, that control, but it frightened me too. The long, dark tunnels with the weight of the earth over you, and the impatient water, always ready to rush in, fill the tunnels and your lungs and the whole world.
Pug scratched his head. “It’s all right. Nothing special.”
Suddenly, I felt very small. “Oh. Okay.”
Tom stared across the water for a long moment before he turned back to me, a strange smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “Except…well, can you keep a secret, Rudy?”
I nodded, holding my breath.
“And you, Babs? You can keep a secret?”
My sister’s eyes were wide. She nodded too.
“Well,” Pug leaned toward us and lowered his voice, “you know that, way back before the first settlers came to Stephens County, there were Cherokee Indians all over this land. They had settlements all along the Toccoa Creek, and there’s a legend that there was an especially rich and powerful chief who controlled the land around Toccoa Falls. He believed it was a sacred place, the land above the falls, and he instructed his medicine men to take their most precious objects—gold and silver coins they got in trade from early Spanish explorers, as well as jewels they’d dug from the earth—and hide them in a series of caves dug into the hillside. Over time, the caves collapsed, and the settlers came in and settled the land, built it up so that all that was left was the legend of the chief’s treasure.”
I felt goosebumps rise on my forearms. “You expect me to believe a whopper like that?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice steady.
Pug pulled his shirt over his head and shrugged. “Believe what you want, but great-grandma Nettie was one of the first white women to settle in Toccoa, even before the Indians left, and she told me that we have Cherokee blood in our family, way back, and that’s why she passed down the legend to us.”
Looking at my brother in the fading golden light, I could believe that he had Cherokee blood. In spite of his light brown hair and blue eyes, there was a steeliness to him, a sharpness in his cheekbones that wasn’t altogether civilized.
Babs’ small voice was reverent in the quiet. “Do you think it’s still there, Pug?”
“Hard to say, but we’ve been digging pretty deep into those hills, reinforcing the dam. If ever there was a time to find it, it’s now.” Pug looked at me with that cocky smile I knew so well, half mocking and half challenging. “What d’ya think, Mason?”
His calling me by my real name shocked me a little. Nobody ever calls me Mason. Not my parents, my teachers, not even Reverend Barnaby. Around here, a person’s first name is like a suit of dress clothes, only taken out for serious occasions like marrying or burying. And I was hoping Pug wasn’t planning on either.
“I think you’re out of your damn mind.” I said, trying to make my words crisp and cool.
“Better not let Mama hear you talking like that.” Babs said, pulling on her skirt and tucking in her blouse.
Pug smiled and walked toward me. “C’mon, Rudy. Scare up a little courage.” He poked me in the chest. “Maybe put a little heart into that toast-rack you call a chest.”
I shoved Pug hard in his own solidly-built chest, but he barely moved. “I’m not scared. I just think it’s a little irresponsible for us to take Babs into those tunnels, especially when Mama is waiting for us.”
Pug shoved his hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression stealing over his face. “You’re right, Rudy.” He turned to Babs. “You go on home. Tell Mama we’re on our way, but we had to run an errand.”
Babs’ face darkened like an approaching storm. “I will not. If you’re going, I’m going.”
Pug set his jaw. “No, it’s no place for a girl, especially one that’s only twelve. You go on home.”
“No!” Babs stomped her foot, but her anger was muffled by the carpet of pine straw. “It’s not fair!”
I gathered up her knapsack and forced it up over her shoulders. “You heard Pug. Go home. You can’t come.”
Babs started to cry, hot angry tears coursing down her pink cheeks. “I want to go with you!”
“Babs,” Pug stepped forward and brushed the tears from her face, “I can’t be focused on finding that treasure if I’m worried about my favorite little sister the whole darn time. Won’t you please go home, Barbara? Please?”
Babs’ lips trembled. “I’m your only little sister.”
Pug grinned. “All the more reason for you to be my favorite, then.”
Babs pouted for a little while longer, and Pug continued to persuade her, putting his arm around her shoulders and talking quietly to her. Me, I would’ve shoved her down the path and run for it, but Pug always was a little soft where Babs was concerned. Eventually, she agreed to go home, stalking sulkily down the path, calling over her shoulder, “You bring me back some treasure, you hear?”
