Copper and Salt, page 6
When he got back to the house, he couldn’t open the door. His hands were numb, white with cold, and his fingers refused to bend properly.
Oren swore under his breath and tried again but his hands slid off the cold brass of the doorknob and the door stayed stubbornly closed.
Fucking idiot, he told himself, and tucked his hands into his armpits to warm them up, but just then the door swung open and Alex was revealed in the doorway.
“Oren,” he said.
“Uh… hey,” Oren said awkwardly. “Thanks.”
Alex hopped sideways to let Oren inside. “You must get warm.”
“Yeah,” Oren said as he shuffled into the house. “I’m… yeah. Okay.”
Alex must have stoked the fire while Oren was gone, because it was crackling merrily in the stone fire pit he’d laid himself. It had taken him several weeks, and he still stubbed his toe on that one stone that stuck out at an awkward angle, but it was one of the first things he’d built in the house and he couldn’t help being proud of it.
He knelt in front of the fire, holding out his hands and hissing as the heat hit his skin, his nerves lighting up in agonized protest at being revived.
“F-fuck,” he muttered, shifting his weight. “I’ve done some stupid shit, but that takes the cake.”
Alex wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, making Oren jump, and then settled himself on the cobblestones beside him, gazing at the flames.
Oren huddled inside the blanket, soaking up the heat of the fire, and silence fell between them.
“You were coming to look for me,” he said suddenly, and it was Alex’s turn to jump. “Oh my god,” Oren continued, facing him, “you thought I was freezing to death in the snow and you were coming out to find me.”
Alex lifted a shoulder, his mouth twisting like he tasted something bitter. “Is my fault.”
“No,” Oren said. He ached to touch him, but instead he clutched the blanket closer to his chest. “Alex, I—” He fell silent. “It’s not your fault,” he finished lamely.
Alex’s silence said clearly that he didn’t believe him but he didn’t feel like arguing.
Oren sighed. “I’m not… I’m not good at this shit. Talking about stuff.”
Alex’s eyebrow went up. “You, not good at talking?”
“Shut up,” Oren said, bumping him with his shoulder, and just like that, the awkwardness began to ease between them. Alex swayed into the contact with Oren’s side, smiling a little, and Oren didn’t even think about it before he opened the blanket and wrapped it around Alex, pulling him into the circle of his arms.
Alex sagged against him with a choked noise, trembling and pressing his fist to his mouth. “I am so sorry,” he whispered into Oren’s chest. “So sorry, Oren, I—”
“You still have nothing to apologize for,” Oren managed. “Just… no sex, okay?”
Alex nodded. “Okay.”
The fire popped and crackled as a piece of kindling shifted. Just as Oren was sure Alex was asleep, though, he stirred.
“I want to show you something,” he said.
Oren let him go so he could sit up, and Alex dug in the pocket of the sweatpants that Oren had given him, pulling out the piece of paper he’d had on him when Oren had found him.
Alex held it out and Oren took it, unfolding it. It was a photograph, taken on black and white film, of two boys standing in a creek, wet to their waists. Even with his sharp angles softened by childhood, Alex was immediately recognizable, laughing up at the camera with his arm slung around a younger boy.
Mihai wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at Alex, adoration in his eyes, a streak of mud on his cheek and his hair standing on end.
“Oh, Alex,” Oren whispered.
Alex touched the edge of the photograph with one slender finger. “I am… all he has,” he husked. “He needs me.”
Oren gave him the picture back and waited for Alex to carefully stow it away in his pocket before pulling him into his arms again.
“Soon,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Alex nodded, his hair brushing Oren’s chin. Silence fell once more and slowly Alex slid down until he was draped half across Oren’s lap, long limbs relaxed in sleep, his face soft in the flickering firelight.
Oren wriggled a little, getting comfortable, and pulled out the piece of wood he’d been whittling on and his carving knife. He thought he knew now what it wanted to become.
6
Oren carried Alex to bed when he couldn’t force his eyes to stay open any longer, and went back downstairs to the couch to sleep himself, wriggling and muttering to himself as he tried to get comfortable in its lumpy embrace.
The next day, he took stock of his pantry with a drooping sense of dismay. Alex, sitting at the kitchen table, looked worried as Oren backed out and turned to face him.
“Nothing for it,” Oren said, forcing a smile. “I’m gonna have to go hunting.”
Alex stiffened. “Oren—”
“I wouldn’t if I thought we could make it,” Oren said, scratching the back of his neck. “But we have no source of protein, we ate the last of my eggs earlier, all I have now are dry goods and a little milk about to clabber.”
“I do not need much,” Alex said, clutching at the fabric of his pants. “I will—I will eat small.”
“Absolutely not,” Oren said. “The radio said this could go on for another forty-eight hours, and you need proper food. You’re recovering from an illness and healing God knows how many broken bones. I have to go, Alex.”
Alex’s mouth wobbled.
