Fishtail Redman, Chapter 9: Snowbound

  

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

Bodean’s hillside garage was a perfect hideaway where his wandering cousin could rest and recuperate. Situated a short distance from the main house, which sat with a corner of its front porch literally touching the asphalt. On a rural route that ran right through Grafton. A single, propane shop-heater kept the space warm enough. Though its concrete floor stayed perpetually cold. Enough room existed between the buildings, that a measure of privacy was afforded. But when a meteorological event crossed their continent, from west to east, the physical divide seemed to grow. As ice and snow blanketed the region, access to the square hut became blocked.

 

Parker had been busy rebuilding the Shovelhead motor of his Harley-Davidson chopper for a few weeks. But when the air turned oddly stale and still inside his cubicle, a sense of being trapped took hold. He could hear the howl of a winter gale, sweeping across the river valley. Yet from within the confined space, there was only a slight indication that another world lay beyond its walls. Piles of frozen precipitation had insulated the structure like an igloo. He had to force the narrow, side door open for a peek outside. Through the swirl of white flakes, he could see the outline of a long, meandering ridge above his vantage point. And occasionally, patches of open sky which were gray and foreboding. But beyond those indications of an environment blighted by seasonal conditions, there was little else. He felt isolated as if some magic spell had transported him to Alaska. The yield of this separation was a complete freedom to continue his work, however. There were no interruptions from relatives or neighbors with good intentions.

 

He had almost closed the entryway when a cascade of icicles dropped from the roofline. This unexpected crash made him jerk sideways, and look in the opposite direction. Against the colorless monotone, he spied a figure struggling along through the harsh environment. Someone bundled up in striped, black fleece and spandex. Like a snowboard enthusiast, or skiing fanatic, who had lost their way. He had to blink several times, to be certain that it was not some kind of illusion. Perhaps a trick of the muted light.

 

Krista Pearl was limber from her employment as a cashier, barmaid, and dancer, around the city. She navigated the hillside course with skill and confidence, despite the blustery weather.  But when the open doorway appeared, she did not hesitate to abandon her trek. Curses spilled from her ruby lips. She fell inside eagerly, scattering an accumulation of frosty debris around the one-room shop.

 

“Damn, it’s friggin’ nuts out there, boy! I figured y’all would be stayin’ with yer cuz and his kin, in their shack. But Bodean said ya were down here wrenchin’ on that motorcycle. Don’t ya ever get tired of lookin’ at it?”

 

A grin of amusement caused his eyes to roll.

 

“Get tired of it? Well no, ma’am. That bike has treated me better than any of my ex-wives did, or most of our family. Though that isn’t something to brag about, I suppose...”

 

The middle-aged woman stripped off her outer layer of insulation. More snow scattered on the concrete under her boots.

 

“I figured y’all might want a little company here, I know most people in this town kinda keep to themselves when there’s a stranger in their midst. I mean, yer cuz has vouched fer ya and all that, but I reckon it ain’t like bein’ at home, wherever that was, right?”

 

Parker shrugged and sat on a shipping crate that had once held parts from a local dealership.

 

“I don’t have a home, miss. A judge in New York took care of that...”

 

Krista shivered as she stood by the propane hotspot, for warmth.

 

“Look, I don’t mean to pry in yer shit, okay? We all got our stories. I just reckoned on sayin’ hello and maybe havin’ a little drink, if yer so inclined. Call it a welcome party fer two!”

 

The tattooed loner was puzzled by her boldness. She did not seem shy about confessing her plans, openly.

 

“I don’t imbibe and work at the same time, ma’am. That’s guaranteed to cause a headache. It generally gets things screwed up. But if you want me to take a break, I guess that’ll be acceptable. Maybe a mug of Irish coffee would help burn away your chill?”

 

The truck-stop clerk brightened at this offer. Her face was still red from being exposed to the elements.

 

“That’d be a pleasure, friend! Y’all got the fixin’s fer some o’that?”

 

Her host bowed his head and spoke directly.

 

“Well, not a proper Irish coffee, maybe. There’s some stuff Bodean left here in the bottom of his workbench. A bottle of Old Grand-Dad, some Nescafe instant, and a hot plate. I can melt some snow for water. Honestly, I’m not picky, being a guest. How about you, miss?”

 

Krista stood over him, with her mouth trembling. Then, put her right hand on his shoulder.

 

“My husband was a gawdamn, effing bastard! But sometimes, when my bones ache and the nights get lonely, I still remember the good parts of our marriage. Y’all can be sure I’d never take his sorry ass back again. But now and then, ya know, I get to feelin’ empty and old. And wishin’ fer somebody just to visit my neck of the woods, and share a bit of conversation.”

 

The divorced mother pulled his face closer, till it nestled in between her ample breasts. This swift motion caused a spike in blood pressure he had not experienced in many months. He literally found it hard to breathe. Then, all his joints stiffened in reaction. He did not know how to react. A fleeting sensation of desire pecked at his mind with guilt, and fear. More than anything else, he wanted to be back on the road.

 

“I umm, appreciate your situation, ma’am. We’ve all been there, I think. Minds wander sometimes, and emotions get the best of us, eventually. Maybe that’s why I like to keep moving. When I have time to sit and think, then voices start to call from all those yesterdays. It messes with my good nature. It throws me off balance. I’d rather stay in my zone, that’s a safer place to live. Like they teach you in the service, stay in your lane...”