I followed Pug through the forest as the evening deepened into twilight. The air was so hot and still that it felt like a second skin wrapped around my body, and I was beginning to notice an empty ache in my stomach.
“Hey, Pug, I’m starving. You got any lunch left?” I knew that Mama packed half a dozen sandwiches for each of my brothers and for Daddy, but because Daddy had been home sick the last couple days, I thought maybe Pug would’ve had extra.
He shook his head. “Nah, I gave a couple to the Walker boy and ate the rest. But there’s paw paws on the trail by the dam. We’ll pick up some of those.”
Pug was right, and we picked up all the paw paws we could hold. We sucked the sweet, creamy flesh from the skins and spit the smooth black seeds at each other, laughing in the falling darkness.
When we came to the work area, Pug put a hand on my chest to stop me and walked cautiously on by himself. Silently, he ducked into a shed. It was one that I recognized. When Daddy was named foreman, he’d brought us up here for a tour. He’d stood tall outside that shed, his blue eyes clear and dancing with pride. Pug emerged from the shed, carrying a dusty, battery-operated lantern. He motioned me forward with a wave and, together, we stepped into the blackness of the tunnels.
I walked close behind Pug, our steps in the center of the circle of light cast by the lantern. Weird shadows jumped and danced along the walls and abandoned drilling equipment loomed suddenly at us from niches in the walls like the misshapen skeletons of beasts too horrible to imagine.
I cleared my throat and tried to think of something normal to say. “Hey, Pug?” I hadn’t meant to whisper, but that’s how it came out.
“What?”
“How come you gotta make a tunnel for a dam anyway? This isn’t even where it’s gonna go, anyway. The river’s over there.” I nodded my head to our left, where we could still hear the faint rush of Taccoa Creek.
“You can’t just stick a dam in a river, dummy. You gotta move the river so you can build the dam. That’s what the tunnel’s for.”
I studied the walls of rock around us, shiny and jagged, and imagined them submerged. “You mean the river…”
“It’ll go through here. For a while, anyway.” Pug answered, holding the lantern above his head to peer further into the distance.
“But not yet, right? It’s not connected yet?” I asked. My throat felt tight.
Pug glanced at me and rolled his eyes. “You’re not swimming, are you?”
I followed my brother further into the tunnel and, the further we went, the further his confidence seemed to grow. Before long, he was pointing out pieces of equipment and explaining how they were used, as well as everything he knew about the men who ran them. He told me about how Daddy was organizing the whole thing, that they’d put him in charge after hearing about his work on the Holland Tunnel up in New York. I watched as my brother seemed to grow taller in the dim light of the lantern, its glow sharpening his profile and the angle of his upturned nose.
“Now this, Rudy, this is a real machine!” Pug strode toward a machine much larger than the others and patted the metal familiarly. “This is the tunnel borer. It chews through the rock like a caterpillar through a leaf.” He put the lantern on the ground by his feet and settled his hands on the controls as if he’d done it a thousand times. “When it’s time to start, the man gets the signal and he shifts it into gear and—”
The world exploded with sound. Grinding, scraping, roaring like the whole world was caving in on top of me. I caught a glimpse of Pug’s terrified face as he jerked the controls back, then I saw him stumble, kicking the lantern as he fell. In the same moment that the sound faded, the light was extinguished. All was silent and absolutely dark, and for a moment I believed I had been struck blind.
“Pug?” My voice sounded thin in the cavernous silence.
“I’m here.” It didn’t sound like Pug’s voice. It was a much shakier, softer sound.
I held my hands out in front of me and shuffled forward slowly. “Pug, where are you?”
“I’m here. Keep coming this way. Follow my voice.”
I inched forward, my hands groping in the darkness for my brother and, finally, my hands brushed the top of his head. He was sitting on the floor, and I could feel him trembling. I knelt beside him and touched his face. His cheeks were wet. “Pug, are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” He sniffed and I could hear him shift his weight. “Bruised my ass pretty good, but it’s nothing compared to what Dad’ll do to it when he finds out about this.”
I shivered and grabbed for Pug’s hand. “How do we get out of here? Can you find the lantern?”
“Won’t matter. I’m sure the bulb is busted.” He didn’t pull his hand away, only squeezed my fingers tighter. “This tunnel only goes in one direction, Rudy. We just got to feel our way out.”
