WISHBONE (8 page)

* * * *

Julien stood beside the chicken coop, listening to the hens cackling loudly. Over the dissonance, he dialed Arlette Vandermark only to reach her voicemail. He did not want to leave an angry message, but he could not conceal his impatience.

He leaned against the wire enclosure turning his back on the coop. “Arlette,” he began, “this is Julien Grenier. I am calling you because as you must be able to hear… the chickens… they are still here at the house. You mentioned that this was to be taken care of. Now, I know we do not actually own the home until next week, but I am sincere when I tell you that I
do not
want to farm the chickens. Please call me back and tell me when the chickens will be removed from the property…please, Arlette…this is Julien.” 

He disconnected the call and returned the phone to his shirt pocket. He watched the chickens for another moment. Once again, the coop was immaculate and tidy. Feeders were full to the brim and watering trays filled with fresh water. It was clear that someone was taking care of the birds. He could not imagine Arlette Vandermark raking chicken crap and straw each morning, scrubbing feeders or even collecting eggs. He would have to wait until she returned his call to ask; though who was playing caretaker to the birds was the least of his concerns. For now, his main objective was to inspect Randall’s work. 

Arlette had recommended her nephew, a contractor, to make the necessary repairs to the barn loft. Julien spent some time on the phone with Randall explaining what he wanted done to the second-story room. They emailed drawings and exact details back and forth until eventually construction began. Today would be the first time Julien would see the young contractor’s completed effort.

Inside the barn, Julien had a good look around. On the ground floor, there were new, black carriage house light fixtures and a replaced double switch beside the door. He flipped both, illuminating the scattered mess of abandoned debris. He should have asked Randall to haul away the trash, but it had not occurred to him at the time. He would ask him about the task when they met to finalize the bill. 

He heard the movers behind him in the distance and glanced back out the door. The two men were lowering his desk from the truck. They would be heading for the barn in minutes.   Julien gave the new ladder a shake. Its construction was rock solid and quite beautiful; newly shellacked knotted pine in a golden, almost ruddy, hue. He gave it one last shake and clambered up the rungs fearlessly. As he came over the loft’s edge, a soft glow of yellow light illuminated the large area. The loading doors were shut tight, blocking the sun. He walked around inspecting Randall’s crafting. The dust and filth were gone, leaving only a polished floor and fresh coat of clear varnish on the walls. Julien was awestruck by the room. The loft was everything he asked for and more, down to the strategically placed power strips, a long worktable, a sturdy wooden basket for hauling items up on the newly replaced pulley, and several sets of shelves. He could not have asked for better workmanship. He opened the loading doors to find the movers below. K.B. was removing the desk from a large dolly. Julien sized up the scene looking down from above, then examined the new pulley system. He reached out and gave the mechanism a hardy tug. Randall had joked it would hoist a VW Bug with ease and after giving the hook a feel, Julien thought he might not have been exaggerating. Looking up at the overhang, the heavy gauge bolts and reinforcements looked about as solidly attached as could be.

That’s not going anywhere.
 

Julien lowered the hook to the movers who secured the desk with heavy burlap straps. 

“We’re coming up now, Mr. Grenier.” Big Eddie gave the universal “stay put” hand signal, not wanting Julien to attempt to haul the desk on his own; Julien had no plans to try. Both movers had spent the better part of the day speaking to him loudly, using hand gestures and communicating as though he were deaf.

Julien found humor in their ignorance and didn’t bother to let them in on the fact that he had been speaking English as his predominant language for the past twenty-one years.

The two men entered the barn. 

In the loft, K.B. glanced around. “Yeah, this is the shit, man. Wish I had someplace like this at my house.”

“Fuckin’A… Get the hell away from the wife and kids,” Eddie agreed. Their hardy laughter echoed throughout the barn. 

Big Ed raised his volume once again, turning to Julien. “HE SAID IT’S VERY NICE HERE.” He nodded emphatically and flashed Julien the okay sign.

