Taut: The Ford Book
Page 16
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The girl jumps out and swings the back seat door open. The baby is sprinkled with snow, her eyes closed, but her little mouth is scrunched up like she’s ready to lose it. “Oh no!” The girl bites her lip and looks back at me.
“What?” I ask.
“All our clothes and stuff are back in my car. I have a few diapers and a clean t-shirt for her, but not much else.” She looks at me like she’s afraid I’ll bite her head off over this.
“What?” I ask, annoyed with that expression.
“You’ll have to take me back. I’m sorry. Really, I know I’m a major pain in your ass right now—”
“Save it.” I hold up a hand and grab her bag from the floor and then move out of the way so she can unhook that baby contraption from the seat belts. “We have to go back out anyway. I just wanted to come check on things before I went to the store. There’s nothing in this house to eat, and aside from tap water coming through pipes that have been sitting for two years, and some very f**king expensive Scotch whiskey, nothing to drink either. So there’s no way we’re not going back out. And since the Safeway is on the west side of the village, we have to go past the garage again anyway.”
“Oh, good.” She lets out a long breath of relief as she lifts the carrier out of the back seat and we walk over to the door that leads to the house. “OK. Thanks so much for your help. The room, the car. I’ll pay you back.”
I wave her through the door, then flip on the lights. “There’s no need, really. And I’m not trying to have a polite argument about it, I seriously don’t want or need your money. So drop it.”
I catch the dirty look from the corner of my eye, but she holds her response back.
I do not care at this moment because I am back in our family home. I walk through the kitchen, drop the baby stuff on the granite island, and then walk into the middle of the living room and look around.
Dark hardwood floors. Everything is shades of black, white, and gray. It’s got a minimalist feel.
“It’s nice,” the girls says as she looks around. “Not how I expected a house in Vail to look—I figured ski lodge people would have rustic homes. But still, it’s nice.”
“It’s horrible.” And it is. Ultra-modern—just like my downtown Denver condo. My parents hated this look, but they redid this house and let me pick the designer. And my designer picked all this cold furniture with the chrome and glass. All these sharp lines and contrasting colors.
That was right before my dad died.
I used to like the minimalist look, but I’d give anything to have our old stuff back right now. The sagging brown couches instead of these gray ones. The dark walnut coffee and end tables instead of these glass ones. The family photos on the walls instead of this pretentious shit they call art around here.
The girl tries to bounce a little on the long gray couch, then gives up. “Huh.”
“Huh what?”
She looks up at me with a sly smirk. “Yeah, it’s horrible.”
“The basement is nicer. More casual. At least the couches are overstuffed leather. I’m gonna sleep down there.”
“Why? Don’t you have more than one bedroom?”
“Yeah, I have a room and my parents have a room. But I’m not sleeping in either of those beds, so I’ll take the downstairs couch.”
She looks down the hallway towards the bedrooms and for a second it feels like she’s gonna say something, but then she closes her mouth and looks back up at me with a smile. “OK.”
I walk to the bathroom and turn the water on. It runs clear and after about a minute or so, it’s warm too. “Well,” I say, coming back out to the living room. “Looks like we have hot water, so that’s good.” The girl is slumped against the back of the couch looking exhausted. “Do you want to stay here while I go into town?” She shakes her head and drags herself up. The baby is already sleeping. “She sure does sleep well.”
“Yeah,” the girl says a little wistfully. “People think new babies are hard, but the new ones sleep.” She turns her face up to me and smiles. “A couple weeks from now she’ll keep me up all hours of the night, but for now, all she wants is milk and rest.”
“How old?” I try again since she’s not pissed at me right now.
“Three and a half months.”
“And you’re driving a piece-of-shit car over a snowy mountain with a three-month-old, all alone… why?”
She gets up and grabs the baby carrier, her jaw tense and her posture stiff. “I’m ready if you are.”
I wave her back the way we came, but I’m not satisfied. Not at all. Because this girl has a ring on her finger, a new baby, and she’s alone in a strange place with no money. Crossing the mountains unprepared in the dead of winter is stupid. And in spite of the fact that I did the same thing, it’s not even remotely comparable. I’m a man, I’m rich, I have a house along the way. I’m from here. I, at the very least, have a survival kit in my truck with very expensive blankets that will keep you warm in subzero temperatures even if you sit your ass outside in the snow.
She has nothing and she’s not the least bit bothered by it beyond keeping it to herself.
