Page 43 of Homestead

Jimmy eats a lot, and he comes into the house dirty and sweaty. When something disagrees with his digestion, he’ll sometimes stink up the whole house with one fart. He’ll apologize and try not to laugh as I run around opening windows even though it’s freezing cold outside. He often brings me things like rabbits or fish that I then have to skin, debone, clean, and prep. He makes more work and fills up the house one way or another. But he’s also company. He’s never turned into much of a talker. He doesn’t share his deep feelings or tell me stories about his past. But I’m used to him being around.

And it’s lonely and a little bit creepy all alone in this cabin without him.

If the asteroid had never hit Earth, I would have gone to college and started a career and probably lived alone for a while before finding a boyfriend and getting married. But that never happened for me, and in my twenty-three years, I’ve never once been on my own.

Jimmy taught me to shoot my little pistol, and he makes me practice several times a week. I’m better equipped to defend myself than I used to be, but I still feel small and helpless when compared to all the strong, competent women around here.

I like it better when he’s here.

I make myself a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of milk for lunch and then fish for a couple of hours, catching one decent-size trout that will be more than enough for dinner for me and also for Jimmy if he makes it back. I keep it in the shade outside in a bucket of cold water so it stays good, and then I go back inside to clean up.

I read for a few minutes before falling asleep on the couch. When I wake up, I’m confused and disoriented, so I go outside to check the sun to see what time it is. Probably not even three yet.

I’ve got nothing to do, and it’s way too early to hope for Jimmy to appear yet.

After wandering around outside and giving the pigs and chickens a little extra food they ask for but really don’t need, I finally decide to wash my hair.

I usually do that on Saturdays, but it’s sunny today and not too cold. At least it will give me something to do.

I wash my hair in the kitchen sink, comb it out, towel-dry it, and then go outside to sit in the sun. It’s a little chilly with a wet head, but my hair always looks and feels better when it dries outside.

When the sun sinks behind the trees, I return inside, then build up the fire in the woodstove so I can warm up and so it will be ready to cook dinner.

I’ll be having fish either way. Maybe Jimmy will come back soon.

A sound from outside makes me jump up and run to the door, but it’s a young, skinny deer crossing over the gravel driveway. She looks lonely. She should have a herd.

Jimmy won’t like it, but I feel so bad for the poor little thing that I throw her a piece of bread. She snatches it up and chews it as she stares at me with big eyes. When she’s done, she makes her way back into the woods.

I return to the couch.

It’s past dinnertime. I should go ahead and cook up the fish. Jimmy probably worked late, so he’ll eat with his parents and then stay the night. Why wouldn’t he? It’s a hike back here, and he’ll be tired after a long day of manual labor.

It will be warm and cozy and cheerful at the farm. Greta always has much more food stocked up than us, and she’s a better cook.

I would do the same in his place. He’ll know I’m just fine here at home.

I’m pushing myself up off the couch when the front door bursts open and Jimmy’s familiar scent and size and presence are suddenly filling the room.

“You’re home!” I straighten up, breaking into a smile.

“Yeah. You doin’ okay?” He’s a mess. His skin and clothes are covered with a mix of dirt and sweat. His hair and beard are stringy, and his shoes are caked in mud.

“I’m fine. I was thinking you might stay at your parents’ tonight since it’s so late.”

“Thought about it but wanted to come home.” He’s been giving me a close once-over, but now his expression starts relaxing. “It was a crap day.”

“Oh no. Just hard work, or did something bad happen?” Since he seems stuck in the entryway, I pull off his jacket and then crouch down to untie his shoes and hold them as he steps out of them one by one. I take off his ankle holster and the small pistol he keeps in it.

“Nothin’ real bad. Just nothin’ went smooth. Damn tiller kept breaking.” He looks down at the dirt and dried mud on my clean wood floor. “Shit, I’m making a mess.”

“Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you get out of those clothes and wash up? I’ll start making dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No. I was waiting to see if you’d come.” I give him a little push toward the bedroom since he still seems stuck. “But I’m hungry and you must be starving, so go wash up and we can eat.”

Jimmy does as I say without further discussion. I’m pleased and invigorated as I warm up the pan, melt some butter in it, and then sauté the fish fillets I prepared earlier, slicing some bread to eat with them.

---