loudly even beneath his careful feet. On warmer nights, he walked in the woods behind the house, through the neighbor’s fields. Tonight, he walked down the driveway and out onto the dirt road that would lead him, if he walked long enough, into town.
It was dark and cold out, the ground still patchy with snow from the last big storm. He walked down the long, steep driveway, wondering if he should have worn gloves, a hat, and he turned to look back up at the small house, at its paper cut-out silhouette against the bright sky behind it.
He and Elsbeth had rented this house for six years before they were able to make an offer to Buzz Nolan, their landlord. The house was small, just a two-bedroom ranch with one bath, but it belonged to them. That had to be worth something. Even when they were still just tenants, Kurt had kept it up well, making most of the repairs himself. He’d replaced the loose floorboards on the front porch, installed new windows when the sills in the original ones rotted out. He’d patched the roof and re-tiled the bathroom; he’d even upgraded the kitchen countertops a few years back. He’d caulked and snaked and plumbed. He’d painted every inch of every wall.
They’d refinanced a few years ago when the house appraised at almost twice what they’d paid for it, cashing in on a chunk of equity. He’d paid off their debts, upgraded the computer system at the salvage yard, and splurged on a real wedding ring for Elsbeth, who’d been wearing a cheap 14K gold band since their wedding day. He’d never seen her as happy as the night he took her into town for dinner at Hunan East and gave it to her in its velvet case, like he was proposing for the first time. But not even a week later, it was as though it had always been on her finger, and the gratitude and joy it had brought seemed to evaporate. It shamed him now how much he spent. It shamed him that he’d mortgaged their future for that flimsy moment of happiness. Because now they were upside down on the house, and despite the state-of-the-art computer system, the website, the salvage yard was barely surviving. And on top of all that, they had to figure out what to do about Trevor and how to keep Pop from losing his house. Christ. Even if his legs weren’t like live wires, he doubted he’d be sleeping.
He walked along the road kicking at rocks, studying the ditch that ran parallel to the road. When he got to the bend where two white crosses loomed ominous and sad, he stopped. The crosses had weathered three winters. You think he’d be accustomed to them by now, grown numb to the makeshift memorial. But each spring when they emerged from the melting snow a little more weathered for the wear, they never failed to startle him. A drunk-driving accident; two teenagers had been killed on the way home from a party out at the place where the rivers meet. Two boys, brothers. When summer turned to fall, he’d been the one who finally removed the rotting teddy bears, the deflated balloons with their sad ribbons, and the notes with their illegible Magic Marker scribblings. He hadn’t known the boys or their family, but he still considered himself the unofficial caretaker of this roadside shrine.
He climbed down the muddy embankment to the crosses and used his jacket’s cuff to wipe the dirty snow off the wood. Wind whipped across his face, stinging his eyes. He straightened the cross on the right, which was leaning awkwardly into the shoulder of the other one, and felt a pang in his gut.
Billy had called back right after he and Elsbeth got into bed. She’d been acting weird all night. First the fancy dinner. Cheesecake and wine, for Christ’s sake. She was trying too hard. Being too sweet. When the phone rang, she’d been kissing his neck and rubbing his leg over and over with her hand. It didn’t feel sincere, though; it felt like she was trying to get something from him. Something she wouldn’t name. He felt like that a lot lately: like there
It was dark and cold out, the ground still patchy with snow from the last big storm. He walked down the long, steep driveway, wondering if he should have worn gloves, a hat, and he turned to look back up at the small house, at its paper cut-out silhouette against the bright sky behind it.
He and Elsbeth had rented this house for six years before they were able to make an offer to Buzz Nolan, their landlord. The house was small, just a two-bedroom ranch with one bath, but it belonged to them. That had to be worth something. Even when they were still just tenants, Kurt had kept it up well, making most of the repairs himself. He’d replaced the loose floorboards on the front porch, installed new windows when the sills in the original ones rotted out. He’d patched the roof and re-tiled the bathroom; he’d even upgraded the kitchen countertops a few years back. He’d caulked and snaked and plumbed. He’d painted every inch of every wall.
They’d refinanced a few years ago when the house appraised at almost twice what they’d paid for it, cashing in on a chunk of equity. He’d paid off their debts, upgraded the computer system at the salvage yard, and splurged on a real wedding ring for Elsbeth, who’d been wearing a cheap 14K gold band since their wedding day. He’d never seen her as happy as the night he took her into town for dinner at Hunan East and gave it to her in its velvet case, like he was proposing for the first time. But not even a week later, it was as though it had always been on her finger, and the gratitude and joy it had brought seemed to evaporate. It shamed him now how much he spent. It shamed him that he’d mortgaged their future for that flimsy moment of happiness. Because now they were upside down on the house, and despite the state-of-the-art computer system, the website, the salvage yard was barely surviving. And on top of all that, they had to figure out what to do about Trevor and how to keep Pop from losing his house. Christ. Even if his legs weren’t like live wires, he doubted he’d be sleeping.
He walked along the road kicking at rocks, studying the ditch that ran parallel to the road. When he got to the bend where two white crosses loomed ominous and sad, he stopped. The crosses had weathered three winters. You think he’d be accustomed to them by now, grown numb to the makeshift memorial. But each spring when they emerged from the melting snow a little more weathered for the wear, they never failed to startle him. A drunk-driving accident; two teenagers had been killed on the way home from a party out at the place where the rivers meet. Two boys, brothers. When summer turned to fall, he’d been the one who finally removed the rotting teddy bears, the deflated balloons with their sad ribbons, and the notes with their illegible Magic Marker scribblings. He hadn’t known the boys or their family, but he still considered himself the unofficial caretaker of this roadside shrine.
He climbed down the muddy embankment to the crosses and used his jacket’s cuff to wipe the dirty snow off the wood. Wind whipped across his face, stinging his eyes. He straightened the cross on the right, which was leaning awkwardly into the shoulder of the other one, and felt a pang in his gut.
Billy had called back right after he and Elsbeth got into bed. She’d been acting weird all night. First the fancy dinner. Cheesecake and wine, for Christ’s sake. She was trying too hard. Being too sweet. When the phone rang, she’d been kissing his neck and rubbing his leg over and over with her hand. It didn’t feel sincere, though; it felt like she was trying to get something from him. Something she wouldn’t name. He felt like that a lot lately: like there
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