Burying Water
Page 12

I swallow, not really sure how to answer that. After all, the hospital doesn’t have bars on the windows. I finally decide on, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“Well, of course. Come on now, girl.”
I’ve noticed that she has yet to call me “Jane” like everyone else. I wonder if that’s a conscious choice on her part or if she can’t be bothered with names, fake or otherwise.
Throwing my small duffel bag over my good arm, filled with a collection of donated items from the nurses as well as a goodbye card from the hospital staff, we trail Ginny and the old dog as they lead us away from the house and toward the garage.
“If you ever need anything, we’re just a hop over the fence away.” Meredith points to the other side of the garage, past a dilapidated farm fence and through a thin line of those ponderosa pines, to a much more modern but small gray bungalow with a sloped red roof and big bay windows. For all the wide-open fields around us, I find it odd that the two houses are practically side-by-side.
“Yes. So close that when that damn boy of hers shows up with that damn car, it’ll rattle your teeth!” Ginny grumbles.
The mention of teeth has me running my tongue along the new wall in my mouth, where dentures have filled the gap. Given everything else that was broken and battered on my body, a few missing molars should have been the least of my worries and yet, when a dentist from Bend offered his services as part of a goodwill gesture a few weeks ago, I started to cry.
With a patient smile, Meredith answers, “I know, Ginny. I asked him if there was anything we could do about it. Unfortunately, that’s just the type of car it is. It’s supposed to sound like that.”
“Why? So it can wake the dead?” Ginny rounds the corner and begins climbing a steep, narrow set of wooden stairs. The dog, who hasn’t strayed more than two feet from its owner since we arrived, now hunkers down on the concrete landing, forcing us to step over it to follow the old woman up and through a plain white door.
It leads into a long, narrow room with sloped ceilings meeting in the center and sparse, mismatched furnishings throughout. Running along the left side is a kitchen with a white speckled countertop, old, compact appliances, and a small, worn wooden table. To the right is a seating area with two wicker armchairs flanking a simple woodstove, a tidy small pile of wood next to it. A brown-and-black tube television sits atop a faded blue dresser; the screen can’t be more than eleven inches. In the far corner is a twin bed with a simple white iron headboard. The smell of bleach and fresh paint permeates the chilly air, telling me that, though old, the bright white walls are freshly painted and the place was recently cleaned.
“I lived in this little apartment for nearly thirty-seven years.” Ginny’s eyes roll over the place. “It’s just been sitting here, doing nothin’. I thought it may as well be put to use.”
I struggle to keep the burn in my eyes from developing into full-blown tears. “This is perfect.” I turn to face her. “Thank you.”
She peers at me with her lips pursed together, as if deciding whether to say what she’s thinking. I get the impression that Ginny doesn’t censor herself much. Finally, she points a thin finger to the corner opposite the bed. “Bathroom’s over there. Nothing but a few old tractors and a mouse or two down below. But Felix just had young’uns, so they’ll take care of those quick. She’s a good mouser.”
I lift a brow. A female cat named Felix?
“I’ve left you a spare set of keys for the truck, in case you want to drive yourself into town. It’s old, but she’ll get you there. You know how to drive, right?”
Good question. I shrug. Maybe? “I don’t have a license.” I don’t have any sort of identification. “Sheriff Welles . . . I mean, Gabe . . .” I frown. Calling him by his first name just doesn’t settle well. I decide on a middle ground. “I mean, Sheriff Gabe is going to help me get one.”
She dismisses my words with a wave. “No matter. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. There ain’t no people out on these roads anyway. And if you get pulled over, just give them Gabe’s name. It’s the least he can do for not finding the person who hurt you. Dinner’ll be ready at six p.m. on the porch. Don’t be late.”
The way the old woman strings together thoughts—bouncing from the mundane to the serious, and back to the mundane—is mind-boggling.
I listen to the stairs outside creak as Ginny leaves.
“Last week was the first time I’ve ever been up here in my life,” Meredith, who has remained quiet since following me into the apartment, admits. “Not bad, right?” She takes slow steps through the space, her boots clomping over the faded plank wood floors. “It’s a little sparse. We’ll get some more comfortable furniture in here as soon as we can.”
“It’s more than enough for me.” I don’t know how I’m used to living, but right now I don’t care about fancy furniture. I’ve been in limbo for months. I’m finally standing in a place that I can begin to call home.
She makes her way over to open the old, round-edged refrigerator. “Good. Amber got some fruit and yogurt . . . juice . . .” She adds absently, “If it had been Jesse stocking this, you’d be living off frozen pizzas and Coke.”
“So both your children live with you still?” I ask as casually as possible. She doesn’t ever bring her son up in conversation.
She pushes the door shut slowly before shifting over to the stove, turning this knob and that as if testing it. “No. Only Amber. Just for now, and she’s rarely home, she works so much.”
“And your son?”
“He lives in Portland. He’ll come for the odd weekend, though. He stays in the apartment above the garage.” Tapping the back left burner, she adds, “Gabe says this burner is temperamental, so just avoid it when you cook.” Much lower, she mutters, “Because I’m sure you’ll need a break from Ginny’s cooking sooner rather than later.”
Me? Cook? Do I cook?
I wander over to the bed to take in the colorful spread. And my feet falter. “Hey, this is . . .” My voice drifts off as my fingers trace over the red and yellow and orange swirls. It’s the quilt Ginny was working on last week in the hospital. The one she crumbled and I smoothed out. The bright colors are merely a backdrop for an enormous black tree, the obvious focal point. Just like the quilt hanging in that store window in town. “Wow, she finished it already?”