“But, Pug, what if we run into something…something we shouldn’t touch?”
I felt him stand, and he pulled me up with him, still holding tightly to my hand. “We’re going to be okay. I’m going to get us out of here. Now, you were closest to the wall, so we’re going to go back the way you came.”
I was all turned around, completely disoriented in the darkness, but Pug confidently led the way, his left arm stretched in front of him and his right hand clasping mine. I could feel him trembling, but his voice was steady as he talked quietly. “All right, Rudy, here’s the wall, just put your hand out here. No, you need to let go of my hand. Touch the wall, there. Okay, now, keep your left hand on the wall and put your right on my shoulder and we’ll just walk together, okay?”
“Okay.” My teeth were chattering and the damp, cold stone under my palm made me think of graves.
“You know, this is probably just how the Cherokee braves had to do it. When they took in the treasure. They couldn’t have taken torches because it was so secret, they wouldn’t want any of their rival tribes finding out where they had hidden the treasure, so they went through the caves in total darkness. They walked just like this, a long line of braves, carrying the chief’s treasure into the heart of the earth.” Pug’s voice was calm and soft in the eerie silence, and I gripped his shoulder so tightly my fingers started to hurt.
“They say,” he continued, “that if you stare into the darkness for long enough, you begin to see a different kind of light, a light that’s so dim that most people’s eyes can’t see it. Men who have worked in the tunnels their whole lives don’t even need lanterns anymore because they can see in the dark like cats, better than cats even.”
“Pug?” I interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“I think…I think I see that light.” I whispered.
Pug stopped walking. “I see it too.”
There was a light, a tiny, glowing pinprick floating in front of us. As we stood, transfixed, it grew larger and larger until we could see that it was the light of a lantern, carried by our oldest brother, Tom. He didn’t say anything when he found us, just stood and looked at us in absolute silence, the lines around his mouth going tense and pale, then he turned and began to walk out. Pug and I followed him in silence.
We walked the whole way home that way, all two miles. It would’ve been better if Tom had yelled, if he had cursed and hit us and threatened to beat us until our own Mama didn’t recognize us. But he didn’t. He just walked, briskly and silently, never once even looking back to see if we’d followed.
When we got home, Tom went to the barn to milk the cow, still saying nothing. Pug and I exchanged a look and silently crept into the house. We were prepared for the full force of Mama’s fury, but we found Babs instead, looking pale and drawn as she sat at the kitchen table. She looked up at us with tears in her wide eyes. “Daddy’s sick.” she whispered.
“I know.” I said, feeling more disoriented than ever.
“No…” Babs went on, starting to cry, “Really sick. They brought Dr. Campbell.”
I turned to look at Pug, but he was already gone, climbing the stairs to our parents’ bedroom. I followed him.
Inside, my mother sat by the bed where my father lay, the doctor removing a syringe from his arm. The handkerchief my father always wore around his neck, to keep out the chill and fight against his persistent cough, was undone, exposing an open, suppurating mass on his throat.
Dr. Campbell turned to my mother. “This should keep him comfortable, Odell, so he’s not in any pain. It won’t be long, I don’t think. Do you want me to send anyone? Reverend Barnaby?”
My mother’s face was as pale and fragile as a china plate. “Yes, send him along, please. Thank you, Dr. Campbell. Please, have Barbara pour you some coffee before you go. It’s the least I can do.”
“Of course. Thank you, Odell.” Dr. Campbell walked past me as he left the room and briefly laid his hand on my shoulder.
Pug stood behind my mother, his hands on the back of her chair. In the corner, the radio was tuned to the news, a crackling voice announcing the merciless bombing of London by the Luftwaffe air force. My brother tilted his head to listen, but did not take his eyes away from our father.
My mother turned her face to him. “Wallace?”
“I’m here, Mama.” he murmured and put a hand on her shoulder. Without looking, he reached the other hand behind him, extending it to me.
Every muscle in my body was screaming for me to run, to flee from that place, these people, that voice on the radio calmly broadcasting despair. I wanted to run back to the woods, hurtle into the tunnel, and find the Indian chief’s lost treasure. I wanted, most of all, some story, some magical tale that would make this not be happening.