“You’ll be fine,” Oren said gently before he could speak. “Look. You’ve got your crutch, right? You can get to the bathroom and back to the bed or the couch. You can read, or nap, or whatever you feel like doing. There are a few pancakes left over from last time, I saved them. You can eat those while I’m gone. Maybe don’t try to cook unless you know how to use a wood stove though. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but—”
“What if—”
“They won’t come back,” Oren said. “If they do, you can—” He turned in a circle for inspiration and a thought occurred to him. “Come upstairs with me a minute.”
It took more than a minute, Alex insisting on using his crutch and not being helped, but they made it to the bedroom, where Oren pulled open the doors to the wardrobe he’d built into the side of the hill, nestling it right into the rock.
“Look,” he said. He took Alex’s wrist and showed him how to find the switch, hidden at the back of the wardrobe behind the clothes hanging there. They pressed it together and the floor of the wardrobe slid back into the rock silently. “It’s a false bottom,” Oren said as Alex’s eyes widened. “More than big enough to hold you. If they come back, you get in there and wait for me. There’s a release button from the inside if you need to get out on your own.”
Alex’s eyes were panicky but he took a ragged breath in through his nose and nodded.
Oren smiled at him. “Go on back downstairs if you think you can make it. I won’t be long.”
He got dressed in his winter gear as quickly as he could and went back out to the living room to find Alex on the couch, curled in a ball with his arms around his knees, watching for him anxiously.
Oren spread his arms, nylon rustling. “I clean up pretty nice, right?”
When that failed to get a smile, Oren sighed and tucked his heavy gloves into his belt. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said gently.
Alex pressed his face into his knees and didn’t answer. Oren hesitated, but finally headed for the garage and his snowshoes. Back in the house, he retrieved his rifle from its case, loaded it, and checked his pack for the second time, acutely aware of Alex’s still form on the couch.
Finally ready, he stood and slung his pack onto his shoulders. Alex stayed where he was, no longer seeming panicked so much as hopeless, his eyes dull as he watched Oren.
Oren cleared his throat. “I, um. I’ll be back.” He headed for the door, listening for Alex, but there was silence behind him, and Oren firmed his mouth and stepped outside.
He got the snowshoes strapped on and glided over the snow up the hill behind his house, covering ground quickly. The air was cold and sharp as blades, slicing his lungs as he made his way along, and he tugged his scarf up over his nose, squinting through the soft snow still falling. Hunting in this was going to be a bitch.
It was slow going at first, his worry over Alex slowing him down and dividing his focus, but after awhile, the powder under his feet and falling all around him became his world and Oren felt his stress slipping away, one step at a time.
He hiked up the side of the hill and halfway along the ridge before stopping for a breather. If it hadn’t been snowing, he’d probably have been able to see the grey plume of his chimney smoke from where he was, but instead his world was soft white and dark trees on either side, the only color his brown snowsuit.
Oren glanced back once more toward Alex and his house, then plunged down off the ridge and into the trees. He moved more on instinct and memory than sight or sound, guided by the shape of the branches and his internal compass, floating through the trees with almost no noise.
He’d missed this, he had to admit. The freedom of moving, being dependent on no one but himself, the clean air and the stark white and raven black around him.
He reached his deer stand, unbuckled his snowshoes, and swung himself up into it, then settled in to wait, binoculars at the ready.
The problem with hunting, he admitted to himself after the first hour, was that it gave him too much time to think.
Specifically, time to think about Alex, with his porcelain bones and eyes that had seen too much, the way his hair fell over his brow as he looked up from under his lashes, hope and curiosity on his delicate features. Oren wanted to touch that hair, run his fingers through it, see if it was as soft as it looked. He wanted Alex, he knew, and touching him would be the worst thing he could do.
You’re an asshole for wanting it, he told himself silently, and shifted his weight. Think about something else.
“Buy me dinner first.” The boy’s voice was light, amused, and Oren jerked his eyes up.
“What?
The boy raised a mocking golden eyebrow. “If you’re going to undress me, you have to buy me dinner first.”
Oren could feel himself firing scarlet. “I’m—I wasn’t—”
“I’m Ben.” The boy held out a hand and Oren fumbled and dropped his math book. It hit with a loud thud that echoed in the auditorium, and Oren wanted to sink into the floor. Ben’s other eyebrow went up.
Oren finally managed to find the coordination to take his hand. It was big and warm, slightly sweaty, and the skin was soft, his fingers strong as he clasped Oren’s hand and shook it.
Ben’s mouth quirked, and Oren knew he was in trouble.
Oren closed his eyes for a minute. God, Ben, I miss you. You would love Alex.
A branch snapped, and Oren’s attention returned to the clearing in front of him. A small buck, half-obscured by the falling snow, had stepped out of the other side and was considering whether to cross the open space. Oren shifted his weight soundlessly and brought the rifle to bear, resting it on the frame of the deer stand and sighting down the scope.
