When Slim got to the yurt, late that night, Mary was curled up with the lights off and her head under the covers. She didn't move. Gris got up and nuzzled Slim's hand and then flopped back down. Slim sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, then shucked out of his clothes and slipped under the covers, expecting to meet warm flesh. But Mary was still dressed.
"Are you awake?"
"Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"No."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
He put an arm around her and she stiffened, so he took it back.
"Look. I'm really beat. Spent the whole evening running checks and sending memos all over hell. So I'll probably fall asleep pretty quick. But if you need to talk or need me for anything, wake me up."
"Okay."
He knew when to leave her alone. She appreciated that: no prying, no coaxing, no hurt feelings. It's an animal thing, she thought— what's between us. Our instincts fit together in a good way, beyond words.
She couldn't sleep. And she hadn't eaten. She remembered feeling this way after she'd been screamed at and beaten, after Moms ran out of steam and passed out. She wanted nothing except darkness and quiet, and not to be seen or touched.
She kept remembering how the hole in the barrel of the gun looked and her surprise. Why had she done that? Pointed it at herself? She shivered and Slim rolled away from her without waking.
Too many deaths. Zack's dog and the climbing accident and Trapper against the tree, and the huskies. Am I some kind of fatal jinx? A magnet for mayhem? She wondered about that after the bombing and again after the bear attack. Is there some sort of curse on me? She didn't believe in that kind of thing, but sometimes it was hard not to.
Gris shifted on his blanket and then got up—click, click, click— and went to the door. Slim didn't wake, so she got up and let the dog out, then stepped out herself. The moon struck through the aspens, painting the boles an unearthly blue. The leaves skittered and whispered, as night breezes rose and fell. It's a beautiful world, she thought. Too beautiful, sometimes.
Gris hopped up on the deck and she let him in and stood a moment longer, breathing deeply and relishing the scent of the leaves and moist earth.
YOU ARE READING
Sowing on the Mountain
Mystery / ThrillerA Consolata Mary Browne mystery, the second in a series. (To get the most out of it, first read The Feral Strut, which establishes the main characters and background.) After her near-fatal encounter with a grizzly bear, Mary goes to college in Sa...
