Page 55 of Saving Mr. Bell

Abandoning the breakfast of porridge I’d barely touched, I went over to the Christmas tree. I still hadn’t decorated it, determined to wait for Rudolf. I reached out and ran my finger over the reindeer ornament Rudolf had hung there. I missed him. I missed everything about him. His laugh. His scent. His teasing. The way his hair was permanently in his eyes.

The last week had been torture, everything in the cabin reminding me of him. The bed we’d slept in together. The sofa where we’d first been intimate. The piano we’d played. The table where Rudolf had tricked me into playing strip poker and I’d confided in him about what a shit show my marriage had been.

Feeling like the walls were pressing in on me, I struggled into my boots and coat and stood outside on the porch. Which direction? Not East. That was where I’d chased Rudolf on that first day when he’d been intent on escaping, and where we’d cut the tree down. Not South. That was where we’d found the treehouse and watched the wolf cubs. Not North. That was where the hill where we’d gone sledging lay. Which left only one direction where Rudolf hadn’t left his imprint. The river it was, then. While the snow was no longer deep, it hadn’t melted altogether, lending my surroundings that pretty winter postcard effect.

Once I reached the river, I watched the current carry away twigs and leaves. It was the twenty-first today, meaning it would be Christmas in four day’s time. Was I really going to spend ithere alone, tortured by the memory of a man who clearly wasn’t coming back? We’d had great sex; Rudolf wasn’t a good enough actor to have faked it to that degree. But perhaps for him, that’s all it had been, and I’d been naïve to believe it was more.Just like you thought you and Bruno would last when you married him.Yeah, I wasn’t the best judge when it came to relationships.

I lowered myself to a large, flat rock that provided a perfect seat, ten minutes passing in silent contemplation before I reached a decision. A week was long enough to wait. I’d return to the cabin, I’d pack my stuff, and I’d drive to the airport. I wasn’t sure where I’d go after that, but that wasn’t something I needed to decide right now. Somewhere hot, maybe. Where I could lie on the beach and pretend it wasn’t Christmas.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to stare at the screen.

Rudolf:Hey!

Seven days of silence and I got, hey. It should have annoyed me. Yet, the warmth in my chest spoke of anything but annoyance. Wherever he was, at least he’d thought of me.What if this is him telling you thanks for the good times, but that was it?Well, there was only one way to find out if that was the case.

Arlo:Hey yourself.

Worried the conversation might end there like our last text exchange, I quickly typed out another message.

Arlo:How are you?

Rudolf:I’m good. Really good, actually. Life is back on track.

What did that mean?Just ask him if he’s coming back?What’s the worst that can happen?That was easy to answer. He could say no.And then at least you’ll know and you can get on with your life and stop lingering here like a lovelorn fool.

Rudolf:Is this like some sort of tribute to Goldilocks?

Had he sent that to the wrong person? A photo loaded slowly, the image a bowl with porridge in. Wait! That was my bowl. The one I’d abandoned because I didn’t have any appetite. Which meant…

Rudolf:Or are you re-enacting the Marie Celeste? Because it feels like a bit like that. You know, abandoned building but with signs that someone was here not too long ago. I was tempted to stick my finger in the porridge and see if it was still warm, but I managed to resist.

Arlo:You’re here!

Rudolf:Duh!. Where are you?

I half fell off the rock. In my haste to clamber to my feet, I skidded forward on a patch of snow, narrowly avoiding tumbling into the river. “Try not to kill yourself, you idiot,” I chided as I righted myself.

Arlo:On my way back. Wait there. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be ten minutes. Fifteen at most.

Rudolf:I’ll be waiting.

I’d never cursed as much at anything as I did at the snow on my way back, the stupid white stuff curtailing all my efforts to set a new land/speed record. When the cabin came into sight, my hopes of seeing Rudolf standing in the doorway looking out for me, as eager to see me as I was to see him, were dashed when it was firmly shut, just as I’d left it. Probably to keep the heat in. There was another car parked behind mine, a four-wheel drive. Rental, I assumed, unless Rudolf had splashed out.

I completed the last few meters in a run, snow be damned, before flinging the cabin door open. A jeans and T-shirt clad Rudolf, hair as wild as ever, and his feet bare, leaned against the kitchen counter watching the kettle boil. He turned his head as I exploded through the door, his lips twitching at the manner of my arrival. “Ah, there you are. Perfect timing. Kettle’s just boiled.”

“You came back!” My coat and gloves proved uncooperative as I hastened to get free of them. My boots were a little less rebellious, but not by much.

“I said I would.” Rudolf paused from pouring boiling water into two mugs. “Ah! You didn’t believe me. You thought I was just saying that.”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” I shook my head, my thoughts a mad whirl with Rudolf right in front of me and looking good enough to eat. “I don’t know. Not at first, but then you didn’t text, you didn’t call, you didn’t—”

“Write a letter or send a pigeon.” He grimaced. “Yeah, I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I had this crazy notion of being back before you’d noticed I’d left, like in a day or two. But it didn’t work out like that.” He aimed a look of accusation my way. “You didn’t call either.”

“No.”

He lifted his chin. “Why not?”

“Because… I don’t know.”

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