Mean Streak(18)
She could tell he was amused by the unwitting setup she’d given him and self-satisfied with his suggestive comeback. Turning away from him, she slipped the glasses into the shirt pocket. He sat down at the table and resumed fiddling with the toaster, seeming to be perfectly content. She felt like her skin had shrunk.
“Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
“What?”
“The silence. The loneliness.”
“I have music on my laptop.”
“Can we play some music?”
“Nice try, but no soap, Doc.”
She paced the width of the room and back. “Doesn’t the boredom drive you to distraction?”
“I’m never bored.”
“How could you not be? What do you do all day? That is, when you’re not repairing small appliances.”
She had meant the remark as a putdown, but he took no offense. “Projects.”
“Like what?”
“I’m building a shed for my pickup.”
“By yourself?”
“It’s not hard, but I’m particular, which makes it time-consuming. I had hoped to finish it before winter set in.” He glanced toward the window. “Didn’t quite make it.”
“What else?”
“I built the bookshelves.”
“That’s it? That’s all you do? Putter around here making home improvements?”
“I’ve hunted. Not much, though. I fish occasionally.”
“When you get tired of venison.”
“No, I don’t like fish, so I always throw my catches back. I hike. Gorgeous scenery up here. Sometimes I camp, but I prefer my bed to a sleeping bag on the ground.”
“So you’re not completely opposed to creature comfort.”
He gave a half grin. “No. I prefer my showers and my coffee hot.”
She looked around, trying to gauge the sparse square footage in which he lived. “I can’t imagine being cooped up in here with nothing to do.”
“I’ve got something to do. I’m doing it.”
“Repairing an old toaster?”
This time he did respond to the putdown. He sat back in the chair and stared at her thoughtfully while tapping a small screwdriver against his palm. “There are other things that need fixing.”
“And what happens when they run out?”
“I don’t see that happening.”
More than a little subdued by his “do not trespass” tone, she made a circuit of the room, went to one of the windows, and moved aside the curtain so she could look out again. The snowfall was thicker than earlier. “How far are we from Drakeland?”
“Farther than a marathon, if you had in mind to run all the way.”
“I spent Friday night there. I didn’t see much of the town, though. Is it nice?”
“It’s almost civilized. Has a Wendy’s, a Walmart, a multiscreen movie theater.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “How often do you go?”
“To the movies?”
“To town.”
“When I need something. When I feel like going.”
“Do you see friends?”
“The lady at Dunkin’ Donuts always speaks. She knows my face.”
“But not your name.”
He didn’t say anything.
“No friends. No…” At a loss for words, she went to the hearth and sat down. “How do you make your living? What do you do for money?”
“I get by.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I keep myself clothed and fed, but I don’t have gobs of money.” He paused, then added, “Not like you.”
“I don’t have gobs of money.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Wealth is relative,” she said irritably. “Besides, how do you—” She stopped and looked over at the laptop on the end table beneath the lamp. “You looked me up?”
“The afternoon I brought you here.”
“You got my name off my driver’s license.”
“The rest was easy. A few keystrokes. Charbonneau Oil and Gas popped up. You’re an heiress.”
She wasn’t prepared to talk about anything this personal with him. Yet she heard herself say, “I hate that word.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it means that my parents are dead. I guess you read about that.”
He set down the screwdriver and gave her his undivided attention. “Your dad’s friend was flying the plane.”
“He was an experienced pilot, had flown his own plane thousands of miles. The two couples—best friends forever—were on their way to Oklahoma for an LSU football game. Tigers versus Sooners.” She picked at the cuff button on his flannel shirt, which she’d put on over her running clothes for an additional layer. “They didn’t make the kickoff.”
Behind her, the fire blazed, warming her back, but not reaching the cold void caused by the reminder of the sudden loss of her parents. “For a long time, I was in a really bad place. I prayed to God and cursed him, sometimes in the same breath. I exhausted myself with weeping. In a fit of anger, I chopped off all my hair. Grief was an illness with me. Unfortunately it’s incurable. I’ve just learned to live with it.” When she realized how silent the room had become, she turned her head and pulled him into focus.