And I don’t like that one bit.
Because this girl is starting to remind me a little too much of the old Rook.
Chapter Nine
“The car is locked inside.”
“What?” I ask.
“All our clothes and stuff are back in my car. I have a few diapers and a clean t-shirt for her, but not much else.” She looks at me like she’s afraid I’ll bite her head off over this.
“What?” I ask, annoyed with that expression.
“You’ll have to take me back. I’m sorry. Really, I know I’m a major pain in your ass right now—”
“Save it.” I hold up a hand and grab her bag from the floor and then move out of the way so she can unhook that baby contraption from the seat belts. “We have to go back out anyway. I just wanted to come check on things before I went to the store. There’s nothing in this house to eat, and aside from tap water coming through pipes that have been sitting for two years, and some very f**king expensive Scotch whiskey, nothing to drink either. So there’s no way we’re not going back out. And since the Safeway is on the west side of the village, we have to go past the garage again anyway.”
“Oh, good.” She lets out a long breath of relief as she lifts the carrier out of the back seat and we walk over to the door that leads to the house. “OK. Thanks so much for your help. The room, the car. I’ll pay you back.”
I wave her through the door, then flip on the lights. “There’s no need, really. And I’m not trying to have a polite argument about it, I seriously don’t want or need your money. So drop it.”
I catch the dirty look from the corner of my eye, but she holds her response back.
I do not care at this moment because I am back in our family home. I walk through the kitchen, drop the baby stuff on the granite island, and then walk into the middle of the living room and look around.
Dark hardwood floors. Everything is shades of black, white, and gray. It’s got a minimalist feel.
“It’s nice,” the girls says as she looks around. “Not how I expected a house in Vail to look—I figured ski lodge people would have rustic homes. But still, it’s nice.”
“It’s horrible.” And it is. Ultra-modern—just like my downtown Denver condo. My parents hated this look, but they redid this house and let me pick the designer. And my designer picked all this cold furniture with the chrome and glass. All these sharp lines and contrasting colors.
That was right before my dad died.
I used to like the minimalist look, but I’d give anything to have our old stuff back right now. The sagging brown couches instead of these gray ones. The dark walnut coffee and end tables instead of these glass ones. The family photos on the walls instead of this pretentious shit they call art around here.
The girl tries to bounce a little on the long gray couch, then gives up. “Huh.”
“Huh what?”
She looks up at me with a sly smirk. “Yeah, it’s horrible.”
“The basement is nicer. More casual. At least the couches are overstuffed leather. I’m gonna sleep down there.”
“Why? Don’t you have more than one bedroom?”
“Yeah, I have a room and my parents have a room. But I’m not sleeping in either of those beds, so I’ll take the downstairs couch.”
She looks down the hallway towards the bedrooms and for a second it feels like she’s gonna say something, but then she closes her mouth and looks back up at me with a smile. “OK.”
I walk to the bathroom and turn the water on. It runs clear and after about a minute or so, it’s warm too. “Well,” I say, coming back out to the living room. “Looks like we have hot water, so that’s good.” The girl is slumped against the back of the couch looking exhausted. “Do you want to stay here while I go into town?” She shakes her head and drags herself up. The baby is already sleeping. “She sure does sleep well.”
“Yeah,” the girl says a little wistfully. “People think new babies are hard, but the new ones sleep.” She turns her face up to me and smiles. “A couple weeks from now she’ll keep me up all hours of the night, but for now, all she wants is milk and rest.”
“How old?” I try again since she’s not pissed at me right now.
“Three and a half months.”
“And you’re driving a piece-of-shit car over a snowy mountain with a three-month-old, all alone… why?”
She gets up and grabs the baby carrier, her jaw tense and her posture stiff. “I’m ready if you are.”
I wave her back the way we came, but I’m not satisfied. Not at all. Because this girl has a ring on her finger, a new baby, and she’s alone in a strange place with no money. Crossing the mountains unprepared in the dead of winter is stupid. And in spite of the fact that I did the same thing, it’s not even remotely comparable. I’m a man, I’m rich, I have a house along the way. I’m from here. I, at the very least, have a survival kit in my truck with very expensive blankets that will keep you warm in subzero temperatures even if you sit your ass outside in the snow.
She has nothing and she’s not the least bit bothered by it beyond keeping it to herself.
And I don’t like that one bit.
Because this girl is starting to remind me a little too much of the old Rook.
Chapter Nine
“The car is locked inside.”
