Save Me (8 page)

The doctor comes out and takes us back to Butch. He’s loopy and the sight of him in his gown frightens me. There’s something weak about a man in one of these. It reminds me of the days I spent by Jason’s hospital bed in Kansas.

“It won’t be long and he’ll be ready to go. Keep an eye on him the rest of the day. No driving,” he says, and I wait for information I actually care about. “We did find some things that are concerning. We did a biopsy and the samples are already on their way to the lab. We’ll be in contact as soon as we receive the results.”
Biopsy?

“Do you do biopsies for anything other than cancer?” I ask, the hot bile rising in my throat.

“Not in this case,” he says, and I swallow the bile back.

Butch has cancer.

W
e need to get a tree,” Noble says, and I know he’s right. We do need to get a tree, but I haven’t really been thinking of Christmas, of anything, since Butch was diagnosed with colon cancer.
What the fuck?

Last year was our first Christmas engaged. We had a big tree at my house and an eighteen-inch blue plastic one at the farm. It was festive in a “the seventies was a perfect era” kind of way.

“This will be our first tree as an officially married couple. I know there’s a lot on your mind, but we only get one first Christmas together.”

I smile at Noble because there is so often no other choice than to smile at him. “You’re right. We need to get a tree. Life is full of firsts. Some of which should be commemorated,” I say, and kiss him.

The sky is gray. The woods are gray, and the fields are empty. We take the truck to the tree farm down the road and the sight of the evergreens warms me. The owner tells us the largest trees were tagged in October and I’m in shock. Is everyone in the world operating at a much higher function than I? I could barely think about Halloween in October. He assures us there’s plenty left that will make a nice tree, especially for a farmhouse.

Noble and I wander through the rows holding hands and I glance up at the gray sky, acknowledging my mother, who is surely looking down on us smugly.

“Is it supposed to snow?” I ask. I haven’t seen the weather in weeks.

“Like a foot,” Noble says. He raises his eyebrows, suggesting some snow activities we are usually great at. I stop in front of a tree about Noble’s height. It’s almost as wide as it is tall.

“I like a fat tree,” I say, and Noble puts his arms around my neck and admires the tree, too.

“Quiet,” he whispers. “You’ll hurt its feelings.” I turn around in his arms and kiss him, being careful to not offend the rest of the town out tree shopping. “Pick the one that will make you happy.”

“I don’t need a tree to make me happy.” I kiss him completely inappropriately, and Mrs. Heitter walks up behind us and clears her throat.

“What?” Noble asks her. “It’s our first Christmas together.” He kisses me again, this time lifting me off the ground.

We somehow manage to get the fattest tree on the farm to the side porch of our house. We leave it there to drop as I make us hot cocoa, and together we watch as the snow begins to fall. I hold the mug in both my hands to warm them and watch my husband marvel at the snow falling on his fields. The snow is almost as beautiful as him.

Once the ground is covered, I take BJ outside to run around like a crazy dog in it. I take him next door. Butch hasn’t been himself since the diagnosis. He’s usually predictably gruff and difficult. Now he’s pliable and at times almost pleasant. It’s disturbing. I know he likes to sit with BJ. He’s warm, a welcome cuddle partner this time of year. I’m also bringing him the blue plastic Christmas tree. Although absurd, it’s hard to be sad around it.

BJ bolts to Butch, his tail wagging behind him as if he’s the most loved man on the planet. Butch leans over and scratches BJ behind the ears and under his chin as BJ points his head to the ceiling and leans back to enjoy his attention.

“Annie,” Butch says, startling me. He rarely says my name, almost never in a kind way, and his voice sounds like Jason’s. I stop setting up the tree in the center of the kitchen table. He’s worried. Why can’t he just be angry? This whole thing is pissing me off.

“When you talk like this, it sounds like you think you’re going to die,” I say as if I’m discussing a character in a book. “And I don’t know why that is, because you’re going to live a very long time.” BJ jumps up, placing his front paws on Butch’s thigh and wagging his tail. “So just keep being the miserable ass you usually are, and I’m sure whatever you were just about to say won’t seem so important after we win this fight.” Butch’s face hardens to its usual scowl and he continues to pet our dog.

