Nicola Griffith - Stay

“No fossils,” she said after a moment.

“Right. Lots of gemstones, though.” Smarter than she looks, Dornan had said. “Some of the rivers are even older than the mountains.”

She didn’t seem interested in the apparent paradox. Mountains form in geological time, in slow motion. A river that exists before the mountain forms will cut through the new, soft rock to get to the sea. Most of those seas were long gone, but the rivers remain. We passed a sign for Blowing Rock, the head of the New River. Stupid name for the oldest river on the continent.

“It’s about time for lunch. We could stop and eat and take a look at the river.”

She nodded, though I’m not sure whether it was the food or the river that appealed.

Blowing Rock is a small town with a lot of money whose inhabitants had managed to keep the ugly face of tourism from their doors. We ate fettucini in a café under a bright awning, surrounded by window boxes spilling flowers; sun warmed those wood and fieldstone houses not sheltered by maple and poplar. Tammy spent more time watching relaxed, clean, happy people walk past the window than eating.

“Is this real?” she asked eventually.

I nodded, and for a moment I thought she would burst into tears, but she just shook her head.

When we got back in the car, she watched the scenery more intently, and once pointed to a speck hanging high over the canopy. “What’s that?”

“Hawk,” I said. “I can’t tell what kind.”

She was silent the rest of the drive, and I left her to her thoughts, because now we were driving through the beginnings of Pisgah, and the air began to smell like home.

An hour later we drove into Asheville and I parked in more or less the same place I’d parked when I got my hair cut, and when I climbed out of the truck into the slanting afternoon sun, I had the absurd urge to drop into the Heads Up Salon and see if Dree was there.

Tammy was trying to get out of the truck and pull off her sweatshirt at the same time. She managed both, then just stood there holding the sweatshirt in a bundle in front of her, as though it were something dirty.

“Is your house near here?”

“No. It’s… some distance outside Asheville. We’re here to pick up food, and clothes for you.” She might be staying with me, but she wasn’t going to wear my clothes. “Bring your money.” She rooted around in her purse, then hesitated, still clutching the sweatshirt. “You won’t need that. It’ll stay warm for another hour or so.”

Somewhere between the sidewalk and the first hanging garments, Tammy’s body language changed; her brows arched disdainfully; she sighed and shook her head dramatically at the offerings, then fingered a slippery rayon dress.

“T-shirts and shorts and boots would be more appropriate for where we’ll be; some jeans; a sweater for the cool nights.”

She swung the hair back from her face and eyed me sullenly, now the perfect teenager. Infant to child to teen in one day. With any luck she’d be dead of old age before we reached the clearing.

“Your money, your choice.” It would only be for a day or two, anyway. And if she bought all the wrong things she could either suffer or drive herself back here. Nursemaid was not part of the job description.

Tammy remained in teenage mode as we drove north and west along secondary roads which narrowed to gravel, and then took an abrupt turn left and hit the unpaved track up the mountain.

“Where are we going?”

“My cabin.”

She sighed heavily and pulled her sweatshirt back on. After another ten minutes she rolled up the window.

I took the last half a mile in second gear. Judging by the mess alongside the road, hogs had been through recently, and tree debris indicated high winds sometime in the last couple of days. For some reason my heart was beating high as we pulled into the clearing.

It was all there, as I’d left it, cabin roof still on, tarps snug and tight across windows, trailer fast shut, but different. Forest litter from the wind or storm lay everywhere, and foliage that had been green had faded to yellow, what had already been yellowing was now gold, and the elder and dogwood and maple leaves had deepened to rich, winelike hues. I parked and just sat there for a moment, drinking in the smell, which was loamier, wilder.

“This is it?”

“Yes.” Even I heard the smile in my voice.

“What happened?”

“A storm. The wind must have really ripped through here while I was gone. We can use the deadfall for firewood.”

“No. I mean the house. It looks… scabby.”

“I’m rebuilding it,” I said shortly, and climbed out of the truck, but I looked at the cabin again, at the different colors of the old and new wood—that could, I supposed, look leprous to the uneducated eye—and the messy tarps, the gables. “It will look better when the windows are in and the new wood’s had a chance to weather.” But I wondered, which made me angry. “Did you pull the wings off flies, too, when you were little?”

Her face changed abruptly, the same look a child gets when she breaks a parent’s favorite ornament and looks up, too frightened to even cry out that it was an accident.

“This place means a lot to me. If you don’t have anything good to say about it, keep quiet.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

“You weren’t to know. Let’s get unpacked. We’ll be sleeping in the trailer.”

We unloaded the food, then her things. I showed her where to stow her clothes, handed her sheets, which she accepted wordlessly, and pointed out the sofa bed. I left her to it, and went to start up the systems. There was enough propane for a while, but after Dornan’s visits and with Tammy here, I’d have to take the trailer out in a few days and pump out the gray and black water tanks. Refilling with fresh from the pump was no problem, but there was no point if the sewage tanks were full. That would be another new thing; I hadn’t had to pump the tanks since I’d arrived here, shell-shocked and more than half mad, not wanting to shower or wash dishes or use the toilet, not wanting to have anything to do with civilization at all.

I went back into the trailer. “Tammy.” She was sitting hunched on the couch that was the sofa bed, as though she had been given permission to use only that piece of furniture. “Come sit at the table.” She did, cautiously. “I’m going to show you how everything works. Most of it’s simple, but if you have questions, ask. Tonight I’ll cook dinner, but from tomorrow you’ll take your turn.”

She watched me as a crippled deer does a hunter.

“Do you understand?” She nodded. “Good. But first I’m going to take the phone outside and call Dornan.” No reaction. “I won’t tell him where you are now, but I will say I found you, that you’re all right, but that you don’t want to talk to him at the moment. Would that be a fair statement?”

She started to nod again, then said, “Yes.”

“I will also tell him that either you or I will get in touch with him again within a week.” With luck, she wouldn’t be here that long.

Outside, late evening sun pooled on the canopy like syrup and the air felt slow and thick. Somewhere a wildcat would be crouching on a maple limb, waiting for a turkey to strut by; newly fallen leaves would rustle with the beetling of shrews and chipmunks; flycatchers would start swooping through the invisible insect towers hovering above the leaves, snipping up their dinner. It was just after six o’clock, a busy time at the coffeehouses. I called his home phone; this would be easier for everyone if I talked to his machine.

“It’s Aud. I found her and have her somewhere I can keep an eye on her. She won’t be running off anywhere anytime soon. She’s fine but doesn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment. We’ve agreed she’ll call you in a week, if not before.” I lowered the phone, not ringing off but not knowing what else to say. For months, Dornan had been having god knows what nightmares about Tammy maybe sitting in seven separate garbage bags in a ditch alongside some dirt road in Alabama, or getting married to a red-haired, pompous psychologist, or wandering New York in an amnesiac daze. And he had helped me. I lifted the phone again. “Dornan, she was glad to leave. I think she’s been through a bad time, emotionally, but I think she’s going to be just fine. I’ll make sure she talks to you soon. And Dornan—she hasn’t thrown away your ring.”