Chapter 3

The next day is Sunday,and Jimmy comes over early to take me to his place.

Greta doesn't act either excited or disapproving about the new development. She takes it in the same efficient stride with which she deals with everything else in life. She collects some extra clothes and bedding and packs them up for us to take to Jimmy's house. Then she draws me into the kitchen and packs up a basket with fresh bread, ham steaks, a block of cheese, and several jars of vegetables and fruits canned here on the farm.

"I have no idea what that boy has in his pantry," she says, "but there's no reason for you to scrounge around for food for today when you're just settling in. I know he'll have plenty of eggs, so you can have eggs for lunch and the ham with vegetables for dinner tonight."

"Thank you," I reply, genuinely grateful for the help. It's a burden off me not to have to figure out how to feed Jimmy on the very first day. "That's so nice of you."

"I'm not trying to interfere," she says with a wry look. "Honestly. So please don't think I'm going to try to manage what happens over there. I've got enough to worry about right here."

"I never thought that for a moment! I really do appreciate it. All this is new to me. I think I've learned a lot this past month, but I'm sure there's going to be plenty of things I have no idea how to do." I twist my hands together. "I hope you don't mind if I occasionally ask you questions."

Her smile widens. She clearly appreciates that I might come to her for advice. "I don't mind at all. Anytime you need help, just head on over here and let me know." She pauses, clearly hesitating before she adds, "Jimmy's a good man. He had to grow up quick, but he's always been warm and generous. After Impact and losing Mary, he's withdrawn. He's still there when anyone needs him, but he doesn't… He doesn't open himself up like he used to."

I listen, eager for this insight into the man I'm moving in with and filing it away for future brooding.

"Impact changed everything," Greta goes on, looking beyond me now into the empty air of the kitchen. "It took so much away. Maybe I'll never get my sweet boy back." Her expression changes back to her normal, practical smile. "At least now that he has a woman again, he might not always go around looking like such a raggedy bear."

I laugh at that, as I'm supposed to. And I carry the full basket of food out of the kitchen and down the hall to where Jimmy is talking to his dad outside the front door.

He takes the basket from me and stows it away with the other stuff in the back of my grandpa's ATV. It's mine, after all, and there's still more than half a tank of gas. We might as well use it to haul all this stuff over to his house.

"You ready?" Jimmy asks me after he closes the storage compartment at the back of the vehicle.

My stomach churns. Nerves and excitement both. "Yeah. I think so."

"Me too."

* * *

According to Jimmy, his place is about four miles from the Carlsons' farm.

In the ATV, it doesn't take long at all. We drive down the road along the row of small farms and houses. When we clear them, we go over a big hill. There are woods on the other side—not as vast and deep as Grandpa's forest but definitely different from the cleared farmland.

The paved road shifts to gravel fairly quickly on entering the woods, and it's not long until we turn off the road and take a short, curved driveway uphill toward a small cabin.

It's got wood siding and a metal roof. There's a small porch on the front, and as he'd mentioned, on one side there's a covered walkway leading to what's clearly an outhouse.

On that same side, the trees were cleared out to allow for a large garden. The animals must be around the back because I can't see them. On the opposite side from the garden is a wide deck extending back toward the pond.

I take it all in as Jimmy puts the vehicle into park.

When I notice him peering at me, waiting for my reaction, I say, "It's really nice. I like it."

I'm telling the truth. The place feels closer to my grandfather's cabin than any of the farmhouses. I like the shelter of the trees and the water rippling on the pond and the background sounds of wildlife in the forest.

His expression relaxes as he gets out and opens the storage compartment to start carrying in the stuff.

I help him, taking an armful in through the front door.

It's smaller than Grandpa's cabin. There's one open room with kitchen cabinets and a sink against one wall. A woodstove nearby is obviously both the heating source and the primary method of cooking. There's a couch and an old leather chair on the other side of the room and a small table with two wood chairs for eating. He pulls up a panel to show me a small root cellar he dug out to keep food cool so it will last longer.

The house is very simple—no rugs, nothing on the walls, no extra cushions or throws or knickknacks to make it cozier. But it's neat. He might have made an effort to clean it up.

I put the basket of food on the small kitchen countertop. "This looks great."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like it."

He's looking around, not meeting my eyes. "I know you're used to somethin' nicer."