“I was just going to say you remind me a lot of Joanie,” he says, ending the conversation.

“You remind me of no one.” I rearrange some plastic branches on the absurd tree. “Thank God, you’re a one of a kind.”

The snow covers the corners of all the windows and drifts at least eighteen inches against the back door. It is the perfect day to decorate our first tree. Noble and I carry the behemoth in and attempt to get it straight in the stand. It’s not exactly straight, but I convince myself it’s part of its charm. My mother would make us keep doing it until it was straight, but a crooked tree is what she gets for checking out early.

We decorate Fatty with ornaments from both our childhoods and the antique ones from my grandmother. We bought new lights, big round colored ones that shine through and are almost balls in their own right. When we’re finished, Noble and I step back and admire our first tree together.

It’s beautiful. We did an outstanding job.

As if taking a bow, the tree crashes to the floor. Ornaments break and others roll across the room as Fatty’s branches bounce from the collision with the old wooden planks. It’s a far cry from the majesty of it standing.

“It looks great,” Noble deadpans.

“Perfect.” I nod. “I’m going to get my camera. We should get a picture.” I walk into the kitchen to find my camera. When I come back, Noble is leaning against the arm of the couch still admiring our first Christmas tree.

Once upright, Fatty becomes my favorite decoration. It welcomes me every time I return to the house. It makes it a holiday. And although holidays are dicey for me since the death of my parents, Fatty forces the happy memories of Christmas back to me. The memories of all the loved ones I’ve lost.

There are moments when the house is bursting with people and others when it’s quiet and peaceful. Today it’s bursting. The Sinclairs are in town for the holiday and the party hasn’t stopped since they arrived. Their RV is parked out back, but they’ve been staying at Jackie’s house to let Noble and I enjoy our first Christmas together without houseguests. I tried to tell Noble it wasn’t necessary, but he assured me it was. He loves his family but also seems happy with them leaving every day.

Noble, his brothers-in-law, and the rest of the men under forty hanging around here finish their drinks and bundle up for the cold. They’re hitting the Corner Bar and leaving the women here to finish baking cookies. Noble’s sisters, Jackie and Tracy, are already a few bottles in and feeling no pain.

I grab Noble’s scarf off the hook and wrap it around his neck and kiss him on the lips.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here?” Noble says, and peeks over my shoulder at his sisters cackling joyfully. Jackie opens another bottle.

“I’ll be fine. Drunk maybe, but fine. Be careful.”

The last remnants of flour stick to the kitchen table like plaster. I’m scrubbing it and listening to Jackie and Tracy’s childhood stories when the guys return. The headlights shine through the back door and highlight a commotion as they get out of the truck and walk to the house.

Travis stumbles in first. He holds the back door open as Walt half carries Noble through the door. They lean too far to the left and end up hitting the wall as they attempt to walk into the kitchen. Travis grabs the other side of Noble and they lead him straight up the stairs.

I’ve known Noble my entire life and have never seen him this drunk. I follow the stumbling parade up the steps and watch as they let Noble fall face-first onto the bed.

“He’s all yours,” Travis says.

“Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas,” he says, and kisses my cheek. “Just what you always wanted.”

Travis and Walt leave me to figure out how to undress Noble. I roll him over and unbutton his pants.
This is usually much easier
, I think. Maybe Noble’s family being in town is harder on him than I thought.

“Yeah, we almost got in a fight,” I hear Travis say downstairs, and I stop what I’m doing and lean toward the doorway to hear better. “There seems to be some unfinished business between Nick and Leer.”

My heart stops. I hate the idea of Jason and Noble even speaking, let alone fighting.

“What do you mean? What happened?” Jackie asks, sounding pissed. No one is allowed to mess with her baby brother.

“I don’t know what was going on. Leer came up and said something to him that set him off. I’ve never seen Nick that pissed. They started bumping each other and you know—”

“No. I don’t know. And what?” Jackie’s not letting it go.

“I don’t know, Jack. Guy stuff. They didn’t fight—”

“It was real close, though,” Walt interrupts.

“What is the big deal?” Travis sounds like he’s sorry he ever brought it up.