I stepped forward and took my brother’s hand. His fingers closed around mine and slowly, inexorably, he led me forward.
It was 8:30pm and Julia’s feet were throbbing. The shoes that had seemed to say “I’m not cubicle-dweller” this morning had been left under her desk shortly after lunch, and it was her pair of emergency flip flops that mashed the gas pedal now, as she drove home. The speed limit in Corrington had been 30mph for as long as Julia could remember, but she also could remember every place along Rt. 42 that police cars would hide. She pressed the gas more firmly.
She needed grease. Grease and a milkshake. With a side of honesty, which was Ian’s specialty. The gravel crunched under the tires of her Toyota and the tall figure of the mill loomed black in the early spring darkness. As Julia got out of the car, she could hear the faint crackling of the brook, the wind whistling in the pines, and a few birds who had braved the persistent chill of Upstate New York in April. Lights were still on in the Mill and she could see Ian at the counter, bent over the register.
Ian Underwood was technically one of her oldest friends. They’d thrown water balloons at each other every summer until they were twelve and had maintained a polite familiarity through high school, but lost touch as they went their separate ways for college. After college, though, they’d realized they were the only ones who’d returned to Corrington and a tentative coffee date turned into dinner, which became several years of dating and an almost-engagement. And then…a disengagement.
The more things change, Julie thought, as she pushed open the door. Ian didn’t look up. Nothing broke his focus. She slid on to a stool by the bar as the aromas of food mixed with the aged wood scent of the old Mill. “Hey stranger.” she said in greeting.
“Hey yourself.” Ian replied, still not looking up. His dark head was lowered, brown eyes intent upon the tape spooling out of the register. There were flecks of grey in his hair and beard, evidence of the long struggle he’d endured to refinish the Corrington Grist Mill into a working restaurant. He’d succeeded, but the grey hairs weren’t the only casualty. Finally his eyes met Julia’s, crinkling a bit. “You eating?”
“Cheeseburger with all the good stuff. And a chocolate milkshake.”
“Bad day?”
Julia paused. “Incipient bad attitude exacerbated by inferior working conditions.” Ian glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “So yes, bad day.”
Ian turned and, opening the chest freezer, began to scoop ice cream into the metal milkshake cup. “Your dad was in earlier.”
“Uh oh. Burger?”
“BLT.”
“You know he’s not supposed to have bacon.”
Ian looked over his shoulder, smirking. “I gave him turkey bacon. Didn’t suspect a thing, poor man.”
Julia laughed and Ian poured a tiny amount of chocolate syrup over the ice cream. That’s how Julia liked chocolate milkshakes. Like a vanilla milkshake that’s had a brief fling with a Hershey bar, she’d told him once. He hadn’t forgotten.
Julia sipped on the milkshake and rearranged sugar packets in the caddy beside her as Ian cooked her burger. It really was remarkable, what Ian had done with the Mill. When it went up for auction five years ago, it was barely upright. Since then, he’d completely renovated it, somehow managing to keep the integrity of the structure while adding a state of the art kitchen and a stunning dining room on the second floor. It wasn’t a frugal project, but Ian had been successful. It helped that everyone seemed to like Ian. Even her parents were still close with him, more than a year after their breakup.
Ian emerged from the kitchen and slid the plate with Julia’s burger across the counter. “Cheeseburger, well done.”
“Awesome. What do I owe you?”
Ian waved her off. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
Julia smiled, not wanting to think of what her tab would be after all these years of meals. “Thanks.”
They slipped into a companionable silence, but Julia felt a strange plummeting sensation in her stomach, a sense of free-fall that had lingered all afternoon. She finished the burger and swirled the melted remnants of her milkshake fitfully with her straw. “Ian?”
“Hmm?” He’d gone back to balancing the register, a set of rimless reading glasses now resting on the bridge of his nose.
“I got a job offer today.”
Ian looked up, his hazel eyes sharp. “I was under the impression you had a job, or is the daily grind at Callahan Investments just for fun?”
Julia pressed her lips together for a moment before answering. “It’s in Manhattan. Real financial advising. Choosing stocks for people who don’t keep their savings in a mason jar on the nightstand.”
“Cynicism doesn’t suit you, Jules.”