We had power from a solar generator. Hot showers. A slow cooker and a toaster oven. A television that played DVDs.

And I had a grandpa who loved me.

I smile at Jimmy, making sure none of the grief at what I've lost reflects in any way on my face. "No. This will be great. I really do like it."

"Okay. Good." He clears his throat. "You can make any changes you want. If you want me to find anythin' to make it nicer, I'll be happy to do that for you. Want you to feel at home."

I nod and smile again. My cheeks are aching slightly from so much sweet smiling lately. "I appreciate that."

He rubs at his beard and finally sets the pile of bedding he carried in on the table. "Bedroom is in here."

I follow him into a separate room. It's small and neat but equally basic. There's a queen-size bed with a plain gray cover on it. One side is pushed up against the wall, and it's easy to see why. If it was pulled out to allow access to the opposite side, there wouldn't be any room for the dresser or the basin and jug for washing up like they had in the guest room at the Carlsons'.

"That there was the old bathroom," he says, pointing toward a connecting door. "Just a sink and toilet. Since we can't use 'em anymore, I just use it for storage."

"Okay. That makes sense."

We step out of the room, and he leads me to another room about half the size of the bedroom. It's got a few pieces of old furniture and a bunch of old moving boxes filled with sundry items.

"I can clear this out," he says, "if you want a room of your own. Mom said she'd let me take that bed you've been sleeping on. Think it would fit in here. If you… If you'd prefer to have your own space."

On this I've already made a decision. "I don't really need my own space unless you'd like to keep your privacy. I don't mind sleeping with you."

He twitches slightly. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. When I agreed to this, I meant all the way. Unless you want something different." I'm pleased that I sound so calm and relaxed when I'm feeling nothing of the kind. My cheeks are hot, but that's hopefully the only sign of my self-consciousness.

"I don't want nothin' different," he mumbles.

"Okay." I take a couple of slow breaths. "So you can leave this room as is unless we figure out something else to do with it."

"Sounds good to me."

Now that we have that awkwardness figured out, seeing the rest of the place is easy by comparison. He takes me outside to his chicken coop and the small building and pen where he keeps his pigs.

I like the pigs. They're funny and interesting and unexpectedly responsive, snorting at me like they're trying to say hi. The chickens don't have as much personality, but they're fun to watch too. Jimmy shows me where he keeps their feed and lets me throw out a handful for them. They cluck excitedly and scurry around to gobble it up.

Then we walk out on the deck to look at the pond.

"I used to fish with Grandpa sometimes," I tell him. "We didn't have a pond like this, but there was a lake kind of nearby where we would go. I always liked it."

"Did you? I can make you a rod if you want. You can use mine anytime until I get it done. Although it might be kind of big for a little thing like you."

"I'm not that little." I'm five four. While that's obviously not tall by any estimation, I also have never considered myself particularly short. I'm also curvy. Not at all waiflike. I've got noticeable hips and breasts. I've always thought of myself as average size.

Not little.

"Okay." His mouth works oddly. "You're not little."

I eye him suspiciously, but he doesn't say anything else.

* * *

The day passes uneventfully. Jimmy does his outdoor chores, and I familiarize myself with the house and swap out the bedding for the new stuff Greta sent with us. It includes a prettier quilt in peaceful shades of brown and green.

I go through the clothes she gave us and am relieved to discover they're entirely women's clothes. I don't have anything to my name except the clothes and shoes I was wearing when I arrived and the big T-shirt Greta gave me at the farmhouse to sleep in.

But from the bag I pull out several tops, a couple of skirts, a pretty cotton dress, another pair of jeans, a couple of other pants, a fuzzy purple bathrobe, and several pairs of underwear. I have to roll up the legs on the jeans and pants, but otherwise everything fits me. There aren't any bras, but I haven't worn a bra for years. From what I observed at the Carlsons', most other women don't either. The last thing I pull out of the bag is a nightgown. It's pink with wide straps and is made of a soft, stretchy material.

I really like it. I like everything. I open drawers in the dresser to discover that Jimmy has already cleared out half of them for me. I stow all my new stuff away and still have space to spare.

I make eggs for lunch as Greta suggested and do some cheese toast on the side. Jimmy gobbles up everything quickly, so he clearly finds nothing lacking in my meal.