Julien could not resist, “Oh, merci beaucoup.” He leaned closer to big Ed’s towering frame and amped up his accent, “I thought he said he wants to do your wife in here.”

Neither Eddie nor K.B. was sure if they were being made fun of. Both men stood dumbfounded until Julien turned to the loading doors impatiently. The movers shrugged and got right back to work.

Within fifteen minutes, the desk was up in the loft. Julien, overlooking his fear of heights in the excitement of it all, attached the new basket to the hook and lowered the pulley back down. One haul at a time, he and the movers hoisted the entire contents of his office into place; Julien unpacking each load as the men made trips back and forth to the truck. 

“That’s the last of it,” K.B. announced while sliding a file cabinet against one wall.

Julien paid the men, but remained in the loft as they descended the ladder. He had his work cut out for him if he wanted the office completed by the time the sun went down. He stepped back, eyeing the desk. He gave it a slight push to the right and then a few inches forward until it sat perfectly in the exact center of the opening of the loading door; his chair back to the ladder; he could sit comfortably at his desk and take in the expansive view. He took a seat, feeling the smooth roll of the castors against the newly-finished floor. Smiling, he leaned back, the seat rocking gently as he folded his arms behind his head, taking it all in. 

The moving truck briefly passed through his view and he knew he and Rachael were finally alone on the property. He thought about his wife; surely busy unpacking the house. He still had frequent moments when he wondered if she might relapse. She had improved day by day, since they first came to see the home—
almost too quickly
. She was doing well for now, caught up in the moment; if she needed him she would call. He would continue in the office and leave her to her tasks. 

He had planned to look for freelance opportunities with local advertising firms in the Albany and Schenectady areas, or perhaps to start a small agency of his own. He was anxious to try out the satellite internet service that was costing him a small fortune and get his search underway. He busied himself, hooking up the computer and hoping to catch the sunset before Rachael would call for him.

By the time Julien looked up again, he had absently missed the sun disappearing behind the mountains. The loading doors exposed a dense blackness broken only by a speckling of stars decorating his lacking view. He must have been up in the loft for hours. He checked his cell phone—no text or call from Rachael. His computer was on, the cursor flashing eagerly on a stark white document. The screensaver had kicked in releasing dozens of computer-animated bubbles floating across the monitor. Behind them, three typed words, which read…

Savor the flavor

He looked at the top of the screen for a document title, but it was blank. He thought he might have inadvertently opened an old document, but he could not recall the job.

Rachael?

He had not heard a peep out of her all day. As satisfying as it was to know she was spending time alone and that his plan to relocate them to the country had, at least in part, restored her self-confidence, he suddenly found himself missing her…missing her needing him.

Don’t be an imbecile!

This is what you wanted…for life to be back to normal.
 

Julien slid his chair back. He would close the office for the night and see what Rachael was up to in the house.

Ready to leave, he grabbed his cigarettes and found Rachel peering over the edge of the loft.

Clasping his hand over his heart he exclaimed, “You scared the shit out of me!”

Rachael smirked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Well you did. I didn’t hear you were coming. Say something when you walk in.” 

She quickly changed the subject. “So this is the man cave?” She came up over the ledge.

Julien hurried to take her hand. “Be careful. Look at how high we are.” He steadied her at the top. Rachael looked down over the edge fearlessly and Julien offered his dive bomb whistle for effect.

“Wow, Jules, it’s incredible.” She walked around admiring Randall’s work.

Julien walked up beside her. “He did an amazing job,” he agreed. “It’s perfect, no?”

“More than perfect. Wow.” She caressed a shellacked beam feeling the smooth wood and scanning the room thoroughly. She moved to the loading open loading doors.

“Be careful!” Julien rushed to grab her arm.

“What? I’m fine.” She stepped to the very edge, only one hand holding the frame. She looked back at Julien standing a foot behind her. “Julien Grenier, are you afraid of heights?”

“No, but I’m not impetuous…like you.” He scooted her a few steps backward. 

