She gave me a firm squeeze and then dropped mine.
“Yep, that’s me, Bitsy, new widow,” she replied and I realized under her healthy tan and smiling face, she looked tired. Her words weren’t sour, just real with a hint of forlorn she didn’t try to hide, both making them heartbreaking.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.
“You, me and Shauna Fontaine are the only ones in town who are,” she responded with brutal honesty but still no bitterness, more like a sad understanding. Then she put her hands to the wheels of her chair, looked at Max and continued, “Hey Max, would you mind comin’ inside a sec before we take off?”
Without waiting for us to answer, she deftly turned her chair and wheeled herself into the house.
Max glanced at me and with a tug at my hand we followed. He let me go when we got into the massive foyer and he closed the door.
“Don’t mean to be rude, Nina,” Bitsy announced after she turned her chair toward us again, her voice was a bit hesitant. “But could you wait in the living room a minute while I talk with Max? Just need –”
I cut her off, letting her know she didn’t need to explain anything to me, she could have whatever she needed, saying, “That’s fine. I’ll wait.”
“Thanks.” She smiled again, a hint of relief in her expression now then she wheeled to my right and Max and I followed. She talked as she went. “You want a cup of coffee or a soda or somethin’?”
“No, thanks, I’m okay.”
She swept out a hand to the room and invited, “Make yourself at home. We won’t be long, promise.” Then her eyes went to Max before she pushed herself toward the door.
“Be back,” Max murmured, chucked me under the chin and then he went after Bitsy.
I watched them go then, in an effort not to think about what happened in the Cherokee (my habit of late, not thinking when I knew it would be far healthier, not to mention the whole bloody reason I took this adventure in the first place, to sort myself out), I walked to the floor to cathedral ceiling windows and looked at the view.
It was different than Max’s view considering it was on the opposite side of town and also on an opposite facing mountain. It was also somehow a little less spectacular, seeing as it wasn’t as far up the mountain which limited the vista.
There was something else about it that struck me as strange, so strange it made me slightly uncomfortable. In an effort to understand this bizarre feeling, I settled in and took in the view.
I could see the whole town, its short Main Street which I knew since I’d traversed it was only five blocks long, roads leading off it, more businesses on them a few doors in but houses after that.
To the left, just out of town, there was a plain covered in two baseball fields, their outfields butting against each other. I could see small stands on either side of the dugouts. Next to this two football fields running alongside each other separated by more bleachers. Small, white, concession stands at either side of the complex. Probably where little league was held in summer and Pop Warner football in the fall.
To the right, again partially out of town, the high school, not large but not small. Another football field, far more bleachers available for onlookers, lined lanes of a running track around its perimeter. A baseball field on the opposite side of the school. Both of these had lots of lights, bigger concession stands and looked more impressive.
It was clear the town liked its sport and supported its kids.
I thought about it and I knew, because I saw it on the little plastic displays on the tables, that The Dog had live music on Friday and Saturday nights. Drake’s, the bar Max took me to in town the night of Shauna, Harry and buffalo burgers, had acoustic music every Tuesday. I’d seen posters informing townsfolk of what was playing at the cinema that Becca told me was one town over. There were fliers on bulletin boards on the sides of buildings in town telling people that Oklahoma! was being performed at a dinner theatre which had to be close. Since I’d driven by it, I knew there was a mall about thirty miles out which also had a multi-screen cinema. On the website where I found Max’s house, it advertised that the town held two festivals, one a small music and arts festival in early summer, the other a larger Halloween-cum-harvest festival in the fall. There were also a number of other festivals littered throughout the region.
Restaurants, shops, cinemas, dinner theatre, sport, festivals, Denver only a two hour drive away, small and large ski resorts very close, hiking and biking trails criss-crossing the mountains, it certainly wasn’t like there was nothing to do in Gnaw Bone. In fact, it seemed a tranquil, pretty hub in the middle of it all.
I was thinking how I’d like to experience what a Halloween-cum-harvest festival was like, not to mention a music and arts festival, when it hit me what was wrong about the view.
I realized that not only could I see all of town, if I was anywhere in town, I could see this huge, grand house on its rise.
I hadn’t exactly taken a tour of the entire town but from what I’d seen the houses were smallish, some of them older, established, having been around for quite awhile. Others much newer but not that new, looking like they’d been built the last few decades, not the last few years. They could all be described as comfortable but none of them could be described as luxurious. There were a couple of small apartment and condominium complexes like Mindy’s and Becca’s which seemed much newer, but mostly the town was settled and its income bracket was clearly identifiable.
This house and where it was positioned screamed “Look at me!” in a weird way. It demanded attention, I was guessing in order to rub people’s nose in its obvious expense, constantly lord over the entire populace. You couldn’t forget it was here because you couldn’t escape it.
It wasn’t an old house and I figured Curtis Dodd built it where it was for the reasons I deduced.
I felt a chill glide over my skin at what I suspected was not a popular decision on Dodd’s part, not to mention what it said about him, and I turned away from the window and took in the enormous room. Even the furniture, decoration and fittings were obvious in their lavishness. One could buy ten of my purses and five of Max’s couches for one of Bitsy’s.
I walked to a long set of interconnecting bookshelves that ran the length of the outside wall of the room, wishing to take my mind off my thoughts by perusing the many photos displayed in frames there.
From what I saw in the photos, the house and all its contents were not Bitsy’s idea. Bitsy, it appeared as I studied the photos, decorated like me. There were tons of pictures of happy, smiling people who clearly cared about each other and who Bitsy clearly cared about. In some of them she was healthy, standing, smiling, laughing and surrounded by loved ones. Others, I was heartened to see, she was in her chair, doing the same.
I decided then that I admired her. Charlie never got to that point. Charlie would smile after he lost his legs but it was never the same. Bitsy seemed to have come to terms with her life in her chair and continued to enjoy living it. Furthermore, it was apparent she didn’t mind reminders of the life she had before she was put in it.