Written in the Scars(60)

Goose bumps ripple across my skin as I begin to shuffle backwards. “You aren’t going though, right?” I look from Ty, to Jiggs, to Cord, and back to Ty. My mouth goes dry as they fail to respond.

“E . . .”

I fire a look at Jiggs. “Are you going back?”

“Of course,” my brother says. “I’m a miner, Elin. My wife is having a baby. I need a job.”

“Are you going, Cord?”

“Yes,” he sighs and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s normal to be worried. The last time you dealt with that place, your husband came out on a stretcher.”

“He was almost killed!” I say, pointing to Ty. He’s watching me, a wariness settling over him.

“Do you have any idea what I felt when they called and told me you’d been hit by that timber? That you were on your way to the emergency room and they didn’t know how bad it was?” I ask, tears burning my eyes. “I thought, ‘This is it. This is the accident we all wait for. The one my mom waited for when my dad mined, the one my grandmother prayed to avoid every morning when Grandpa left for the fields. It’s happened to me.’”

I squeeze my eyes closed. “I got there and they wouldn’t let me see you. They said you were in surgery, and I kept thinking that I didn’t get to tell you goodbye that morning. You left without waking me up, do you remember that?”

He nods, reaching for me. I take his hand and let him pull me to his side. His arm stretches around my shoulder, holding me close.

I look at Jiggs. “You guys can’t go back down there. You just can’t.” Glancing from Ty to Cord and back to Jiggs, I reiterate it again. “None of you can go back there.”

“We get it, Elin, we do,” Jiggs says. “We were down there when that thing fell on him. I was scared to beat all hell. There are no other jobs here.”

“You could go back to school. You could—”

“And go into debt? And get a degree that we can never use? And how are we going to pay the bills while we are doing that?” Ty asks.

I’m too numb for the tears to fall. My shoulders slump, my mind vaguely remembering the spaghetti in the oven, but I can’t even bother to mention it.

“We’ve applied everywhere,” Jiggs says, shrugging. “No one is hiring. For every opening, there’s fifty applicants. This is all we have, not to mention my wife is wanting me to move to f*cking Florida over the job market. This is a good thing, Elin. This is what we’ve been hoping for.”

Burying my head in my hands, I breathe as deeply and slowly as I can. I’m acting irrational. I know that.

We watch each other, a crackle in the air between us. Ty draws me in with this sincerity, with the look of love and protection in his eyes. I place my hand on his chest and feel his heart beat strongly, passionately.

“I was going to talk to you about it tonight,” he says, his voice low enough for just me to hear.

“After you beat me in HORSE?” I say, blinking back my tears.

“I was going to beat you, take you inside, take my winnings, and then figure out how to discuss this.”

“So,” I say, wiping my eyes, “you were going to lick me senseless and use that to weaken me?”

“Shut. Up,” Jiggs groans.

“Exactly,” Ty laughs, the warmth in his tone making me smile.

I pull myself as close to him as possible. “Promise me you’ll come home every night.”

“Of course,” he says. “Promise me you’ll be home every night when I get here.”

I grin up at my husband. “I will. Because you have a bet to make good on.”

“Yes, I f*cking do.”

“Enough,” Jiggs groans. “I’m going inside. You said something about spaghetti.”

Jiggs and Ty walk away. As I start to follow them, I look around for Cord. He’s standing at his truck, his elbows on the tailgate, scratching Yogi behind her ears.

Heading his direction, I smack him on the back as I near. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Not much.”

“Liar.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, shaking his head. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“I do. Now ‘fess up, McCurry.”

He looks towards the house and gives a little wave to Becca through the window. She smiles back, but doesn’t come out to us.

“Did something happen with her?” I ask, petting the dog.

A small laugh rumbles out of him. “Not really. She’s a good girl.”

“So? I don’t see the problem.”

He gives Yogi one final nuzzle before facing me. Taking a deep breath, he speaks. “My phone rang this morning.”

“My phone rings all the time.”

“Smartass,” he laughs. “So do you pick yours up and it happens to be the woman that gave birth to you that gave you up for adoption that you’ve met once in your life?”

The gasp I emit is quick and shaky. My eyes are bulging, my hand going to my mouth. “You’re kidding me.”

The color of his eyes, usually so playful and clear, are dirtied with unnamed emotion. He doesn’t look like the Cord I’m used to seeing: sharp, fun, smart. He reminds me of one of the kids in my class that is in trouble and afraid.