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Authors: Kate Campbell
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covering her backside. “Let’s wash your hair,” she said and Lizette rolled over. “Dunk your head and get your hair wet.”
She reached for the shampoo. “OK, now lean back. Rest on my arm and lay your head back. I’ve got you. Relax.”
She cradled Lizette’s shoulders in her left arm and lathered with her right. “Close your eyes so you don’t get soap in them.”
Marian reached for a towel and wiped around Lizette’s eyes. “OK, hold your breath. Go under. I’ll wash the soap out. Ready? Under you go!”
Lizette sputtered when she came up for air. Water ran off the end of her nose. Marian gently wiped it away. “Lean back some more. I’m going to give you a vinegar rinse. It’ll make your hair shiny.”
She poured the solution from the pitcher, slowly covering Lizette’s head from forehead to the nape of her neck. Sensing a presence, Marian glanced over her shoulder as she held Lizette. Greg was standing in the doorway, big-eyed, leering.
“Get the hell out of here, pervert!” Marian said it with enough force to cause Greg to smartly shut the bathroom door.
She helped Lizette out of the tub and toweled her off, handed her a second towel for her hair. Digging in the canvas bag, Marian found only bits of cloth and paper, some bright colored scarves, a heavy sweater and a picture frame, a stack of sketch books. “Don’t you have anything to sleep in?”
Lizette shrugged and Marian pushed up from the floor and headed to her father’s bedroom, mostly undisturbed since his death more than a year ago. She flipped on the overhead light where she’d nursed him to the end and pulled a soft flannel shirt from a hanger in his closet. She dug some thermal underwear bottoms out of his dresser drawer, held them up to check the size and decided they’d have to do. In the bathroom, she helped Lizette pull the oversized clothes on and bent her at the waist to finish drying her hair. The temperature outside had dropped toward freezing. Marian wanted her bundled up.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“In the cabin,” Lizette said.
“I thought so.” Marian frowned. “There’s no heat down there. No wood. It’s musty, closed up since you left last October. Probably varmints in there now, too. You can sleep here if you want. It’s warm. Greg won’t mind.”
“I just want to be alone,” Lizette said flatly. “I’ve had a lot of people lately.”
“OK. Get some rest.” Marian stroked Lizette’s cheek and she offered her a weak smile. “I’ll check on you, but I’m making rounds in the morning. Looking in on my mothers. Should have some births in a few weeks. Want anything from town? Greg wants beer and smokes. I’ll pick them up while I’m out.”
Lizette shook her head and gathered her bag from the bathroom floor, hugged Marian, smirked at Greg as she passed through the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight from the hook by the back door and headed out.
EIGHT
SETTING HER BAG ON THE CABIN’S NARROW PORCH , Lizette felt along the top of the window frame, found the padlock key, popped the lock and threw the hasp, pushed the door open, shined the flashlight around. The room was the same as she’d left it last fall. She’d sensed the beast of winter panting hoarfrost in the night and fled to Seattle, sick of her work and the self-imposed confinement.
She saw her large canvases were still tipped against the wall, the way she’d left them, their faces turned modestly from view. Paints and brushes lay scattered on the rickety bookshelf in the corner. She ran her hand across the rough plank table, rubbed the gritty dust between her fingertips, smelled them, breathed the particulates of home, sneezed. She wiped her eyes and arranged candles in rusted jar lids. She lit them with a wooden match, coaxed the seared wicks to catch fire. The dull yellow light cast a circle around the table, but didn’t penetrate into the corners of the room.
Along the opposite wall, a narrow camp cot sagged
She reached for the shampoo. “OK, now lean back. Rest on my arm and lay your head back. I’ve got you. Relax.”
She cradled Lizette’s shoulders in her left arm and lathered with her right. “Close your eyes so you don’t get soap in them.”
Marian reached for a towel and wiped around Lizette’s eyes. “OK, hold your breath. Go under. I’ll wash the soap out. Ready? Under you go!”
Lizette sputtered when she came up for air. Water ran off the end of her nose. Marian gently wiped it away. “Lean back some more. I’m going to give you a vinegar rinse. It’ll make your hair shiny.”
She poured the solution from the pitcher, slowly covering Lizette’s head from forehead to the nape of her neck. Sensing a presence, Marian glanced over her shoulder as she held Lizette. Greg was standing in the doorway, big-eyed, leering.
“Get the hell out of here, pervert!” Marian said it with enough force to cause Greg to smartly shut the bathroom door.
She helped Lizette out of the tub and toweled her off, handed her a second towel for her hair. Digging in the canvas bag, Marian found only bits of cloth and paper, some bright colored scarves, a heavy sweater and a picture frame, a stack of sketch books. “Don’t you have anything to sleep in?”
Lizette shrugged and Marian pushed up from the floor and headed to her father’s bedroom, mostly undisturbed since his death more than a year ago. She flipped on the overhead light where she’d nursed him to the end and pulled a soft flannel shirt from a hanger in his closet. She dug some thermal underwear bottoms out of his dresser drawer, held them up to check the size and decided they’d have to do. In the bathroom, she helped Lizette pull the oversized clothes on and bent her at the waist to finish drying her hair. The temperature outside had dropped toward freezing. Marian wanted her bundled up.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“In the cabin,” Lizette said.
“I thought so.” Marian frowned. “There’s no heat down there. No wood. It’s musty, closed up since you left last October. Probably varmints in there now, too. You can sleep here if you want. It’s warm. Greg won’t mind.”
“I just want to be alone,” Lizette said flatly. “I’ve had a lot of people lately.”
“OK. Get some rest.” Marian stroked Lizette’s cheek and she offered her a weak smile. “I’ll check on you, but I’m making rounds in the morning. Looking in on my mothers. Should have some births in a few weeks. Want anything from town? Greg wants beer and smokes. I’ll pick them up while I’m out.”
Lizette shook her head and gathered her bag from the bathroom floor, hugged Marian, smirked at Greg as she passed through the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight from the hook by the back door and headed out.
EIGHT
SETTING HER BAG ON THE CABIN’S NARROW PORCH , Lizette felt along the top of the window frame, found the padlock key, popped the lock and threw the hasp, pushed the door open, shined the flashlight around. The room was the same as she’d left it last fall. She’d sensed the beast of winter panting hoarfrost in the night and fled to Seattle, sick of her work and the self-imposed confinement.
She saw her large canvases were still tipped against the wall, the way she’d left them, their faces turned modestly from view. Paints and brushes lay scattered on the rickety bookshelf in the corner. She ran her hand across the rough plank table, rubbed the gritty dust between her fingertips, smelled them, breathed the particulates of home, sneezed. She wiped her eyes and arranged candles in rusted jar lids. She lit them with a wooden match, coaxed the seared wicks to catch fire. The dull yellow light cast a circle around the table, but didn’t penetrate into the corners of the room.
Along the opposite wall, a narrow camp cot sagged
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