“Whatever. You’re an idiot,” Jackie says, having no patience for her husband.

“Why am I an idiot? All I did was carry him home.”

“Charlotte, you need any help?” Tracy yells up the stairs, and I realize I’ve been eavesdropping the whole time.

“No. We’ll be fine. Thanks for bringing him home,” I yell down, and lean over and kiss Noble’s cheek. I finally get his clothes off and the covers on him. I leave a large glass of water with two ibuprofens on his nightstand, and turn off the lights.

“Charlotte, wake up.” I hide my eyes. I’m not ready to wake up. “It’s our first Christmas together…and I love you,” Noble says, and kisses the back of my neck. I roll over and bury my face in his chest, unwilling to face the day. “You act like you were the one out last night.” Noble pushes my hair off my face. The memory of his homecoming last night creeps back in. Noble holds me tight as he kisses the top of my head.

He releases me and slides out from under the covers to rummage through his dresser drawer. I can tell he’s messing up every item of clothing I’ve folded the past week, but his look of satisfaction when he finds what he’s searching for is worth it. Noble dives back into bed and under the covers. He hands me a cube-shaped box.

“Merry Christmas, Charlotte,” he says, and I wish no one was coming over today. I could stay in bed with Noble all day and not miss a thing. “Open it.”

I roll to my back and examine the box. I untie the bow and rip off the paper. Inside, under a thick blanket of tissue, is a round Christmas ornament. I pull it out of the box and hold it at eye level. It’s painted with an ocean and a moon, the moonlight shining on the water. In the face of the moon, painted in the shadows, is our wedding date.

“It reminds me of the night before the wedding,” Noble says, watching me examine the ball. “When I found you risking your life in the ocean.” I rest the ball in the box and carefully place it on my nightstand. I climb on top of him.

“Thank you. I love it,” I say, and kiss him. “I have something for you, too.” I sit up and jump out of our warm bed. I glance back at Noble, unsure. “If you don’t like it, please tell me.”

“Wow,” he says sarcastically. “It must be a great gift.”

“It’s unusual.” The cold air on my naked skin chills me. I hurry to my closet to finish the task at hand as fast as possible so I can get back under the covers. I move things around and find the back wall with BJ at my feet, nosily looking in as well. I stop what I’m doing to kiss his head and pet him.

“Merry Christmas, cutie,” I say. I pull a wrapped package out of the closet and struggle to lift it onto the end of the bed. It’s large, two feet by four feet, and it’s flat, obviously a picture of some kind. Noble leans forward and takes the package from me. I happily let it go and climb back under the covers.

He unwraps the paper and stares at the sign. In the center is an insignia of sorts. It’s two shotguns crossed in an X with a script capital letter
S
in the center. Above it is written
SINCLAIR FARMS
and below it,
A NOBLE VENTURE.

“I love it,” he says joyfully as he continues to admire the sign.

“Are you sure? You won’t hurt my feelings—”

“Charlotte, I love it.” Noble easily lifts the sign and places it on the floor, leaning it against his nightstand. “I absolutely love it and I’m going to put it up by the mailbox for the whole town to see. Thank you.” He pins me beneath him as he kisses me.

It is a Merry Christmas.

M
ichelle’s family is coming for dinner, too. In all we’ll have over twenty people here. Noble is deep-frying a turkey outside, Michelle is bringing a ham, and I have a duck roasting in the oven. Actually, Mrs. Sinclair has a duck roasting because I wouldn’t even know that thing was a duck if she hadn’t told me. I’m sure it’s going to be delicious. I wash the measuring cups for the eighteenth time and place them on a dish towel to dry for their next use as I look out the window at Butch’s house. Jason’s truck is parked between the two houses. It’s a line in the sand he’s daring me to cross. God, I hope this is all in my head.

“Mrs. Sinclair?” I say, and Noble’s mother ponders me lovingly.

“Charlotte, why don’t you call me Mom?” The request makes me uncomfortable. You only get one mom in this world. “Or Larissa,” she says, putting me at ease. “Or better yet, why don’t you get pregnant and you can call me MomMom.” Mrs. Sinclair raises her eyebrows as if this is the best idea ever.