“Ah
, impetuous
…good one.” She winked then walked away to peruse the length of the room.

She spun around and grinned at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t see this space first,” she said as she flipped on the stereo perched on one of the newly built shelves. Sam Cooke’s melodic voice filled the enormous barn with
Cupid
.

“Ah, but you have already chosen your woman cave.” He met her halfway across the room and took her hand, giving her a slow turn then taking her into his arms to dance slowly. “With the sink, remember?”

She pressed up against him, following his lead and taking on the rhythm of the song.

Her eyes closed, her cheek resting against his shoulder, she spoke softly, continuing their conversation, “…and it’s all set up…the mudroom…my studio. I want to show you.”

They continued to dance for a few moments until the song ended and he gave her one final twirl before closing down the office for the night.

“Let’s go,” he suggested while leading her to the ladder where he stepped over the edge first, Rachael following his lead.

Before Julien could shut the barn lights, the ducks appeared from beside the pond, scampering noisily in their direction. Standing in a row, they begged for their meal. Julien went back in for their feed.

“I guess I better get in the habit of this,” he said as he filled the coffee can resting in one of the feed barrels outside the coop door. The ducks frantically gobbled as he emptied the food along the ground.

Rachael bent down, petting one of the large white birds. “They’re so beautiful.” A curious duckling, no longer a tiny tuft of yellow, but merely a half-sized twin of its parents, came to her side then darted away before she could touch it.

“Now they’ve made me hungry. Did you make anything?” he inquired, realizing they had not arranged for their first meal in the new home. “We didn’t think about that, did we? I guess ordering Chinese is out of the question up here.”

“We have some canned stuff I unpacked from the city. Soda, soup, coffee…oh, and the eggs.”

“Eggs?”  He asked as he closed the barn doors. He put his arm around her and they walked in the direction of the house.

“A huge basket of them. Someone must have brought it in and left them for us… from the chickens.” She pointed back to the coop.

Arlette never called me back
. 

“I called Arlette about the chickens hours ago and she never called me back.”

“Oh? I hope she’s alright.”

“Alright? She’s avoiding me because I told her to get the chickens out of here.”

Rachael stopped walking and stepped in front of him with a disapproving look. “What’s the big deal about the chickens? You’ve been on about them every chance you get since day one.”

Julien’s eyes grew wide. “Do you want to clean the coop every day?”

Rachael delivered a playful punch to his gut, hoping to lighten the mood before his temper would escalate. She realized that, for whatever reason, Julien did not find the chickens a laughing matter.

Julien’s expression softened and he smiled. “You feel good today, no?”

Rachael grinned at him and nodded.

He held her hand. “I feel good today too.”

* * * *

Inside, Rachael scrambled some of the fresh eggs, finding a frying pan in a marked box and a can of cooking spray. Julien washed up and took a good look around the house. Rachael had accomplished more than he expected she could. The only room left to unpack downstairs was the kitchen, and upstairs, the master bath and guest room. He would help her in the morning; between them they would knock out the remainder of the house by noon.

Over a dinner of scrambled eggs and whole-wheat crackers, they talked about their new home as they sipped some wine. They planned a trip to the grocery store for the following day, which would also give them a chance to take a tour around Kings Hollow.

“Jules, do you think if we invite them up, Lily and Matt would visit?” she asked.

“Let’s get settled in and I’ll give Matt a call next week. I’ll invite them for the weekend.”

Rachael poured coffee and Julien disappeared upstairs to light the fireplace in the master bedroom.  His mind began to wander. He wanted desperately to make love to her but he was afraid to trigger her anxiety. Tonight was the first time he thought Rachael might have been willing, but it had been so long, and such a difficult topic for her; he no longer knew how to approach her or safely initiate intimacy. He played out the scenario in his mind, but he could not dismiss the idea that she would surely be thinking about the rape. In the end, he theorized that until she initiated the act herself, attempting to make love to Rachael would be a selfish and a potential disaster. Eventually she would come to him, but even then, he would wonder if anything he did would make her think of
him.