“I don’t think Caleb will ever come out of that bathroom. Maybe we should open the front door.”
“Nah. He’ll figure it out. I can’t imagine that he’s the type of guy to ask for help, even when he needs it.”
“Now who has the mean streak?” she teased. “But you were right about one thing.” We had finally controlled our hysterics and were seated with our backs against the cabin.
“What’s that?”
“He definitely has a small . . . you know what.” Even in the dark I could see her wide grin.
“Yes, he most definitely has little-dick syndrome,” I said in a pseudo-serious doctor voice.
“Did you learn that in medical school?”
“It’s weird. For once in my life I don’t want to think about medical school, or being a doctor or surgery or hospitals. This is nice. Sitting here with you. I’ve never seen this many stars.”
She looked up. “Yes, they dulled for me after I lost Jake.” She looked up at me. “Do you know what I mean?”
I nodded.
“But they seem a bit brighter tonight.”
She was finally talking with ease about Jake and I didn’t want her to stop. “Was he a lot of fun?”
“Yeah. Jake had a real hardworking serious side to him, but he could be funny and silly, too. He wasn’t an educated guy; he had a rough childhood and a sensitive ego.”
“How do you mean?” I knew exactly what she meant but I wanted to keep her talking.
“I don’t know, I guess now that I’m a little older I can look back and see that he had some real flaws.” She looked away and I could tell the words pained her to say. “I don’t mean that he wasn’t a good man but he couldn’t really keep his pride inside. He could be boastful and arrogant. I thought in the beginning that he was just cocksure and trying to impress me, but after the accident his true colors showed through and he wasn’t very good to me.”
“That’s really terrible, Ava. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Maybe I deserved it.”
“Why in the world would you say that?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know if I ever belonged here. Now I haven’t seen my mom in five years, my brother is off in New York living his life, and here I am. All because I followed a cowboy to Montana and got married,” she said with a little laugh.
“Why can’t you go to Spain and live with your mother?”
“I was born here. I’ve never even been there. That’s my parents’ country, not mine. I don’t really have a place that’s mine, I guess. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’d like a swig of that if you wouldn’t mind handing it to me,” she said, pointing to the whiskey.
I handed her the bottle. She took a big gulp and then sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t really understand why you’re here. I mean, I know your uncle’s here but why would you want to leave your fancy life in L.A. to come out here and shovel shit?”
I laughed. “I’m not sure one would call what I had a fancy life. I never wanted anything more than to become a doctor, and that kind of consumed me. Everything for my career fell into place perfectly.” I paused for a long time, searching for the right words, but nothing eloquent came to me. “I fucked up and basically caused a young girl’s death. I’m probably going to be sued for malpractice, as well as the hospital. I feel terrible about it.”
“Do you feel more terrible about being sued or for the girl’s death?”
It was a question that should have been offensive but wasn’t. It hit a nerve, but only because I questioned the same thing myself. Her eyes were wide, watching me intently. “I feel terrible for the girl, the life lost, the family that’s mourning her. But up until this week I was also terrified that I would lose my job. When I got home the day it happened, I realized I had nothing but my work. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My father sent me here.”
“To clear your head?”
“Something like that, although if I know my father he might have sent me out here more to deflate my head than anything.”
“Oh.”
“It might have worked because the job seems a lot less significant now. I feel terrible for the girl and her family. That’s it.”
She nodded, smiling with compassion.
We carried the cage back to Ava’s cabin and as we set it down, the door swung open, gouging the fat part of my palm near my thumb.
“Shit.” I held my hand, gripping it tightly.
“What happened?”
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong, Nate?”
“I cut my hand.”
“Why weren’t you wearing the gloves? Here, let me see,” she said, pulling me inside of the cabin. I didn’t have time to look around; I followed her straight to the sink. She turned the water on, forced my hand under it, and left, returning a moment later with the bottle of whiskey.
My hand was gushing. I was trying to act tough, but frankly my hand was pulsing so hard that I couldn’t stop gritting my teeth.
“Gosh, you’re really bleeding,” she said. She unscrewed the whiskey, took a swig, and then held it to my mouth. Placing her other hand on the back of my neck to brace me, she tilted the bottle up so I could take a sip. Her small hands were warm and soft but strong.