“I’ll work on it,” I say, nodding.

“That’s the spirit. These things don’t happen by accident, you know? They’re planned. Whether you think you’re planning it or not.”

“Yes. Yes, I remember from seventh grade health class with Mr. Huck.” I look back out the window and ask, “Mrs.—I mean Larissa—how did the Leers end up on the farm?” I can’t believe I’ve never asked before. Before Jason and me, it never even seemed strange. There are lots of houses on farms that are not occupied by the actual farmer. They’re almost always family, though. Land is everything in Salem County. It’s not risked on strangers.

“Joanie was a Sinclair. Let’s see.” Larissa gets it straight in her head. “Her mother, Jason’s grandmother, and Mr. Sinclair’s father, Noble’s grandfather, were brother and sister.”

“Oh. I had no idea they’re related.”

“Well not Butch, but Jason is a cousin of some degree. I never understand past the first generation. Originally, that house was built for Jason’s grandmother, Joanie’s mother. When she died, it went to Joanie and she and Butch moved onto the farm.”

“And if Butch passes?” I can barely get the words out. Butch’s medical situation has to have a happy ending. I’m not ready to lose anyone else, especially not Butch.

“It will go to Jason, but it will never leave the family.”
How is that possible?
“It reverts back to the Sinclairs upon death to ensure we can control who moves onto the farm.”

“Could you keep Jason off?”

“Not us, it’s you and Noble’s decision now, but I think you’d have a hard time since he’s Joanie’s son. If Jason dies, though, it won’t pass to his minor son; the house comes back to you and Noble.”

I begin to pull apart the rolls and place them on the tray for warming. I watch as my hands move slowly over the bread, not caring if they’re ever warm.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

Larissa’s question startles me. When I look up, it’s obvious she’s been watching me since we stopped talking. I freeze in her knowing stare and swallow hard.

She moves closer to me and takes the bread from my hands. She holds each hand in her own. “Oh, it’s okay, darlin’. The tragedy of a woman’s heart is its capacity to love more than one man.”

A throbbing sounds right behind my left ear; it’s almost a pounding and my lip begins to quiver. I’m not admitting to myself, let alone Noble’s mother, the capacity of my heart.

“Anyone can see you’re devoted to Noble, but when I just mentioned Jason dying, you looked like you were in pain.”

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to him,” I say with a small smile aimed at ending this conversation.

“I suspect it already has,” she says, and raises her eyebrows as she drops my hands. Larissa pours more wine into our glasses and hands mine to me. She offers me a toast and when our glasses clink, I wonder if my mother ever loved more than one man. If she were here, what would she say?

It’s still dark out as I pour coffee into a to-go cup for Noble. The sun is just peeking over the horizon as Noble ties his boots. They are camo, like the rest of him. I could see him a hundred times in his hunting gear and every single time laugh out loud. I giggle quietly as I fit the lid on the cup.

“What? Are you making fun of my wardrobe? I’m going to war out there, baby,” Noble says, and turns me around to attack my neck.

“War, huh? Those poor deer frolicking along by the creek, about to be shot with an arrow.”

“No. Bow season’s over for now. Today we use muzzleloaders,” Noble proclaims, and pulls the sides of my robe up around my neck.

“Muzzleloaders?”

“It’s a tradition in the Sinclair family. No matter what the weather, we go hunting the day after Christmas.”

“Praise Jesus,” I say, shaking my head at him.

“What are you doing today?”

“I think I’m going to download a bunch of stuff on my iPad and watch Lifetime movies all day with BJ.”

“I’m sure he’s ready to come home.”

“I know. The smell of all this game roasting was too much for him. I’ll walk over and get him in a little while.” Noble’s arms clench around me. I kiss him, wanting my Noble intact. He holds me tight as we hear the truck horn from the driveway. All the Sinclair men are piled in the cab, ready to go kill something. I don’t get it.

I’m cleaning out the coffeepot when the door opens and BJ runs in, immediately jumping up on my thighs as if he’s had no training at all.

“Get down! No jumping,” I say, and rub behind his ears. BJ sits nicely as I kiss him on the head.

