The warm sun shines high in a mostly blue sky, as if it’s promising an early spring. A cool wind ripples through the open field behind the cabin, rustling the ends of my hair and the tree branches in the distance. Birds glide lazily overhead, their dark bodies stark against the clouds. I could watch them all day.
Lunch at Piper’s turned out to be delicious. Once the round table of men left, Lisa finished her chores and sat with me for a while, regaling me with stories from Sugar Creek. I’m now dying to attend the Sugar Days festival, need to meet Blooper the three-legged cat, and shop at the farmers’ market as soon as spring arrives. Apparently, it’s the best place to overhear the town’s gossip—even better than the waitstaff at Piper’s Pizza.
I follow a tire-track path and mosey up a small, rolling hill to get a better view of the creek that runs just beyond the trees. I started to walk to it yesterday, but chickened out when I was halfway there. I’m not a fast runner, and there was nowhere to go if someone, or something, decided to chase me. A branch snapped in the forest, and I hightailed it back to the cabin.
So much for being adventurous. But Rome wasn’t built in a day.
The sound of a truck greets me well before I can spot the vehicle. I’m not great at identifying vehicles by sound, but this one seems familiar. When it finally comes into view, it pulls beside me on the small path and rolls to a stop.
“What are you doing out here?” Hartley asks, smiling at me.
Brooks leans forward and smiles, too. “Do you have your taser?”
I laugh, shrugging. “Nope. No taser. But there are rocks to throw while I call nine-one-one if needed.” I point at Brooks. “And before you comment on my survival skills, I heard you way before I saw you this time. That’s progress.”
“I would hope. We’re in a truck, for fuck’s sake,” he says.
Hartley chuckles.
“Where are you guys headed?” I ask, bracing myself against a chilly blast of air.
“We have one more post that needs fixing out that way.” Hartley motions toward the creek. “Want to ride out with us and give us a hand?”
I grin at him. “I think I’d be less help and more of a hindrance, but thanks for asking.”
“Suit yourself.” He looks over his shoulder at Brooks. “Hey, did Bobby put that barbed wire in the back of the truck before we left the barn?”
Brooks looks at him and grimaces. “Can’t remember. Hold on.” He hops out and digs through the bed of the truck.
“Cathy made a big pot of potato soup this morning,” Hartley says. “You’re welcome to swing by and have a bowl or take one back to the cabin, if you’d rather.”
How sweet.“Thanks. That’s super?—”
“Motherfucker!” Brooks’s voice echoes down the valley. “Fuck me.”
Hartley and I exchange a confused, but curious look as Brooks comes around the corner of the truck. His left forearm is up in the air with red blood dripping down the side.
“What happened?” I ask, gasping. The blood pools at his left elbow before drops of it splash against the mud. The sight of it makes me queasy.
“I sliced myself on the wire.” He holds it out for Hartley to inspect. “Looks pretty gnarly.”
Hartley leans his head out the door to get a better look. “Yeah, that’s deep, all right. You’re gonna need stitches to close that thing up. Hop in, and I’ll take you to Urgent Care.”
Brooks shakes his head. “Nah, Doc can fix me up.”
“Who?” Hartley asks.
I flinch, taking a step back. “What are you talking about?”
“You can stitch this closed,” Brooks says, looking at it again. “It’s notthatbad. Nothing a little thread can’t fix.”
My eyes grow wide as I peer at the cut on his forearm. It’s probably two inches long and gaping open enough to see the layers of tissue beneath the skin. I don’t know a lot about cuts, but I’d say it’s a bad one.
“I can’t stitch that closed,” I say. “Are you crazy?”
“You’re a doctor,” he says, as if he’s pointing out a medical degree hanging on a wall. “It’ll be fine.”
Did he also hit his head, and we don’t know it?