He's got more work to do in the afternoon—he explains that usually he takes it easy on Sunday but he got distracted from his normal work yesterday by preparing the house for me to hopefully come—so I find a pile of dirty clothes in the old bathroom and decide I might as well wash them.

It takes a good chunk of the afternoon, but I'm glad to get something useful done on the first day. Jimmy enjoys the dinner of ham steak, canned green beans, and potatoes just as much as he enjoyed lunch.

By the time I finish washing dishes afterward, Jimmy is back from getting the animals settled for the night. It's dark out. I'm not sure what time it is, but it feels like it's almost bedtime.

He smells like dirt and winter air when he comes back inside. I've been drying the last dish slowly because I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now.

Is he going to want to go to bed already?

Is it time for us to have sex?

He stands behind me, watching as I finish drying the plate and put it back in its spot on a shelf. When I turn around, he's looking at me.

I really wish the man would just say something. What the hell is he waiting for?

"What do you like to do in the evenings?" he asks after a few seconds of us staring at each other.

I lick my lips in a nervous gesture until I realize what I'm doing and stop. "I… I usually read books. We had a lot."

"Oh. Yeah. I got some. Not a whole lot, but I guess it's better than nothin'." He makes a gesture with his hand, so I follow him into the small room full of boxes. He checks a couple of them until he pulls out one that's half-filled with an assortment of books. "Some of these were Mary's. She's… she was my wife."

I nod, glad that Paula gave me the background, so that information doesn't take me off guard.

"So there might be somethin' here you like," Jimmy continues, picking up one worn paperback and staring at it. It looks like some sort of mystery. "And it's pretty easy to find books in old buildings. I'll get you some more. If you tell me what you like, I can look for those ones."

"Okay. Thank you. That's nice of you."

He puts the book back in the box, and we stare at each other some more.

Deciding I need to take some responsibility for making conversation, I ask, "What do you usually do in the evenings?"

He makes a face. "Honestly, not too much. I'm usually so exhausted trying to get stuff done that I basically collapse at the end of the day. In the evenings, I've been still trying to rinse out a few clothes or prep somethin' to eat the next day."

"Oh. Wow. I didn't think about that. You've had way too much to do for one person."

"Yeah." He rubs at his beard—it's a habit of his. "It's been a lot. So guess I'm… It's good you're here."

"Yes. I guess so." I shift from foot to foot.

Should I step over and find a book to read? I'd be happy to curl up on the couch or in the chair and read for an hour or two. But then what would Jimmy do? Maybe he'd rather I do something with him.

Maybe he wants to have sex and thinks it would be pushy to bring it up.

"Do you wanna take a bath?" he blurts out before I can figure out anything else to say.

My eyes get very big.

"I mean, not that you're dirty or anythin'. Just wondered if you'd want to. I do got a tub I use for baths. Gotta pump out all the water to fill it, so I only do it once a week or so and just use the basin otherwise. It's easier in the summer since we can do it outside."

It's hard to tell in the dim light, but I'd swear his cheeks are red. I start to respond, but he's on a roll and doesn't let me.

"So we could have baths tonight if you want. I need one for sure, specially if we're sharin' a bed. Wouldn't be too much trouble."

I manage to break into his rambles. "Okay. That sounds like a good idea."

I don't say it, but I haven't had a real bath since my grandpa and I left our home in the forest. Even without modern conveniences, any sort of bath sounds like a dream.

Jimmy looks relieved that we've finally stumbled on a plan for the evening. He drags a big tub inside that's more than large enough for one person to sit down in. He positions it in the kitchen directly over a drain in the floor. He explains the process—filling a big pot with water and then putting it on the stove to heat up and then pumping out enough cold water to fill the tub about two-thirds of the way up.

It's not easy, and it takes a while, but we eventually get enough water into the tub. Then Jimmy pours the hot water into the cold and stirs it around with his hand.

"See?" he says, looking pleased when he retrieves his hand. "Not exactly a hot tub, but it's warm enough now."

I feel the water, which is indeed warmish. "That will be just fine."

"Oh wait, this might help." He turns around and strides into the small room again and emerges with a couple of towels and a little bucket in which are a number of bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and bath soap, clearly scavenged from the old world. "Some of it is basic, and some of it is flowery. You can use whatever you feel like."

For some reason, his blunt comment makes me want to snicker. "So you use the flowery stuff sometimes?"

