The Simplicity of Cider

He settled Bass down on his bed with a bowl of ice cream and Return of the Jedi so he could wake up Paige and have a real discussion about what was going on, finally. He checked her breathing—she was asleep, not passed out—covered her with a blanket, then gathered all the lollipops and pills. He didn’t know what to do with them, only that he needed to get them away from Paige. He sat on the coffee table with the bag of drugs in his lap, wondering what to do next.

Isaac stared at this shadow of a woman he once loved. She’d always been prone to anxiety and depression, even mania sometimes, and medicine seemed to help. After having Bass, it had gotten worse. She was so miserable. Isaac had offered her anything to make her happier—counseling, moving, whatever she needed. When she began working at the nursing home, things got better. She was content, calmer. They were happy for a few years again—their little family. Now her skin clung to her bones, gray and bruised in places. Her hair stuck to her head with sweat and her eyes fluttered behind her lids. The thoughtful, delicate woman he married was broken, his marriage was over, and he couldn’t fix it or her.

She started to stir. Her high had worn off. It took several seconds for her to move into an upright position, and Isaac didn’t offer to help.

“Am I dreaming?” she said at last.

“No,” he said. “This is all real.”

Her eyes saw the drugs in his lap, then scanned the room.

“Did he?” At least she asked the right question, a question a mother would ask, but her words were flat and distant. A mere echo of what the real danger warranted.

“No. I stopped him in time.”

She nodded her head, an uncontrolled movement, as if the muscles could no longer fight gravity.

“You’re going to rehab, then you’re finding somewhere else to live. This can’t ever happen again. I’ll help you, Paige, but you can’t live with us anymore.”

She didn’t even argue.

She’d been in and out of rehab ever since. This last stint had seemed the most promising—except she had found someone to supply her. Too late, the doctors found out she was sucking fentanyl patches she had stashed in her mattress. That, combined with her anxiety drugs, stopped her breathing for good.

? ? ? ? ?

Isaac sucked in the fresh air at the top of the tower and gave Bass one last squeeze. He and Paige may not be married anymore, but the loss still hurt, compounded by his guilt for not being able to help her, and guilt at his attraction to Sanna. But none of that mattered. This summer was about Bass. He was so grateful they had each other and hoped that would be enough once Bass learned the truth.

“Time to go down. Let’s get some hiking in. Then we can see the goats.”

Bass gave one last look at the view.

“Race you?” he said, then dashed for the stairs before waiting for Isaac to accept.

? ? ? ? ?

The waitress set their hot cocoa mugs in front of them, and Bass’s face was in the whipped cream before she could turn to her next table. The frothy white blob doubled the height of the mug and had already started to melt into the steaming liquid. They’d stopped for lunch at the famous Al Johnson’s restaurant in Sister Bay. The food was good, but it was made all the more fun by goats roaming the restaurant’s grass roof. Inside, diners could buy assorted Swedish goodies and goat paraphernalia from the gift shop, and the staff wore wooden clogs that looked uncomfortable—though their waitress assured Bass they weren’t bad.

They ended the meal with hot cocoas once Bass had seen a mug delivered to a neighboring table. He took it as a chance to get as much whipped cream on his face as possible. It was even in his eyebrows. Isaac handed him extra napkins. Once Bass had devoured all of his, Isaac switched their mugs.

“Try not to inhale it this time.”

“We should come here with Miss Lund and Mr. Lund.”

“I’m sure they’ve come here enough. They live here.”

“Do you think she gets hot cocoa? I bet Mr. Lund does. He seems like a hot cocoa kind of guy.”

“What’s a hot cocoa guy like? Am I a hot cocoa guy?”

“You do have one in front of you, but you gave up the whipped cream too easily. Mr. Lund wouldn’t give up his whipped cream. Instead, he would sweet-talk the waitress into getting me more.”

Isaac laughed.

“Sweet talk! What do you know about sweet talking?”

“It’s when you say nice things to someone to get what you want, but in a real way. Not an evil genius way, but in an ‘I just want to get what I want’ kind of way.”

“Sweet talking is a good life skill. Especially when you find someone you really like. But I think you’re on the young side to be mastering it.”

Bass scowled, then brightened.

“Did you sweet-talk Mom?”

Isaac swallowed a sip of hot cocoa, buying time, and it settled in his stomach like a rock.

“Why would I need to sweet-talk your mom?”

“To get her to go to the hospital and get better.”

And here was a disaster Isaac couldn’t stop from happening, he could only delay.

“I didn’t need to sweet-talk her. She wanted to get better.”

“Have you heard from her? How is she?”

“Let me check, Guppy.”

Isaac pulled out his phone, his hand quivering. Was this the moment? His chance to be honest? He had one e-mail from the hospital asking him to call and several text messages from his mom.

IT’S BEEN A WEEK! HOW IS BASS?

I FOUND THESE ARTICLES ABOUT CHILDREN AND GRIEVING.

READ THEM!!!!

CALL ME!!!

His hand holding the phone began to shake more violently. He turned the phone off and set it on the table. He would delete them later.

“Nope, nothing.”

Bass’s whipped cream–crusted eyebrows scrunched together.

“When will we hear something?”

“I know you miss her, but sometimes people need time before they are ready to get back to normal. Sometimes they are never ready, and we need to accept that things change. Does that make sense?”

The whipped cream was gone, and Bass slurped the cooling hot cocoa.

“Do you think the Lunds will need some time?”

Lucky, a topic change.

“I do. Mr. Lund was hurt pretty badly and won’t be able to do all the things he could do before. At least not for a while.”

“We should help them.”

And just like that Isaac’s heart switched from constraint to nearly bursting with pride. This kid always surprised him. One minute he’d be a maniac, and the next he’d say the sweetest thing.

“Maybe that’s why we ended up here. They needed some help, and here we are: two strapping lads ready to do whatever’s needed.”

Bass made muscle arms.

“I’m ready.”

They both were.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


The next day, Isaac and Bass approached the farmhouse ready to help the Lunds however they could. Bass trailed behind him as Isaac saw Einars ease himself into the ATV, trying to get his injured leg into the vehicle. Isaac shifted into a jog to get there faster.

“Are you supposed to be out here?” Isaac said.

Einars waved his hand in the air as Isaac and Bass stopped beside him.

“I’m perfectly capable of moving, it just hurts a bit more than before.” His lower leg was wrapped in a large blue cast, and he wore sweatpants with one leg cut off. Sanna stormed out of the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

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