“Ginny’s known around town as the ‘Tree Quilt Lady.’ I swear half of Deschutes County has one of her creations in their house. That store I pointed out to you? It sells them on consignment.” Meredith’s brow furrows. “It may be worth talking to the owner, actually. I thought I heard her say that she needed some help this summer.”
I nod slowly. A quilt store. I could handle working in a quilt store. I think? My attention shifts back to the beautiful piece stretched out over my bed. “These must take her a lot of time.”
“Ginny has a lot of time.” There’s a pause, and I turn around to find Meredith gripping the back of a rickety whitewashed chair with her skilled surgical hands. “Look . . . Ginny takes some getting used to. Don’t take anything she says personally, especially in the next little while. This is a big change for her and she doesn’t adjust well. To anything. If you haven’t figured it out already, she isn’t a fan of people. She much prefers to be alone. And she doesn’t like anyone in her space.”
“Right. Don’t touch her things.” I remember her words from the hospital. You can’t be touching my stuff, Ginny had said. Was that a warning? Did she already know that she’d be taking me in?
Meredith cringes. “Well, yes. But it goes beyond that. Until last week’s hospital trip, Ginny hadn’t left this property since she buried her father, almost ten years ago. I pick up her groceries and drop her mail off, to pay her bills. The veterinarian comes to check in on the horses. No one besides Gabe has stepped foot inside her house in over seven years, and that’s because the only toilet backed up and she refused to let a plumber in the door.” She snorts. “Gabe didn’t know a thing about fixing toilets. He spent all weekend there, with a manual and a new set of tools, cursing. The porch is the only common space under that roof. So, don’t be offended when she doesn’t invite you in. Ever.”
“Okay . . . So she’s a bit territorial.”
“And paranoid. And frugal. You also won’t find a television or phone anywhere in her house. She disconnected all the lines after her father died.”
I walk over to study the television on the dresser with a curious frown.
“That was her father’s,” Meredith confirms. “She noticed that you liked having a television in the hospital room, so she dragged it out of her storage cellar. Apparently all of her parents’ things are stowed in there. Ginny’s a bit of a pack rat. An extremely tidy and organized one.”
“But . . . does it work?” I turn the knob on the top right. Gray static fills the tiny screen.
Meredith shakes her head. “She’s making an extraordinary effort for you, believe me. But that’s as far as she got. We can see about getting you a newer one.”
I smile at the thought of the old woman setting this up here. For me.
“Gabe arranged for a cable company on Monday morning to install a line for you. You may want to be on the lookout. Ginny’s liable to change her mind and chase them away with her broom. Amber has a cell phone and an old laptop for you that she’ll bring over. You’ll be able to pick up our wireless router signal from here. Just keep it out of Ginny’s sight so you won’t have to deal with her grumbling.”
“Okay. Thanks. That’s . . . great.” Not that I have anyone to phone. And will I know how to use a computer? I saw plenty of them at the hospital, but I never actually sat down in front of one to see how much of a “learned behavior” it is for me.
She sighs. “Well, I’ve got to get ready for work. Are you okay here alone?”
“Of course.” I’ve been completely alone for three months now.
“Like I said, Amber will be over soon. I’m sure you two will be spending a lot of time together.” A warm smile stretches across her face as she squeezes my shoulders. “Open some windows and enjoy the fresh air. Everything will be just fine. You were meant to survive. I firmly believe that.”
With those final words, she strolls out the door, pulling it shut behind her. And I frown at the peephole, the two deadbolts, and the latch lock that can’t possibly be necessary out here, in the middle of nowhere.
Unless you’re the victim of a rape that still haunts you almost fifty years later.
I close my eyes against the rising panic. Will this be me one day? Will I find comfort in the locks and chains, will I wish for bars across my windows?
I told Dr. Weimer about my talk with Ginny and the growing fears that sprouted from it. She didn’t make any sugarcoated promises or predictions. It will be difficult, she said. You will wish you didn’t remember that part, she said. You may never remember that part, depending on how lucid you were at the time, she also said. I found myself praying for that possibility. I’d like to know who did this to me, but I don’t need to relive it. It’s not like I’ll ever forget that it happened. All I have to do is look in the mirror to be reminded that it did.
But Dr. Weimer also reiterated that I am not alone and I do not have to live like I am.
I can choose not to live like Ginny.
I survey my space again. There are two dormer windows facing the driveway and one overlooking the side of the property, and a glass door at the other end of the long room. I slide it open and step outside. For an apartment this long and spacious, the wooden balcony is tiny. More a perch than anything. A green-and-blue woven lawn chair that has seen better days sits in the corner. There isn’t room for much else.
I rest my hands on the wobbly railing and take in the smell of clean, crisp air; the vista of land and trees and the three peaks beyond. It’s a view more beautiful than . . . well, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything like this before. And, except for the occasional chirp of a bird, I hear nothing but the creak of the wood under my weight and my own pounding heartbeat.
A blue canopy hangs over me, the clouds fleecy and white. I imagine that it’s a dome, enclosing me in this peace, separating me from my turmoil, which continues to swirl outside.
Motion in the grass catches my attention. A black-and-white cat creeps along the green expanse, its attention zoned in on something unseen, its body hovering low to the ground, its ears flat. I assume that’s Felix, out to earn her reputation. A string of frisky kittens in varying mixtures of all black, all white, and everything in between come bounding up behind her, oblivious to their mother’s endeavors. Whatever Felix was hunting must have been scared away, because the cat eases into a stand and shoots what I surmise is an annoyed glare the kittens’ way.