He makes a huffing sound that's evidently amusement. "Only when I'm really tryin' to impress."

It takes a couple of seconds to realize he made a joke. An actual joke. I giggle.

"So you go ahead first, but don't let out the stopper at the bottom to drain it. I'll use the same water since it's such a pain to fill it up."

"Oh, you should go first then."

"No. No way." He frowns at me with a mild disapproval I've seen on his face before. "You don't wanna get into my dirty bathwater."

"But you'll have to?—"

"Stop all that arguin'. I'm telling you, girlie, you stink way less than me."

I giggle again, half nerves and half amusement. He hasn't called me girlie since the very first day he rescued me, and for some reason it makes me feel good. Safe. "Okay. I'll be as quick as I can."

"No hurry. I'll be outside. Just call out when you're done."

"Okay. I will. Thank you."

He disappears out the back door—the one that leads to the outhouse. I feel weird and vulnerable as I start taking off my clothes, but it would be stupid to delay. The water will get cool.

Before I get in, I do think of something else and pump out enough water to fill the big pot and put it back on the stove. That way Jimmy can have warmish water too.

Fortunately, I'm not on my period right now. That would definitely make things awkward with sharing the water. I get naked all the way and take a high step to put one leg into the tub. I pull the other one over the side and then sit down.

It's not big enough to submerge in or stretch out my legs, but it doesn't matter. I quickly squirt out pear-scented bath soap, lather up, and use a washcloth to clean myself up. Washing my hair is a major process, and I like to do it on sunny afternoons so it dries quicker, so I don't bother submerging my head and instead clean my face and neck and shoulders with the washcloth.

I'm able to get myself a lot cleaner than I've been able to do with a quick washup with the basin in the evenings, and I feel a lot better as I stand up, letting the excess water drip off me before I carefully step out and dry off.

I pull the pink nightgown on over my head. It fits good through the chest and shoulders, but I suspect it's supposed to come to the midthighs. Instead, it falls down to my knees.

It doesn't matter. It's better than anything else I have, and looking at myself in the mirror over the dresser in the bedroom reveals I actually look really nice in it. It shows off my breasts, making me look almost sensual. And the color is flattering against my hair and skin.

Self-conscious about how much skin is exposed, I pull the bathrobe on over it. I'll need to visit the outhouse before bed anyway, and it's way too cold out there for only that nightgown.

I check the water. I'm sure it's dirty, but it doesn't actually look that bad. I pour the big pot of water I've heated up into the tub and swirl it around. There. That should be okay for Jimmy.

I open the back door and call out into the darkness, "I'm all done!" Then I follow the walkway to the outhouse.

When I come back inside, Jimmy is leaning over the tub.

"The water is warm," he says.

"I heated up more water for you."

"Oh. Thanks." He looks surprised, but I don't know why. Surely he wouldn't assume I'd want him to sit naked in cool water.

His eyes run up and down my body from my ponytail to my robe to the socks I pulled on so my feet weren't bare outside.

I'm not at my most attractive at the moment, but hopefully he realizes I'll look better after I'm ready for bed.

"I'll be in the bedroom," I tell him.

He nods. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no sound comes out.

Flushing and jittery, I hurry into the bedroom and close the door.

I don't want him to think I'm lingering to watch him in the bathtub.

I take off my bathrobe. Then I pull the elastic out of my ponytail and brush out my hair with the hairbrush on the dresser.

It was shoulder-length when I was fourteen, but I've only occasionally trimmed it since, so it's long now. Halfway down my back.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair looks good. It's always been really straight and smooth, so it doesn't kink or frizz. My shoulders and neck look almost graceful when set off by the straps of the gown. My boobs are quite prominently displayed, but hopefully Jimmy will like that. My eyes are a fairly light blue, and the look in them right now is weirdly foreign. Wild. Like it's a stranger staring at me.

I have no idea who this person even is, living here now with a man I don't really know. And maybe having sex with him soon.

It's too much to wrap my mind around, so I sweep it away as I brush my teeth and then climb onto the bed.

I assume he won't want the side all the way against the wall, so I crawl all the way over. I pull down the top sheet and quilt, but I don't lie down. It makes me feel weird and vulnerable. Helpless.

So I sit there on the bed, my legs folded up beneath me, and wait until the bedroom door finally opens.