Spells for Forgetting(70)

Forty-One


    EMERY


The cabin sat at the bottom of the hill with only one window lit. I stood beyond the tree line of Nixie’s property, watching the flick of movement behind it.

We hadn’t said the words yet, but I knew that deep down, things had ended in the orchard when I told him that I’d never marry him. It was only now that it felt real. This thing between us had always been frail. I knew it, and so did he. But Dutch did love me. I had no question about that. He’d waited years for me to come around after August left, and then he’d waited even longer for me to start a family with him, convinced he could change my mind. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days when I thought, maybe even hoped, that he would.

The thing that had kept me with him was the fear of the future. Years down the road, when my dad and Nixie and Albertine were gone, what would I have left? Who would I have left?

Dutch had lied, but we all had, like August said. The worst part was that I didn’t feel anything when I thought about losing him. I’d always thought of him as easy to unravel. He had all of his cards on the table. But if he’d really been with Lily, there was a whole decade and a half of secrets between us. Somehow, after knowing him my entire life and spending six years in each other’s beds, I now had more questions than I had answers about Dutch Boden.

If he had the letter, I had to get it back. I didn’t want to know what he might do with it.

He appeared at the door and the screen slammed behind him as he made his way down the steps. He was late, and although it would have been typical of the Dutch I’d known as a kid, it was unlike him now. He took his position at the orchard seriously, probably because it was the only reason anyone on Saoirse took him seriously. The look on his face gave away that he hadn’t slept much, if at all. The fair scruff on his jaw was thicker than he usually let it get and his shirt was only half-buttoned, like he’d rushed.

The lights of his truck came on as the engine roared to life and exhaust billowed from the tailpipe as it warmed up. He waited a few moments before the brake lights glowed and the truck pulled out of the drive.

I didn’t like the idea of sneaking around and trying to catch him in a lie, but I’d given him the chance to tell me the truth. I was done asking.

I waited until the truck disappeared around the bend in the road, and I came down the hill with quick steps, staying close to the fence. When I reached the door, I glanced once more over my shoulder, to the woods. The only sound was of the wind tearing through the trees.

The island had been restless all day, the air growing colder. Since the leaves had turned, nothing had felt right, and I had a feeling there was a deeper work at play. Saoirse was finally digging up the things we’d buried.

Inside, the only light that was on was the lamp beside the sofa. I let the door close behind me, and I turned in a circle, eyes running over the cabin. They focused when they landed on the desk.

I sat down in the rickety chair, pulling the lap drawer open. It was carelessly filled with pencils and scraps of paper, a box of staples, things that Dutch likely hadn’t used in years. The next drawer was paperwork for the orchard. Files and agriculture records. Empty folders and order forms.

In the almost ten years that he’d lived in the cabin, he had yet to fill the place with a sense of being lived in. There were still blank walls and empty shelves and only two mismatched chairs at the little table in the kitchen nook. He was a simple man with a simple life who always seemed like he was waiting for something. That something had been me, I thought.

Once, the thought had been a relief. With Dutch, what you saw was what you got. Now, I wasn’t so sure that was true.

I went to the bedroom, pulling open the drawer of the bedside table and then the closet, where the built-in shelves were stuffed with denim and work boots. It smelled of hay and soil. It smelled like him. I checked the pockets of his coveralls and jackets before feeling along the dusty top shelf with my fingers. Nothing.

If he’d taken the letter, I didn’t know what he would do with it. Give it to Jake, like I’d almost done? Turn it in to the Seattle Police? My heart kicked unevenly at the possibility. August wasn’t innocent, that was true. But he wasn’t a murderer, and that thing in me that always protected him was still there. It had never gone to sleep.

“Em?”

I froze, and my breath caught when I heard his voice. I looked up at the mirror on the wall to see Dutch standing in the doorway of the bedroom behind me. His eyes went from me to the open closet and back again.

“What are you doing?” His gaze narrowed as his confusion turned to suspicion. I could hear it in his voice.

“I…” I swallowed, turning around. “I’m looking for something.”

“I can see that.” He dropped his keys on the bedside table.

I clenched my teeth when he took a step toward me, my eyes going to his hands. He looked suddenly different to me now. Once, he’d been a refuge. A place where I could forget, if only for an hour or two. But now I couldn’t help but wonder if those hands had touched Lily. If they’d hurt her.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing,” I answered unevenly.

When he took another step, I backed up, pressing myself to the wall, and he paused, studying me. “You ignore me for over a week, won’t take my calls, won’t even look at me, and now you’re in my house going through my stuff. Do you get how crazy this is?”