The Wizard's Herbarium: The Wolf Child

Part 2

Colt's back was killing him the next morning. He'd forgone buying an air mattress at the grocery store the previous day, figuring that the sleeping roll he carried in his pack would be enough. It wasn't, and modern day hardwood floors sucked.

He sat up gingerly, feeling much older than he was and decided to take advantage of having a shower at his disposal. It wasn't as though the motels he'd stayed at didn't have showers, but they weren't as nice as a brand new apartment bathroom either. Then, there were all the times he'd been unable to shower in the mornings, like when he'd crashed at a busy hostel to save money, or was staying with strangers. The area being what it was, and covered mostly with forest, meant that Colt had spent a lot of times crashing in tents too.

The dark heaviness that resided in his chest the day before had faded to its usual dull ache. Depression was a bitch. It was to be expected, he'd been told, with everything he'd gone through. Colt didn't like to think about that either and the freezing cold spray from the shower helped to disrupt such thoughts.

The shower helped to make him feel better, cleaner and more human. All that self-care stuff his therapist prattled on about before he'd left the city.

Colt had no towel, at least not a full size one. He had a travel size one that he dug out of the bottom of his bag. The towel was at the bottom and it was caught on something. With a frustrated grunt, Colt tugged the cloth and a roll of other material fell out of his bag, and onto the hardwood floor with a clatter of metal on metal. Despite the tie on the roll, it managed to unroll itself halfway as it fell. Colt's knives glittered at him and the dark, pressing feeling came back to him full-force.

He took his hand towel and abandoned his bag.

It would have been comical if someone were to see him, attempting to dry the drops of water with the tiny towel, but it wasn't as though he had a choice. He supposed he could air-dry by going buck naked around the apartment for a while. All his windows backed onto the forest anyway so it wasn't like there was anyone around to see him.

He dressed and, without looking at the bag on the floor, went out onto his balcony.

Now this was self-care.

Colt heard nothing. There were no blaring sirens of emergency vehicles, people's loud voices and no traffic noise. He heard the wind through the trees, the birdsong and a healthy dose of silence. In the back of his mind, he heard the voice of his therapist 'why don't you try getting into knitting?' or 'adult colouring books are a huge thing these days'. Colt thought knitting and colouring were just fine things to do, but they weren't right for him. There was a hole in his heart and it wasn't about to be filled by colouring and yarn-working.

Colt was lured from the apartment by a growling stomach and a need for coffee. He headed down to the main street where there were vehicles crowded around the bakery as everyone grabbed their drinks and pastries before work.

Colt sidled his way into the door and found himself at the back of a cramped line. The bakery was a tiny, but bustling place. From the outside it was about the size of a shack and didn't look all that much bigger from the inside. There was a certain rustic charm about the place.

"Hey. Stranger." A voice boomed behind him. Colt turned to find Chuck from the gas station yesterday, the expression on his face so friendly and welcoming that Colt couldn't help but smile, feeling the stickiness in his chest become just a little lighter.

"Hi Chuck," he said, inching forward with the line. "How are you?"

"I'm doing fine this morning. Heading the opposite way on the highway today, which is why I'm here and not at Foaming."

"What's Foaming?"

"The other bakery." Chuck laughed and it was a rich, bubbling sound. "It's in the next town over, maybe twenty or twenty-five minutes down the highway. Won a lot of awards, but this place is good too." Colt got the feeling that Chuck said that more to appease the crowd around them.

"You never told me your name," Chuck said. "Say you're not a creep, but you didn't introduce yourself either."

"Sorry. I had a lot on my mind. I'm Colt." He extended a hand for Chuck to shake.

Chuck's handshake was firm and vigorous, yanking Colt's arm a bit. "You're one of those space-case types. That's okay, though. Is Colt short for Colton?"

"Just Colt."

When he reached the front, Colt ordered a black coffee and looked at the pastries in the display case. He was disappointed to see that the quality was less than he'd hoped for. Small, family-run bakery and Colt was expecting fresh, but the cake in the display case said otherwise. The cake was decorated in a dark-coloured fondant that had begun to bleed into the delicate white flowers, a sign that the cake was old, but his stomach was protesting the idea of turning away from the bakery without food.

He took his coffee and the croissant he'd ordered back outside where he could breathe away from the crowd. Colt bit into the croissant and sure enough, stale, at least a day old, maybe more. It was still food, though and Colt finished it all, wiping the crumbs from the front of his shirt and stuffing the wrapper into his pocket.

"What're you up to today?" The sound of Chuck's voice made him choke on his coffee and Colt wondered how such a big man could be so quiet.

"I - I don't know." Colt's voice was husky as he coughed again to try and get the last bit of coffee out of his lungs.

"I heard you're staying up in the apartments," Chuck said. "Thinking of staying a while?"

"At least four days."

"Need any money? I own my own logging business and we're always looking for guys to help out."

"You'd trust me in your logging business?" Colt said. "You don't even know me."

"You said you weren't a convict, right? Even if you were, what are you going to steal from me? A tree? I'd like to see that." Chuck gave a small chuckle as opposed to a full-bodied laugh. "C'mon, it'll give you something to do and the Mrs will have dinner ready when it's all done."

When Chuck started walking down the road, Colt couldn't think of a reason to say no. He wasn't exactly on vacation, didn't have any plans, and he could always use the money.

"Mrs?" Colt said, jogging a few steps to catch up with Chuck.

"My wife. Did you assume that I was some lonely bachelor?"

"You're the one who said it."

Chuck did another one of his booming laughs. "That's alright. It's a common assumption. I'm not exactly a looker or anything. Horrible beard and this paunch, but one can make a pretty decent go at logging around these parts. You a father, Colt?"

That stung. The question caught him so off guard, coming out of nowhere that Colt turned his head away from Chuck to try and regain control of the beast that raved inside his chest.

"Sorry I asked," Chuck continued. "I won't ask again. Parenting is complicated business. I only asked because I think that fathers look different from the rest, the good ones anyway. Certain level of maturity, care, or something."

"Yeah..." Colt's voice struggled out, as though there was a bug lodged in his throat.