Kill Me If You Can

12

It had been three days since I had spoken to Brad. I found the phone upstairs next to my bed and dialed Brad’s number. I returned to my soup project as the line rang.

“Hello.”

At the sound of his voice, my heart raced.

“Hi, Brad. It’s me, Tish.”

“Hey. How’s things?”

Why did I feel like I was talking to a stranger? Not so long ago we’d been inseparable. “Good. Things are real good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

We suffered through a prolonged silence.

I said anything to fill the air. “I’m making chicken noodle soup tonight. Hopefully it turns out as good as yours.” I picked up the lid and stirred the contents.

He laughed. “I’m sure you can’t miss.”

The steam rose in a puff around my face. “I forgot to buy spices. All I have is salt.”

“Hmm. Did you add celery?”

“Yeah.” I replaced the lid.

“Then it should be fine. Celery’s got plenty of flavor. Add a little salt and pepper and that should do it.”

I smiled with one hand to my forehead, fighting back the pressure in my sinuses. “Have you been doing good? Everything’s okay with you?”

“Oh, sure. There was a fire up on Oak Street last night. Family lost their home. I guess they’re staying with some relatives up in Flint ’til they get things settled.”

I took in a sharp breath. “Where on Oak Street?” Brad and I had tackled most of Oak Street during our three-mile walks.

“It was that big gray house on the corner of Oak and Elm. It had that picket fence you liked.”

“Oh, no. That’s too bad. There were always kids playing in the yard. Nobody was hurt?”

“They were lucky. Everyone got out safely.”

I missed Rawlings with its houses and sidewalks and shop fronts. Port Silvan with its blink-and-you-miss-it business district seemed a little too small town. And the people up here just weren’t the same. There was no Brad.

“Hey,” I said. “I really miss you guys.”

“Yeah. Everyone misses you too.”

“So how was the ski trip?” I asked.

“Fun. But it just wasn’t the same without you.”

I laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t believe you. You know I flunked the bunny hill.”

“Maybe. But you would have graduated one of these times.”

I swallowed hard and ventured into dangerous territory. “Do you think we’ll ever get together again?”

“Of course we will.”

I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I sounded like a chipmunk in its dying throes.

“Tish? Is everything all right?”

I walked to the bathroom and pulled a wad of toilet tissue off the holder. I set the phone on the sink and gave a good blow.

I picked up the cell and slouched on the floor next to the vanity. “I’m okay. Sorry about that.”

“You’re worrying me. What’s really going on up there?”

The soft rumble of Brad’s voice calmed me momentarily. Then I started to cry again. “They don’t love me,” I bawled.

“Who? Who doesn’t love you?”

I hiccupped between blubbers. “My family.”

“Tell me what happened. We can work through this.”

I gave him a hiccup-ridden rundown of current events, including Missy’s sob story, but leaving out the bad guys on four-wheelers.

“Hang in there, Tish. You’ll do the right thing. Don’t let that stuff get you down. You’re not the type to give in and give up. You’re a fighter. You’re a conqueror.”

At his words, a feeling of peace washed over me. I smiled through misty eyes. “Thanks, Brad. You’re such an encouragement to me. I don’t know how I made it this long without you. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s good to know. So it’s my turn to call same time tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I need my daily pep talk.”

“I can’t give you a definite time, because sometimes things come up on my shift. But I’ll be as punctual as I can.”

“I understand.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then.” I didn’t want to let him go, but I couldn’t think of another intelligent thing to say. “Bye.”

“Bye, Tish.”

The sound of breathing, then the click of the disconnect.

I sat there scrunched in a little ball, wishing and wishing and wishing.