“Lucky dog,” he says, and I look up to the admiring stare of Jason Leer. I should be angry. Angry at him for walking in like he was invited. Angry at him for my birthday message. Angry at him for knocking up Stephanie Harding.

Geez, Charlotte, let it go already.

“I want to talk to you…about Butch, if you have a minute,” he says, and the thought of discussing Butch simmers my anger. I tighten the belt on my robe.

“I’ll be right back. Help yourself to something to drink. If you’re thirsty,” I say, not sure if I’m making sense.

I run up the stairs, suddenly full of energy. Invigorated really. I find my favorite jeans in my drawer and throw them on. I stand in front of my closet searching for something comfortable, but not too sloppy.
Why, Charlotte?
I pull the sweater Michelle gave me for Christmas out of the box on the chair and rip off the tags. It’s soft, and oversized, and a beautiful turquoise blue. Perfect.

“Heeey!” My body stiffens. “What are you doing?” I yell at Jason, who’s leaning in my bedroom doorway with a hungry look in his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask, suddenly conscious of the last five minutes.

“Long enough,” he says, totally unaffected, and I’m certain I could kill him.

“Make no mistake, Jason Leer. You are not welcome in this room, or this house,” I say as cold as I can commit to and walk past him. Relief flows through me as I hear his footsteps on the stairs behind me. When I reach the living room, Jason grabs my arm and swings me around.

“You should go to church,” I blurt out, surprising myself.

“Jesus can’t save me now. I’m already in hell,” he says calmly, and lets go of my arm. He wanders around the room scrutinizing pictures, pausing on Noble’s and my wedding picture.

“I’ll say a prayer for you, then.” I leave him in the living room and force my legs to carry me into the kitchen. It’s bright and cheery, and if I can get him out here, maybe I can get him out of the house.

Jason finally arrives in the kitchen and stares at me. He doesn’t sit at the table. He doesn’t walk toward me. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t do any of the things normal people would do in this situation. Oh wait, normal people wouldn’t be in this situation. The intensity of his stare makes me want to cry even though it’s not sad. It’s capturing.

“Missed you the other night.” He’s looking for a fight. “When I saw Sinclair come in.” It sounds like the words hurt his tongue. “I was actually hoping you’d be with him.”

“What are you doing?” I ask him. The sound of my fractured voice scares me.

“What are you doing, Annie? Playing house with Sinclair? You gonna get pregnant soon?” he asks, and his questions piss me off. “You living the life Sinclair’s planned for you?”

“What should I be doing instead? Living the life you planned?”

“I don’t even recognize you. Running around here, cooking and cleaning, that’s not the Annie I used to know.”

I could spit on him. “You don’t recognize me because I am happy. I am so
fucking
happy I can’t stand it,” I say with such hatred I wait for the walls to collapse around us. Jason watches me, giving nothing away. “Is it that impossible for you to accept I’m happy? Like every day, I’m happy.” I blush under his stare and fight to hold back the tears, but the sight of him makes me cry. I put my head in my hands, muzzling myself. ’Tis the season.

Jason walks over and pulls me into his arms. My head hits his chest and it’s just the slap in the face I need.

“You need to go. Noble will kill you if he finds you here.”

“God, how I’d love him to try. The last time we
talked
, I was hoping someone would kill me. Today’s different.”

“Yeah, well, the conversation’s over. Noble and I are married now. You live in Oklahoma with your son.”

“Annie, this is never going to be over. As long as I can breathe, I’m going to want you.”

“Get out,” I say, and pull away from him. Jason lets me go and laughs, pretty much in my face.

“I’m staying home until after Pop’s surgery.”

I calculate in my head. Five more days in December, three in January, another week of this.
Please, God, save me.

“I’m sure he’s happy you’re going to be here.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s pretty dependent on you and Marie. You guys are good to him.”

“He’s a good man,” I say, and then, just to be a bitch, I add, “You should try to emulate that.”

Jason’s shoulders bounce as he chuckles and walks out the back door. I watch him walk to his truck and drive down the lane. He’s probably headed back to Stephanie’s parents’. Back to his son, his family now.