Julia sighed heavily. “You know what I mean, Ian. I’m a numbers girl, always have been. And I’ve crunched the numbers on this one. It’s the smart move to make, financially. And it is what I’ve always dreamed of.”
Ian leaned into the counter across from her. “Okay…”
Julia rubbed the back of her neck. “It just feels weird. Corrington has been my whole life.” Ian’s stare was unflinching. “Is this a mistake?”
Ian let out a small, humorless laugh and walked toward the kitchen. “I don’t know, Jules. It’s kinda beyond me.”
Julia followed him into the kitchen. “I really think this is the right move for me. I’m never going to get another opportunity like this.”
Ian stacked containers of condiments on a cart. “That’s probably true.”
“And when you get a one-in-a-lifetime opportunities, you just have to jump at it. Like you did with the Mill. You just went for it.”
Ian glanced up. “If I’m remembering right, certain people told me I was nuts. And ‘fiscally irresponsible’.”
Julia crossed her arms across her chest. That was years ago, but he’d never let it go. “Well, you defied the odds. Because you knew it was the right thing.” She paused. “Need me to grab anything?”
“Yeah…that bin with the salad stuff.”
She followed him as he wheeled the cart toward the elevator, which would take them to the basement and the walk-in cooler. “It’s just…I need to know this isn’t a huge mistake.”
Ian jabbed the elevator button and rattling filled the silence as he scratched his head thoughtfully. “Jules, you’re the smartest person I know. I think you might need to just figure this out.”
Julia frowned. Stubborn as a mule and twice as solid. It was something she’d loved about Ian, except when he used it to thwart her. “Can’t you at least give me your opinion?”
They walked into the elevator, the rickety door sliding shut behind them. “I don’t know that I should.”
“Why not?”
Ian leaned against the wall. “You won’t want to hear it.”
“When had that ever stopped you?”
Ian crossed his arms. “Fine. I think this is something you think you want, but it’s not really. If you move to Manhattan and have this amazing job, then maybe you’ll be satisfied...but maybe you’re just chasing this idea of everything that you should be and I don’t know...”
“This isn’t just some crazy idea, Ian. I know every kid wants to run away to Manhattan, but I’m not waitressing while awaiting my chance on Broadway. I’d be working as a broker. It’s hardly the same thing.”
In the silence, the squeak of the elevator seemed unbearably loud. Ian tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “And if you go, I will miss…”
Ian’s words were cut off by a loud groan and they were plunged into blackness. Julia let out a small, involuntary yelp and reached for Ian in the dark. A moment later, a dim, yellow glow returned. Her voice was a little wobbly as she asked, “What the hell was that?”
Ian looked shaken too. “Power failure I think.” He pressed the emergency call button on the elevator panel. Nothing happened. “Maybe a short, or we blew a fuse? I don’t know.”
“Well, what do we do?”
Ian reached in his pocket and fished out his cell phone. “Not call for help. No service.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Ian, rubbing his forehead, bent and examined the cart that held the trays of leftovers. Picking up a container of pickles and a spatula, he approached the door. After a minute of effort, he used the spatula to pry the door open and wedged the pickles into the crack. A cool draft suffused the already-stuffy elevator.
Julia grinned a little in spite of herself. “You’re a regular MacGyver there.”
“Yeah, next I’ll build an aircraft out of toothpicks and used aluminum foil.” Ian stood with his hands on his hips for a long moment.
“So…what do we do now?”
Ian glanced at her, and then slid to the floor, his back against the wall, long legs stretched across the elevator. “Wait.”
Julia sat across from him, kicking off her flip flops. “For what?”
The only response she received was a half-shrug. She could’ve strangled him.
“Ian.”
“Julia, I’m hardly the elevator expert. They installed the damn thing during the renovation, handed me the permit or whatever, and told me to call the number on the back if there are any problems.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s super helpful.”
Ian muttered something under his breath and Julia checked her phone. He was right. No cell service. Julia wasn’t exactly claustrophobic, but she’d never been comfortable in elevators. She might know, logically, that they wouldn’t plummet to the ground, but that knowledge didn’t seem to influence the rapid beating of her heart. Suddenly, she felt close to tears. Looking across the small room, she saw Ian, eyes closed and head leaned back against the wall. The dim yellow light brought out the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His olive complexion showed them at the best of times, but they seemed starker than usual. Had he been sleeping enough lately?
