Joseph’s legs were long, and I felt certain he would grow a couple more inches before he was finished with high school. He might even grow to be as tall as his father.
Brody had been gone for almost five years before I met Todd, and though I’d become friends with a couple of guys during that time, I’d yet to date anyone. I worked for the BLM during the week, and at seasonal jobs on the weekends. That particular fall I was helping out at a small meatpacking plant. The plant catered to the out-of-town hunters, turned elk and venison into sausage and hamburger, teriyaki steaks and jerky. The company packed the meat in dry ice and shipped it all over the country. It was on one of those weekends that Todd introduced himself to me. He was a guide for an outfitter upriver and had brought in an elk kill with one of his clients, a man out of Oklahoma. The client was in the office talking to the owner of the plant. Todd had remained in the back next to the freezer block where I was working.
“You must be new,” he said. “I’m Todd.”
“I’d shake your hand, but under the circumstances—”
“What’s a woman like you doing up to her elbows in this stuff?”
“Just trying to pay the bills.”
I was wearing a bloody apron that hung down to my knees and was making clean slices through the backstrap of an elk that belonged to another client, turning the meat into nice-sized filets. The elk that had just been brought in by Todd was hanging on a meat hook in the freezer. I wouldn’t be able to get to it until the next day.
“Have you been working here long?” he asked.
“A couple of months.”
“How come I haven’t seen you around?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said.
“Only with a beautiful woman.” He adjusted his cap by placing his palm over his head, and I noticed how large his hands were, perhaps as large as Brody’s.
“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” he said. He turned and began walking away.
I made another slice and set the meat aside.
“You want to go out sometime?” Todd had turned back around.
He was tall, several inches over six feet. His brown hair hung down to his shoulders and was tucked behind his ears. He wore a green cap with a fly shop logo. He was heavy-boned, with deep-set brown eyes, an angular face that was in need of a good shave.
“How do you know I’m not married?”
“You’re not wearing a ring.”
“I’ve got gloves on.”
“They’re transparent.”
“They’re covered in blood,” I said.
“So do you want to go out?”
And in that moment perhaps my motions faltered, a hesitation as I made another slice, as I remembered Brody all over again.
“There’s something very sexy about a woman holding a knife,” Todd said.
I pointed the knife at him. “Watch it,” I said.
“So will you go out with me?”
I didn’t agree to go out with Todd at first. But two weeks later when he stopped in, I drank a beer with him at his truck before I drove home from work. And the week after that I took a walk with him on top of Hay Flats. Slowly, I let Todd into my life, let myself once again feel the arms of a man. Then there was the night when I was cooking spaghetti and Todd was sitting in the living room. I looked at him through the doorway. He was watching TV. I felt nothing. I knew then I didn’t love him. I knew I never would. Todd had moved on before I’d found out I was pregnant. Last I’d heard he was with an outfitter in Montana. I tried to locate him once. Thought he had a right to know he had a son. But he’d moved on again, and after a while, I gave up looking.
“What are you thinking about?” Joseph asked.
“Nothing really. Why?”
“Are you watching the game?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” I said.
And while I watched the Broncos make a field goal, and Joseph cheered beside me, I wondered why I was thinking about Todd after all these years, remembering how my body had felt, and what it had been like to try to love someone again.
AMY RAYE