One to Take (One to Hold 8)

Stepping out of the shower, I rub the fluffy white towel over my body. My uncle is an interesting contradiction. He’s all hippie and one with nature, but this house is as five-star as it comes. The bedding is Egyptian cotton, eight hundred-thread count. The towels are the softest terry. I guess it’s for my mother or maybe being a hippie doesn’t always mean sleeping with five other people in a tent. Either way, I’m not complaining.

I moved my things to a bedroom on the same side of the house as Bill after my mother left. I couldn’t take the pain anymore of walking into the bedroom I’d shared with Mariska and seeing the gaping holes where her stuff used to be.

Stepping into faded jeans, I pull out that grey Henley she stole from me last year. I found it in her luggage and thought it would be funny when she saw me wearing it. It was. Then when she left me and left it behind, it was like being kicked in a gunshot wound over and over and over then dunked in acid. I’m a fucking masochist that I haven’t thrown it away, or better still, burned it, but it reminds me of her.

“Ready?” Bill only glances at me from the newspaper spread on the counter. He still reads the newspaper.

“Sure,” I say. I’m still not much for long conversations.

He drives us to Bert & Ernie’s, the restaurant we visited with Evan and his boys. I guess the name’s supposed to be funny. We find a seat at a booth in the back, and a little strawberry-blonde waitress takes our drink orders. I have a beer; Bill has a Pepsi.

“You’ve been working hard,” he says, sliding a finger down the side of his glass. “Come to any conclusions?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know.” He knows why I’ve been working so hard.

He also knows it isn’t working. My mind drifts to my nightly ritual. Every night after dinner, once Bill retires to his suite, I walk the short distance to the little thicket behind the trees. I sit beside the grave under a sky filled with stars. The small headstone my sister ordered is there now, and I trace my finger over the name engraved on it, Jessica Renee Heron-Knight.

Every night I do it, and every time it’s another kick to my bleeding chest wound. Every time I relive the moment I lost her. Sometimes I stay there all night and dream of Mariska. I touch her silky hair, and her floral dresses and jasmine scent surround me. I miss everything about her. The pain is like a broken bone, jagged and puncturing the skin. Still I go back. Every night.

My uncle is talking, but I’ve missed the question. Now he only looks at me, that calm expression on his face. “Given any more thought about taking over the place?”

“Yes.” I study the pint glass in front of me and tell him the truth. “When I came back from the hospital that day, I wanted to get as far from here as possible. I hated this place.” Leaning back, I meet his eyes. “Now, I think it’s the only place I belong.”

In addition to suffering, as I’ve worked I’ve begun to see a life where I stay out here, work hard, and live alone. It’s a variation of my original plan. Before my injury, I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in the service in the desert. An IED ended that dream. Now I’ve found a new one.

“I told you once before, take as long as you need. I’m in no hurry.”

“Aren’t you, though?” I think about him and my mom, their age, and their situation.

He shifts in his seat. “Given any more thought about going to get Mar

iska?”

Every day when I’m working. Every night when I’m at our baby’s grave. Before I can answer the waitress returns to take our order.

“What’ll you two ole cowpokes have?” Her voice is bubbly and light, and I glance up to see her blue eyes twinkling. Her hair is tied up in a high ponytail and a few pieces curl around her cheeks. She’s wearing a tight white T-shirt that has “Try a Pork Slammie” printed across her pushed-up breasts.

“A Pork Slammie,” my uncle reads, thinking. “Tell you what, Josie, I’ve been dreaming about that Hades Burger since the last time I was in here.”

“It really stays with you,” she nods, giving my uncle a wink. “Especially the next day.”

Bill laughs, and she turns to me. “How about you, handsome?”

I order the Pishkin Burger giving her barely a glance, and she does a little hip swish as she turns and walks away. She’s a cute girl with a nice rack, and her flirtations remind me of a time when I didn’t believe in the kind of love I had with Mariska. Back then I’d have taken her home, used her for my purposes, and walked away without looking back. Now the idea of that kind of life leaves me cold.

My uncle doesn’t miss a thing. “It’s not good for you to be alone. I’m sure that little girl misses you.”

Images of the last time I saw Mariska fill my mind. Her injuries were covered and healing, but she pulled away as if to protect herself from me. It hurt so fucking much.

“I don’t know what to say to her,” I confess. “When it all happened, I thought I knew, but now after all this time… I feel like I’ve lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost anything. Go claim what’s yours.”

Shaking my head. “It’s not that easy anymore. It’s all spoiled.”

My eyes are on my beer, and I wish it were a whiskey. All this talk has me wanting to return to the cabin, spend a night killing the pain with hard liquor.

“Just because things change doesn’t mean they’re spoiled. It means you have to learn to change with it, together.” I want to argue with him. He didn’t see her face, but he doesn’t give me the chance. “Your old man was the same way. He thought he had to be strong in order to give strength, in order to help others. It’s not the case. You grow stronger by giving when you have nothing left to give. You grow together.”