Ian opened his eyes and Julia felt herself flush. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and said, “Stuffy in here, huh?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Julia frowned. “You look kind of…pale. Or something.” A memory came back to her. A trip to Virginia. The Luray Caverns. And Ian’s hand in the dark, clammy and trembling. “Ian, you know we’re safe, right?”
“Of course!”
Slowly, Julia crawled around the cart and sat beside Ian, his eyes still closed. She took his hand. “I know you’re not the world’s biggest fan of enclosed spaces. Just take deep breaths.”
“I’m okay.”
“I know.” Julia felt his fingers tighten around hers. “We’re okay.”
They must have slipped into a light sleep, waiting in the silence for any noise, any sign that the power was back on. Julia awoke to the glare of Ian checking his phone screen. It was after midnight. They’d been stuck for more than two hours. She sat up, her arm asleep and her cheek sweaty where it had rested on Ian’s shoulder.
“Hey.” He looked more calm, but bleary-eyed.
“Hey.” Julia pulled bobby pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she massaged her scalp. She felt the beginnings of a headache coming on.
“I like your hair like that…darker.”
Julia studied Ian. He wasn’t one for compliments, particularly since they’d broken up. “Thanks.”
This time the silence felt awkward, prickly. She adjusted her sweater self-consciously. She stammered a little as she spoke. “It was like that before, when we...when I graduated.”
“I remember.”
So much for diffusing the awkwardness. Julia pushed her hair out of her face impatiently and went to the elevator’s control panel. Bending to inspect the buttons, she asked, “Isn’t there some kind of call button or something?” Ian shrugged in response and Julia rolled her eyes. “There should be. Ah…Got it! Why didn’t we think of it earlier?” She stabbed the button with her finger several times, perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary.
“I did think of it earlier.” Ian muttered.
“What?” Julia turned and stared at him for a moment before turning back to the control panel. “Why isn’t this thing working?”
“Probably because it isn’t hooked up.”
Julia’s face was completely blank. “And why, Ian, is the emergency call button not hooked up?”
“Well, Julia” Ian answered with exaggerated slowness, “it might have something to do with the fact that we’re in the middle of the god-forsaken woods and I’d have to sell my left kidney to get connected to the correct emergency response system!”
His sudden anger caught Julia off guard, and she replied quickly, knowing just how to hurt him. “Don’t you think that might be a better investment in your money than, oh…let’s see…refinishing 1300 square feet of ancient oak flooring? Install tile or laminate like a normal persona and maybe you’d have enough money to take care of safety equipment!”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s always about money with you, Julia. You don’t give a damn about preserving history or aesthetics or even what I want. It’s always just numbers and dollar signs.”
Julia could feel the angry heat flooding her face and the stale air seemed heavy in her lungs. “It’s a code violation, Ian!”
“It’s my building!”
“And it’s my…” She stopped, deliberately taking a breath. “You just don’t get it. You’re an adult—a business owner—and you can’t afford to be a stubborn, irresponsible child.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. This Julia remembered, even when she tried not to. The razor wit that became cutting accusations. The tears she was afraid to show him. And another memory. A glass shattered in the sink. Half the closet empty with no explanation.
Ian’s voice was loud in the small space. “And that’s just it! You can’t stand that things aren’t perfect. I’ve made the Mill work, but anything short of perfection isn’t enough for you! I wasn’t good enough for you either.”
“Don’t make this about us.”
“It is about us! We had something good. I wanted to get married, but there was always something wrong, something that you needed to ‘fix’. I can’t believe it took me years to figure out I’d never be fixed enough.”
“It needed fixed! We fought all the time, Ian! About the Mill, money, our jobs, not spending enough time together…it was insane!”
“We fought about everything you couldn’t make exactly as you wanted! Ian passed. “I’m not perfect, Jules, and God knows you’re not either, but I loved you. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But every time I brought it up, you had some reason why we couldn’t, ‘not yet’. Six months of that and I realized it wasn’t going to happen.”
Julia felt her throat tighten and it made her furious. She wasn’t going to cry. “That’s not true. You left and that was it—game over, let’s be friends, better luck next time.”
