Precious and Fragile Things Read online

  She was not going to freeze, and she would have a hot bath. Gilly went to the kitchen and filled the largest pots she could find with water. Also the kettle. While the water boiled, she sorted through the last few fresh items in the refrigerator. She took an apple and some cheese and went to the pantry for a box of wheat crackers.

  By the time she’d finished peeling and slicing the apple and cubing the cheese, the water was boiling. Grabbing a set of oven mitts, she carried the pots to the cast iron bathtub and poured them in. She refilled the containers and set them to boil again.

  Todd watched her with undisguised interest. “You going to fill up the whole tub that way?”

  Gilly put her snack on a plate and sat at the kitchen table to wait for the water. “Yes.”

  He snorted. “It’ll get cold before you’re done.”

  She didn’t think so. The tub would hold in most of the heat, and she hoped that by the time the tub had enough water in it for soaking, the boiling water would have become cool enough to bathe in but not too cold. And if it wasn’t, it would be simple enough to add some cold water to it.

  When she dumped the second set of pots, the tub water was still steaming. However, she needed more water, and faster. Gilly dug around in the bottom cupboards while the next batch of water heated. She found several large, deep stockpots. They were incredibly heavy when she finally got them filled, and she didn’t try to put them on the stove. She put them on the woodstove.

  “You’re wasting good propane,” Todd told her.

  Gilly shrugged, an echo of him, not worried now that he’d told her there was enough propane to last until spring. “I need a bath. I want a bath.”

  She ate the rest of her food and took another set of pots to the bathroom. The water in the tub had cooled considerably, but was still luxuriously warm. The pots on the woodstove began to boil next.

  Gilly lugged gallon after gallon of boiling water to the tub. She burned her wrists and hands when the water slopped over the sides, and she hurt her back lifting the heavy pots. But she did it.

  When she finally shed her clothes and sank up to her chin in the water, she was sure she’d caused herself permanent injury. Every part of her body throbbed and ached even worse than after she’d wrecked the truck. To finally feel clean, though…well, she thought the pain was worth it.

  Water had always soothed her. She preferred showers to baths, usually. She loved the way the hot water made steam and pounded down all around her, blocking out the noise of a whining child or the phone or any other of a dozen disturbances. This wasn’t as nice as a shower, but it was wonderful all the same.

  Floating. Gilly was floating. She’d drifted off to sleep, letting her body slip almost completely beneath the water. Only her face stuck out, just far enough for her to breathe. She didn’t dream, wasn’t far enough down for that. Gilly simply floated.

  Sweet summer corn.

  She didn’t know why that came into her mind, but now it was all she could think about. Corn on the cob slathered with butter and salt, fresh from the farm stand. The last time she’d eaten corn, she’d bought it from the side of the road. A young Mennonite girl, hair in long braids, her feet bare, had taken the money and counted sufficient change in her head faster than Gilly could’ve done with a calculator. She’d taken it home and boiled it to eat with burgers on the grill, sliced tomatoes from the garden and home-sliced French fries she’d seasoned with sea salt and fresh-ground pepper.

  Gilly’s mouth watered as she drifted in the bath, eyes closed. Thinking of summer. Heat. Her stomach rumbled.

  Gilly’s mother had loved sweet corn. Even in the worst times, when she insisted all she could drink was cola—heavily laced with rum, but nobody was supposed to know it—her mother could be tempted to eat sweet corn. At the end it was all she would eat. Her mother had loved it so much Gilly sometimes felt she should hate it just to be ornery, be different, or because remembering how much her mother had loved it was too painful.

  But Gilly didn’t hate it. She wanted some, right now, even though it was out of season and she wasn’t at home. She was…someplace else, far away, craving something she couldn’t have.

  The water cooled, and her body protested. Gilly left the haze of sleep to which she’d so gratefully succumbed, and opened her eyes. And screamed.

  Todd stood over her. How long had he been watching? Gilly scrambled upright, sloshing water over the side of the tub, wetting the legs of his jeans. Her hands were inadequate for the task, but she tried futilely anyway to cover herself.

  He stepped back, expression unreadable. “I thought you drowned. I thought you were dead.”

  “Go away!” Gilly cried, hunching forward to protect her body from his emotionless eyes.

  “Get out of the tub now, Gilly.” Todd left the bathroom.

  There would be no more peace for her here. Gilly shivered from more than the chilly air as she got out of the water and dried herself. Her fingers had gone pruney, but her stomach rumbled. She could still taste the memory of sweet corn, but it had gone sour on her tongue.

  32

  “No more eggs for breakfast. These are the last.” Gilly cracked the last two into the challah dough.

  Todd stubbed out his cigarette into the puddle of tea in is saucer until Gilly, with a sigh, pushed an ashtray from he cupboard across the table at him. “It’s okay. I like your read.”

  “Thanks.” The word slipped off her tongue far more easily than it would have even a few days before.

  She finished kneading the dough and left it on the counter o rise, then went to the sink and cleaned her hands with a cant palmful of soap, mindful of the emptying bottle. Outside, the winter sun glared brilliantly off the still-immense piles of now. No sign of any melting, and the temperatures hadn’t dropped so none seemed likely anytime soon.

  Gilly let out a long, hard sigh.

  Todd got up to put his dishes in the sink. He leaned against he counter and stretched, cracking his neck. “I need a new pillow.”

  The ghost of a grin painted Gilly’s mouth. “Let me run out and get you one.”

  Todd didn’t laugh. He rolled his head on his neck with a grimace and a bit of a groan. “It always kinks up on me like this after a while. It’s from a car wreck I was in. Feels like someone stabbed me with an ice pick.”

  Gilly raised her eyebrows at him and held up her hands, wiggling the fingers. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Wow. Ha-ha-ha. You know you ain’t as funny as you think you are?” Todd rubbed the junction of his shoulder and neck with his fingertips.

  Gilly brushed past him and went to the living room, restless. She’d read all the magazines and finished the crossword puzzles. She picked up one of the magazines anyway and sat down with it.

  “Will you rub it for me?”

  “What? No!” Gilly shrank away from Todd, who’d suddenly appeared before her.

  “Please?” He grimaced again. “It really hurts bad.”

  He sank to the floor in front of her and sat cross-legged. He let his head hang down, and the thick dark hair parted, exposing his neck. A downy line of dark fuzz dusted his skin there.

  Gilly stared at him but didn’t touch him. “I can’t do that. I’m…I’m not any good at massage.”

  He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “I seen you kneading that bread. Just do the same on my neck. C’mon. Right there.”

  He waited, and Gilly faltered. She did not want to touch him. And yet, she was tired of being the growling dog. Her defenses were slipping in the face of Todd’s constant forgiving spirit.

  Gilly put her hands on Todd’s shoulders and felt the knots there. “You’re really tense.”

  “No shit.”

  She spread out her fingers, resting them lightly on the bare skin of his neck. His hair brushed her knuckles. His arms pressed against the inside of her calves.

  Todd let out a low, guttural groan as she began the massage. She faltered a moment at the sound but then continued, working the muscle