Shelf Life (20 page)

chapter thirty-five

N
ow it’s my turn to blush.

“I always thought I’d be your first, but I can tell someone beat me to it. I don’t know whether to
smack the skanky bitch or thank her.” At that, we both burst into uncomfortable laughter. She reaches up and lightly touches my face with her fingertips, her expression serious again. “Thank you for making the third time the charm. That was incredible, mostly because it was you.”

“I’m number three, huh?” When Lindsey nods, I take her hand and place it over my heart, which still isn’t quite back to normal. “You’re the only one who’s ever been in here.” She smiles, laces her hands in my hair, and pulls me down for a kiss that takes my breath away with its sweetness. Not rushed, not hungry, just slow and smoldering—a late summer bonfire. The sweat hasn’t dried from the first time when we come together again. Her head tilts back and she moans. “Open your eyes,
Linds. Look at me.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” When she finally surfaces enough to look me in the eyes, something shifts. I swear to God there’s no one else in the world but the two of us. “It’s you and me, got it?” She nods. I bend down to kiss her at the same time I push in deep. She gasps, eyes rolling into the back of her head. I thought that only happened in movies and books, but damn if I didn’t just see it for myself. I press my forehead to hers as we slowly climb together.

When it’s over, we both realize how much time has passed and that someone’s bound to come looking for us soon. I hand her the granny panties I’ve come to love, and she makes a face.

“What?”

“I’m, uh, a little squishy. It’s going to be gross when I put these back on.”

And that’s when it hits me.

We didn’t use protection.

If I ask if she’s on the pill, it’s going to ruin the moment and turn me into an asshole.

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

“Nothing. Here, use this to clean up.” I hand her my handkerchief. I’ve been using it to wipe sweat from my forehead most of the day, but it’s the best I can do. When she hands it back, I tell her to keep it.

“Why?
You afraid to touch it now? You just had your face there a couple minutes ago.”

“No, it’s just that…if my mom found that in my laundry, she’d know. It smells like you and sex, and it went badly the last time she discovered something in my pocket that didn’t belong there.”

“You
are
eighteen, you know. Almost nineteen.”

“Yeah, and I still live at home and my mom does my laundry.”

“Because you’re busy running the family’s farm. It’s all a trade-off.”

“I guess. Listen, Lindsey,
are you on the pill?”

“Nope.”
She casually pulls her shirt over head. “Is that what that constipated look on your face is all about?”

“No! I mean, maybe?”

“Relax. It’s only—” she counts on her fingers, “day eight of my cycle, so we’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Nothing’s ever one-hundred percent, but I’m not worried.”

I paste on a smile since there’s nothing I can do about it now, but my palms begin to sweat. “Well, come what may, I meant what I said about it being you and me.”

“I know, and that’s one of the reasons I love you back.”

After that, we call in the girls and she helps me milk them. With two of us, we’re done in record time. We deliver the milk to Mom then I walk her out to her car.

“The mill’s closed tomorrow, so I can be here all day if you need me. Of course, if I become a pain in the ass, just let me know and I’ll back off.”

“Shut up and come here.” One last hug and a long kiss later, she pulls out of the driveway. I watch the taillights fade into the night, grateful for her help, but mostly I’m excited to finally be able to touch her and tell her all the things I’ve bottled up for years. They say you need to look for a silver lining in bad situations. Maybe she and I are each other’s silver linings.

***

I admit it. I was wrong.

According to the crunchy, frozen grass under my boots this morning, winter is indeed coming early. Overnight, the blazing leaves have fallen to the ground, turning the once-painted landscape a drab gray. In front of me, each breath lingers in the air as a puff of white. I hope I cut enough firewood to make it through the long, unforgiving season.

Inside the barn, the girls feel it, too. Each is hunkered down into her bed of soft hay. “Good morning, ladies. Hope you were comfy last night. I think the almanacs were right for once. We’re in for an early winter, though I hope the snow holds off for a while. We’ve still got work to do, right?” They reluctantly struggle to their feet, and I know the feeling. “I hear
ya. I’d give nearly anything to be back in bed with flannel sheets pulled up to my chin…and maybe a warm body to keep me company.”

“Any particular body?”

I jump and knock the milk pail off the side of the stall. “Freaking hell, Lindsey, could you not sneak up on me?”

“Sorry.”

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.
Figured I might as well come over and be useful.”

“Cool. Wash your hands in the house then grab a pail.”

“Already washed my hands. Put me to work.”