“You pushed me out!”
“I pushed you! To be better! Like you pushed me! Do you think I wanted every conversation to be about the Mill? Of course not! But it was your dream and I couldn’t let it fail.”
“Instead you let us fail.”
“I let us fail? Who left?”
“I wouldn’t have left if you wouldn’t have…” Ian stopped as Julia began to cry. She did not cry delicately, but messily, as someone does when they resent every sob. He took a step toward her, looking scared. “Hey, Jules…Jules, don’t.”
“Leave me alone!” She shoved him away.
“I’m sorry.” He stood awkwardly beside her. “What I said…I didn’t mean it.”
“You did! And so did I!” Julia pressed her palms against her eyes.
Carefully, Ian wrapped his arms around her. “You’re right.”
“It’s about time you said it.”
Ian smiled ruefully. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry I left.”
“I’m sorry I pushed too hard. I just wanted everything to be…”
“Perfect.”
“Well, yeah. Or close.”
“It’ll never happen, Jules.”
“But why not? Why not try?”
Ian let go of Julia and sunk to the floor, gesturing for her to sit next to him. She did, and he took her hand. “The thing about us, Jules, is we’ll either sharpen or destroy each other.”
“Which do you think it is?”
He looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. Never have.”
She took a shaky breath. “It won’t be either one if we don’t get out of here.”
“True.” Ian studied her face in the dim light. “I still love you, Jules.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. About both.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly, and Julia took another deep breath. “Ian, can you check your phone?”
“Six thirty.”
“Seriously?” Ian nodded. “Well, that would explain why my stomach is growling.”
Ian stood and stretched. “Well, I’ve got pickles, olives, lettuce, relish, onions…help yourself. Although maybe not to the onions.”
“Funny.” Julia opened the container of olives and settled back on the floor, leaning against Ian.
“Remember when we went camping, that first summer together? And you forgot the propane for the stove?”
Julia smiled at the memory. “I forgot the propane, but you forgot the matches.”
“And we ate cold PopTarts in the tent all weekend because it never stopped raining?”
“In retrospect, we should’ve checked the forecast.”
Ian stroked Julia’s hair. “It was a great weekend.”
She nodded. “It was, even if I never did get that weird musty smell out of my…” The jolt threw them both off balance and the brightness of the fluorescent lights shocked their eyes. Before they really knew what had happened, the elevator door opened, revealing the basement of the Mill, sunlight streaming in through the casement windows. For a moment, Julia and Ian stared at each other, then Ian grabbed the cart and steered it into the cooler. Julia waited outside as he checked the temperature of the various condiments and put them away, leaning against the cool metal sides of the locker, dazed.
When Ian emerged, he put his hands in his pockets. “I think we should take the stairs.”
Coming up into the main floor, all the lights still on, was like something in a dream. Julia walked to the door, Ian close behind her, hyperaware of the small beads of dew glittering on the picture windows and a metallic taste in her mouth.
She reached the door and stopped, her fingers on the handle. Ian stood beside her, staring into the distance. “I think…I think I’m going to take the job.”
His gaze shifted to her. “Mmm.” It was a purposely neutral sound, devoid of all meaning except acknowledgement. They stood there for several minutes, sleepwalkers suddenly awakened.
“I’ve got to get home.” Julia retrieved her coat and bag from the chair by the bar, where her dirty plate and milkshake cup sat. Ian still stared out of the window, his lips pursed as if in thought. “See you later?”
Ian looked at her, almost as if surprised to see her still there. “Yeah…um, maybe at that thing, with your parents?”
“Sure.” Julia put on her coat.
“And, Jules?”
“Hmm?”
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Yeah. I will.” Julia walked briskly to her car, arms crossed tight across her chest, and felt something stir within her, a tingling which meant regret or fear or, maybe…release.
They’re together at a little table, made smaller by the piles of books rising like barricades between them. She is little, her small hands looking slightly child-like as they grip a blue pen.
“I was thinking we could watch a movie or something later.”
He doesn’t look up, but takes off his glasses and rubs his face. “I don’t know...I have a lot to do.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her shoulders crumple like the paper beneath her fingers. The tip of her pen carves words deep into the tabletop.
Why,
when you take your glasses off
does
your face go out of focus?
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