Page 31 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
It’s your own fault,I remind myself.
Nevertheless, I snap at her, because maybe it’ll be a little easier to leave Alaska if she detests me. “It’s just common courtesy to help someone who shows up at your door after a car wreck. That’s all.” Then I rush out of the room before I can see the inevitable disgust on her face at the way I’m treating her.
The worst part is, it hurts to be hated by her. Iwantto help Helene, Iwantto throw myself into her path. Every fiber of my being wants it.
Desperately.
No. Patch her up, get her a ride back into town, and be done with it.
It’s for her own good. For mine, too.
I go into the bathroom first and grab the first aid kit and a roll of adhesive bandage wrap, in case her ankle is the problem. Then I veer into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, because even if I’m trying to get rid of Helene, I can’t bear being so cruel as to notoffer her something hot to drink after she’s been out limping through the snow for who knows how long.
While the coffee’s brewing, I use my landline to call the only tow company in Ryba Harbor. I don’t own a cellphone, and the signal out here is nonexistent anyway.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ron, it’s Sebastien Montague.”
“Sebastien! I’d say I always like hearing from you, but if you’re calling this number, it’s ’cause you’re in some trouble.”
“Not me, someone else,” I say as I open the liquor cabinet and reach for a bottle of Bailey’s. I could use a shot in my coffee, and I suspect Helene could, too. “She crashed into a snowbank near my house and needs a tow and ride back to town. I know it’s a trek for you, but I’m happy to pay for the round trip.”
“Sorry, man, wish I could help you out,” Ron says. “But didn’t you see the news? Blizzard’s bearing down fast. Wasn’t even on the weather report an hour ago. Stupid fuckers over at the Weather Channel don’t know shit. Downtown’s already blanketed, and the roads out in your direction are being closed as we speak.”
“Are you serious?”
“As the dead,” Ron says. His analogies, as usual, make little sense. But his knowledge of road conditions is impeccable.
“How long till driving’s possible?” Maybe I can take Helene in my truck, and Ron can extract her car from the snowbank later.
“This storm’s gonna be a bad one, man. You might be snowed in for two, three days out there in the sticks.”
Fantastic. There go my plans for getting Helene out of my house. And for me taking that flight out of Anchorage tomorrow morning, leaving Alaska behind.
I grab a bottle of vodka off the shelf and knock back a slug, even though I’m not ordinarily a fan of plain shots of vodka. Bailey’s, however, wouldn’t be strong enough.
What am I going to do?
Think, think, think.
All right. My house is big, so that will help. I can put Helene in the guest suite, which has its own kitchenette. We can probablystay out of each other’s way for a few days. Then when the roads open, I’ll drop Helene off in town and drive straight to the airport to get on whatever flight will take me away from her. The important thing is not allowing her to know me, to connect with me. If I can keep her despising me, maybe the curse will stay at bay. Then Helene can live.
Ron starts talking again. I’d forgotten he was still on the phone, that I still had the handset to my ear.
“I’ll give you a ring when the roads open again, okay, man?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” I hang up and take another shot of vodka.
When the coffee finishes brewing, I load a tray with the Bailey’s, the coffeepot, and mugs, and I tuck the first aid kit under my arm.
Helene is settled on one of the leather couches, under a blanket, her left foot propped up on the armrest. She’s cast off her jacket, hat, gloves, boots, and socks on the ledge in front of the fireplace to dry, and she doesn’t hear me coming, so I have a moment to study her—the way her hair cascades over the soft lines of her face. The faraway yet intelligent sharpness in her eyes as she thinks about something that isn’t here. The subtle curve of her mouth that makes me want to skim my lips against hers.
Stop it.
I clear my throat to break the spell. Helene startles out of her thoughts.
“Drinks,” I say as I set the tray down on the coffee table. Short sentences provide less room for error.