I raise an eyebrow at her and she returns the gesture with a smirk. “You know
, if everyone else is still asleep when we finish this…” But that reminds me of something else that’s been plaguing me. “Hey, um, it’s day twenty-seven, right?”

“Somewhere around there.”

“You, uh, PMS-ing or anything?”

“Well, I wasn’t, but if you keep pestering me I might have to hit you.”

“Fair enough. I’ll start with Scarlett if you want to handle Ashley.”

We each take our places, working in the early morning silence. It feels natural, like we’ve been doing this our whole lives. Aside from camping in the back yard with Lewis when we were little, this is the first time I’ve spent these pre-dawn hours with Lindsey. It almost feels as if we spent the night together and now we’re starting our day. I love it.

The only thing keeping me from being happy is worrying about Lindsey. I mean, I meant it when I said it was the two of us against the world. I’ll stick by her no matter what happens, but if she’s…

I can’t even think the word
.

Shit, if I can’t even think or say the word, what the hell am I going to do if it happens? Mom and Dad would blow a gasket. I couldn’t even go work at the steel mill to support her. I mean, I eventually want a family, no doubt, but I’ve got to get my current one through this winter, I need my degree, and hopefully vet school after that. Where does Lindsey fit into this plan? I hope she’d wait for me or come with me to Columbus, but then what happens with her mom and Lewis? Part of me says they need to fend for themselves and stop putting so much pressure on her, but with my careless actions, I’ve done the same thing, haven’t I? I’m no better than them.

chapter thirty-six

I
t’s too fucking early and too fucking cold.

Neither the girls nor my parents care that
it’s winter break and all my friends are sleeping in, probably hung over from partying to celebrate the last of their finals. Outside, the grass crunches under my shit-kickers and the air smells of wood smoke and rotting leaves. It’s a comforting, homey smell, but there’s another smell that wasn’t there before: snow. Purple clouds darken the predawn sky. The sun won’t be up for another two hours, but I’ve lived here my whole life and I know that look and unmistakable smell. I’m too young for arthritis, yet the atmospheric pressure makes me feel the change in my bones.

Lindsey enters the barn moments after I do. Just as I have every day since our first time together in the hayloft, I watch her for signs. I won’t pressure her for answers before she’s ready to share them, but I wish she’d give me some reassurance that we’re in the clear. I even thought about stopping at a drug store in Youngstown where nobody knows me to buy her some pregnancy tests, but every time I imagine how I’d give them to her, it always ends with her throwing things at my head.

Two Saturdays ago, when we had Indian summer and the temperatures reached the middle seventies for one last time, I packed us a picnic and we ate by the creek on a large, flat rock that overlooks a set of small waterfalls. She’d smiled so much it made my heart ten times lighter. She took her hair down from her ponytail and draped it over one shoulder. Captivated by the way the sun played up the reddish highlights in her brown hair, I’d been unable to keep my hands out of it. One thing led to another and we made love again, this time much more slowly than in the hayloft, and with protection.

For one brief, unromantic millisecond, I noted with relief that her stomach and breasts were the same size as before. Then she told me she loved me. She’d said it first this time, and she repeated it over and over until I’d silenced her with a kiss that I hope conveyed how much I feel the same.

Today in the barn, we work in silence, side by side as if we’ve done this for years. She’ll have to leave for the feed mill later, but right now, I pretend this is our farm—my parents, her parents, our siblings and complications forgotten. Jay Leaher and his family are far away, we don’t have to scrounge for food, but we garden because we enjoy it and want to, not because we
have
to. In my dream, she and I work together as equals, reaping the benefits of our hard labor. I get a great job as a veterinarian, she goes to college to do whatever she wants, and we spend the rest of our time making love in our hayloft, near our stream, in the field, in the bed we share.

Down the line—
far
down the line—there are children and grandchildren who we encourage to find their own paths. We don’t shove any agenda down their throats, and we certainly don’t tell them how to think and what to believe. It’s far-fetched, but it’s something to work toward. Pretty simple, really. The American dream. Reality is that I’m up at all hours tending sick animals, running off assholes who want to kill our livestock, and defending our food and water supply from the likes of Jay Leaher.

And then there’s the weather. Across the barn, Lindsey rubs her hands together. I hate real life and I’m fucking cold.

When we’re done, she helps me deliver everything to the kitchen. Mom’s waiting with breakfast. She sets our plates in front of us, each steaming with pancakes, bacon and eggs that she prepared with love. As she putters around the kitchen pouring coffee and wiping the counter, her slippers shuffling on the hardwood floors, I suddenly have a strange urge.