As the cold weather wore on, I settled into a routine. Four days a week, I worked on projects around the house. I took one day to get supplies in Manistique. Then on Sundays, I worshiped in Port Silvan. Thankfully, most of the churchgoers had loosened up over time, or maybe I had. I now enjoyed visiting over coffee before going back home and plopping on the couch with a book. Missy Belmont, however, held to her promised cold shoulder, regardless of my efforts to reclaim our friendship. As usual, Thursdays were spent at Candice’s house, gently picking her brain. I never let on that I knew what she’d done to my mother’s photo. And fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about avoiding my paternal relatives over the weeks. The first encounter must have soured them to any repeat reunions. We said a polite hello at any chance meeting but never went beyond the perfunctory “How are you?” Brad and I enjoyed our phone calls, but as time marched on, we’d cut them back to three times a week due to time and scheduling constraints. Or maybe it was the effect of distance on a cooling relationship.

April showers arrived with full fury. One morning the ground had been covered in snow. The next, mini lakes dotted the yard wherever the ground dipped. I sat in the kitchen listening to rain batter the roof. A thumping had begun sometime during the night, possibly a loose gutter. I took a final sip of coffee and put on my new rain slicker. I’d found a ritzy department store in Manistique and splurged on several necessities, the bright melon jacket included.

I opened an umbrella and walked around to the source of the clanging. A downspout had detached from the gutter above and now dangled from two loose fasteners. Rain gushed from the unprotected hole, cutting a ditch into the ground below. I’d have to wait until the storm was over before tackling the repair.

I dashed across the yard and jangled open the latch on the garden shed. I tipped my red umbrella and let the water run off, then I entered. One window lit the dank, musty interior. The stone and log building was a trim 10x10 or so in size, but held every tool imaginable for some serious landscaping. A ramshackle old ladder leaned in the corner. At least I had a way to reach the spout and reconnect it when the time came.

I futzed around on one wall, rearranging the gadgets and dusting off cobwebs with an old rag. The place would look great with a fresh coat of white on the wooden slats. I could even spray some of the rusty tools bright colors to make a tidy wall display that no man could resist. It would be a fun project as soon as the weather warmed up and dried out. For now I tabled it, grateful that I knew where to find a ladder.

I opened the door and my umbrella. I checked the latch to make sure the door fastened behind me. The forest around the shed dripped and crackled with rain. The temperature hovered around forty-five degrees these days, and I couldn’t resist a walk. I headed up the driveway. My breath misted in the clammy air. I sloshed through potholes that seemed to merge into one endless puddle. I loved the way my feet stayed dry in my new yellow rubber boots. Swampers, the saleslady had called them.

The exercise felt invigorating after long weeks of winter when walks were short and sparse. I branched to the right when I reached the highway, then crossed the road and headed up the bluff as I’d done once before. I didn’t worry about the men on four-wheelers this time. I figured my wayward cousin had been smart enough to find a new location for his drug buys.

Up on the bluff, the view was drab. The skies threw a gray wash over the bay. Masses of black ice covering the water’s surface seemed to gasp as they drowned beneath the rain. From my vantage point, the trees showed no signs of spring. Bare branches added to the dismal panorama, broken only by my driveway that ran like a charcoal-colored ribbon across the forest floor.

On the highway below, a car slowed and turned down the two-track toward my house. I squinted. A tan four-door I didn’t recognize. I hated to miss a visitor. I folded my umbrella and hooked the loop around my wrist. I took the shortcut down the face of the bluff, picking my way from tree trunk to sapling. The umbrella pulled at my arm like a red kite in a brisk wind. I made it to the bottom of the incline safely this time and crossed the highway to my drive. I splashed at top speed toward the cottage. After a ways, I slowed to catch my breath. The tan car pulled toward me on its way back to the highway.

I waved. The car stopped. The driver’s window rolled down.

I smiled. “Hi, Joel. What’s up?”

My cleaner-cut cousin gave a big sigh and set one arm on the car door.

“Get in. Olivia’s asking for you.”

I patted my hair, drenched with rain. “What’s the rush? How about if I finish my walk, shower up, and then head down to your place?”

His fingers tapped. “It can’t wait. She wants you now.”

I stepped back and crossed my arms. “Why the sudden change of heart? Not so long ago I was chopped liver.”

He looked at me with arched eyebrows. “Get in, Tish. She’s dying.”