The Country Duet(70)

“You need to get laid, boy.”

“No, shit,” I growl back at him. “No, shit.”

I toss my Carhartt work jacket back on and make it out into the foot of cold snow. A bitter wind takes away my breath, stinging the skin on my face. Climbing up on the roof is the last thing I want to be doing right now. Steadying the ladder against the eave of the house, I climb right up onto the roof. It takes several minutes to steady my footing once on the roof. It’s a tricky situation with the slick snow and the uneven level.

Once I manage to get to the satellite, I use the broom to knock away all the snow, careful not to break any of the wires or the satellite itself. Once all the snow has been wiped away, I pivot on my right foot to make my way back to the ladder. It all happens in a flash. My footing slips, my ass hits the roof, and then my body tucks and rolls right off the roof. My left calf tangles up in the ladder with a harsh smack. The pain only registers for a moment before I realize I’m bouncing off the roof with loud thumps then free falling in the air.

The snow-covered ground breaks my fall. It’s not forgiving and could be compared to landing on cement. The oxygen in my lungs evaporates with the devastating fall. It takes me several minutes to breathe and gain my bearings. I clutch my head, thankful I didn’t knock myself out. It’s going to leave a mark. I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow.

“Fuck,” I hiss, remembering how long I was sore after the motorcycle crash.

I stare at the gray skies, lying on my back, trying to muster up the courage to get my ass up off the ground. My calf screams out in pain with each step when I put back the ladder. Going to have a good bruise after that fall.

When I enter the house, Dave is perched forward in his recliner. “What was all that ruckus out there?”

I shrug, not even close to admitting that I just ate shit off his roof. “Nothing. Brushed the snow off the satellite. It should work now.”

“Goddamn, that was loud. It sounded like you fell off the damn roof.”

I ignore his comment while firing up the television. The satellite begins working, taking the time to reprogram. Then channel eleven news starts blaring.

“How about you get up and shower?”

“No, my feet hurt.”

“Has wound care been in?” I ask, kneeling before him.

“Yes.”

“And do you tell them your feet ache?”

“Yes, Hunter.” His voice grows more irritated with each question.

Dave told me after the first visit of wound care that his legs were wrapped as a precaution. I’m regretting taking his word for it since it seems he complains more and more about the pain. At first, he’d mention it here and there, but now it’s a constant. I’ve tried taking him to the doctor to get it checked out, but the cranky old man doesn’t want to waste any money.

“Dinner?”

“Not hungry. Just took my hydrocodone and other meds.”

“Anything else I can do for you, Dave?”

“That damn satellite is going to freeze up again. Does it every damn winter.”

“What do you typically do then?”

“Wait until the fucking snow melts,” he growls.

I raise an eyebrow and can’t help the smile playing out on my face. “You need to get laid, Dave. I’ve heard that curbs a sour mood.”

Slowly, but surely a snide grin spreads on his face. “Is that so? Thought you were shit for listening. I guess not.”

“Guess, since the ladies aren’t knocking down the door I brought you this.” I toss him a few bags of candy.

No thank you given. He tears into the candy, throwing it in his mouth. I head back to his room to find his sheets covered in urine and shit. I can tell he’s been in a lot of pain because he rarely makes it to the bucket, bottles, or toilet. After the bedding is stripped and tossed in the washer, I then go to his kitchen, clean out his fridge, and empty his trash.

The stench is something fierce, so I dump a gallon of diesel on it then light it. The fire roars, putting off the perfect amount of heat. The stark contrast from freezing temperatures warms me from head to toe. The overwhelming smell of diesel masks the rotting trash. I grab the brochure application out of my back pocket to study abroad. I always thought it would be Teale holding me back from this opportunity, but I was so wrong. There’s no way I can leave Dave for a whole semester. Teale and I are in a great spot,p where I know she’d understand me leaving and experiencing the once in a lifetime opportunity. It would be hard for us, but we’d make it work.

The sad reality is I can’t leave Dave for an entire semester. It’s not the fact he needs me, but more I need that grumpy old bastard in my life. He frustrates the hell out of me, sucks up all my time, and irritates me like no other, but he’s my very best friend who I need in my life on a daily basis. My fist clutches the brochure in my hand, then I toss away the opportunity in the fire without a second thought.

I’ve learned over the last year and a half to always trust my gut. Right now, there’s a horrible feeling settled in the pit of it. Dave is going downhill and fast. I curse the foot of snow that’s keeping him stuck inside. He loves working on his farm when the temperatures allow. Hell, the man had me driving his tractor all over the farm, loving his seat. I peer up at the sky, struggling with the fact he’s in so much pain, and I can’t do anything about it.