Mom jumps when I wrap my arms around her from behind. “Thanks, Mom,” I whisper in her ear. “Thanks for the tough love, thanks for a million hot breakfasts, and thanks for showing me how important it is to make the best of things.”

She sniffs and turns around, wiping her eyes in the process. There are lines around her eyes and mouth, evidence of too many hours in the hot sun, but there are laugh lines there, too. I hope to collect as many as her someday. “You’re a good boy,” she says, placing a hand on my cheek. “No, you’re a good man. I can see that now. I’m proud of you. Your father is, too, though he’ll never say it.”

Mom begins separating the milk and I rinse my dishes in the sink then turn to find Lindsey with her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. She gives me a soft smile. I take her plate and rinse it, too, trying to avoid our inevitable goodbye when her shift begins at the mill. You’d think we’d be used to it by now, but something about the dark sky this morning
has me on edge. I feel the need to keep her close. Bennie seems to sense it, too. She sits at Lindsey’s feet, resting her chin on the bottom rung of the chair.

I reach my hand out to her and she slips her fingers between mine, a perfect fit if ever there was one. We don our coats in silence, shuffle outside, and I kiss her goodbye. She giggles.

“I wonder if you can freeze your lips together. You know, like sticking your tongue to a flagpole? Could we get stuck this way?”

I lick my lips. “I don’t think so, but if you want to try, I’m game. Suppose they could get pretty chapped.”

Her eyelashes flutter against her white cheeks, her summer tan long gone. “That would be a shame,” she says, “because I never want to stop kissing you.”

“That’s what I love to hear.” Our kiss is long and lingering, broken only by Bennie’s sharp barks. “Will you come over when you’re done with work?”

“Mmm, I’m not sure. I’ve been kind of tired lately and might head to bed early.”

“Oh, okay. Well, be careful.”

She narrows her eyes. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head, telling her, “Nothing, I just…I don’t know. This weather makes me uneasy and I can’t put my finger on it. I’d feel better if you were here with me.”

“Keeping an eye on me? I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Of course you can, that’s part of what I love about you. Just think about coming here tonight. You can sleep in my room and I’ll take the couch,” I tell her.

“You just want me in your bed,” she says, hooking her hand in the collar of my coat. “Don’t ever stop wanting that.”

“Never.”

She smiles and ducks into the Monte Carlo. I don’t like her driving, let alone in the winter, but I have no choice. She’s right. She can take care of herself and I’d be an asshole for pushing the issue. The old beater roars to life, shaking a little and spitting out white clouds from the exhaust. It freezes in the morning air, practically turning to ice in front of my eyes. I lift them to the sky in time to see a few lonely snowflakes fall. The sun has warmed the air just enough to let it snow.

By noon, the light dusting of snow has melted and I’m a fool for making such a big deal this morning.

“Nothing wrong with exercising a little caution,” Dad says as he limps from the kitchen to the den, a mug of coffee in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

High praise coming from him.
Quite frankly, I’m a little disturbed that he approves of my actions. Does that mean I’m becoming like him? I suppose there are worse things, but I need to be on my guard or pretty soon I’ll be wearing baseball hats high on my head and pulling my socks up to my knees, too.

I take a much-needed—and rare—nap and when I wake at three, there’s a fuzzy scraping sound coming from the front of the house. Peering out the window, I see the source though I don’t believe it. The thermometer affixed to the porch column reads forty degrees, just eight degrees above freezing and enough to turn the earlier gentle snowflakes into a cold,
pelting rain. The yard is a skating rink, and already there’s a car in a ditch across the street. A tow-truck driver’s attempting to hook the car to his winch, but he keeps losing his footing, slipping on the ice that’s formed a thin layer over the road. I’m about to go out and help when Sarah rounds the corner of the porch and throws open the door.

“About damn time you got up, jerk! Have you seen the yard?” She bends down to remove her boots, which are soaking wet. Ice crystals stick to her damp hair and her hands shake as she struggles to undo her laces.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Believe me, I wanted to, but Mom wouldn’t let me get near your room. Now that you’re the golden child, she’s all ‘
Leave Pete alone, he needs rest. Pete works so hard, he’s earned a break
.’ Whatever. You chose to do this so it’s your problem more than mine. Go take a look for yourself. Start with the well.”

With that, she stomps to the back of the house and slams the bathroom door. Not two seconds later, the water pipes groan. Sarah’s prone to exaggeration, but coupled with my earlier feeling of unease, I’m afraid what I’ll find out there.