The deer was motionless for a long time, nearly head-on to Oren. A bad angle, easily missed, and too far away for Oren to risk firing and wounding him. It had to be a clean shot.
He waited, stiff muscles and numb fingers forgotten, as the deer made up its mind and stepped delicately into the clearing. One step. A second. Then a third, and it was broadside to him. Oren let out the breath he’d been holding in one slow exhale and at the end, he pulled the trigger.
The rifle report was deafening, frightening birds from the trees in a thunderous uproar, snow showering after them. Oren barely noticed. The deer jumped straight up in the air, landed, stumbled. Took two steps and went to its knees. Oren slung his rifle on his back, grabbed his pack, and jumped out of the stand as the deer toppled onto its side, pulling his hunting knife from his pack and approaching, cautious of the still twitching hooves.
It took him a lot longer to get home hauling a three hundred pound deer. Eventually, he fashioned a rough sled and slung the carcass on it, dragging it behind him as he trudged over the snow. He was aching and exhausted by the time he reached the door, every muscle complaining, but he kicked off his snowshoes with quick movements, leaving the deer where it was momentarily. He needed to tell Alex he was home first.
But when he stepped inside, the house was dark and cold. Dread stretched uneasy elbows in his chest.
“Alex?” There was no answer. “Oh no,” Oren whispered. “Alex? Alex!” If he left again… There was no way to track him with the snow coming down even heavier now, and Alex wouldn’t last ten minutes, even with his crutch. Oren stripped his gloves and ran upstairs. The bathroom and bedroom were both empty.
“Goddammit.” Oren turned to hurry back out, intent on searching downstairs, but a movement from the wardrobe caught his eye. The doors were slowly opening. Oren bolted toward it, his heavy boots loud and jarring on the wood floor, to see Alex’s blond hair as he cautiously emerged. Oren went to his knees next to the wardrobe, relief turning his joints to water. “It’s me,” he said, holding out a hand. “It’s me, I’m back.”
Alex scrambled out and into Oren’s arms, nearly knocking him backward with the force of his embrace. He clung to Oren’s neck, trembling, but didn’t say a word.
“Were you…” Oren closed his eyes, afraid he knew the answer. “Were you in there the whole time?”
Alex nodded against Oren’s shoulder.
“Oh, honey,” Oren whispered, and tightened his grip. “I’m so sorry. But look, I’m home, I’m here. Everything’s okay.”
Alex eased back a fraction to look into Oren’s eyes. He was only an inch away, and it would have been so easy to bend down and seal their mouths together—Oren cleared his throat and attempted a smile.
“I bagged a deer,” he said, and Alex looked briefly confused.
“Bagged—oh, shot?”
Oren huffed a laugh and let go so he could get up and pull Alex to his feet. “Yeah. I’ve got to get him into the garage and on the rack. Do you want to watch?”
Alex nodded, but Oren had the distinct feeling it was more to do with not wanting to be separated from Oren than actually watching what he was doing.
The deer carcass had a blanket of fresh snow on it, still growing, and Oren picked up the sled handles and towed it into the garage as Alex held the door for him. Inside it was cold but not quite freezing. Oren lowered the winch and strapped the deer’s hind legs into it. He raised it until the buck’s front legs were an inch off the floor, then set a big bucket under its nose.
“I have to drain it,” he told Alex, still standing by the door. Oren pulled his hunting knife out and cut the deer’s throat in one clean slice. Thick, dark blood flowed sluggishly down its chin and into the bucket in a crimson curtain.
Alex made a strangled noise and fumbled for the door handle. He was outside before Oren could react. Shit. Oren dropped the knife and went after him. He found Alex on hands and knees just outside, retching in the snow.
“Fucking hell, Alex—” Oren went to his knees beside him again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think, are you okay?” He held out a hand, unsure Alex would want to be touched.
Alex hunched his shoulders, trembling. “Sorry, Oren. Sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” Oren said. He took a chance and rubbed Alex’s back. “You must have seen so much during…. I’m sorry.”
Alex turned and leaned into him and Oren wrapped his arm around Alex’s waist.
“Let’s get out of this cold,” he said gently. “I’ll butcher the deer on my own later, once it’s drained.” He helped Alex up and into the house, up the stairs to the bathroom. “You’ll want to brush your teeth,” he said, pointing at the mirrored cupboard. “I keep a couple of extra toothbrushes so I don’t have to go to town often. Help yourself to one and I’ll get you dry pants.”
He came back with another pair of pants and Alex’s crutch. Alex’s face was white as he leaned against the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. Oren knocked on the door with one knuckle.
Alex turned. “Do you need… help? With deer?”
Oren shook his head. “I’ve done it myself plenty of times. If you want to help, you can, but—”
Alex was shaking his head too. “I am sorry, but I think—”
“Here.” Oren held out the crutch and pants. “Come downstairs when you’re ready. Let me just make sure the deer is draining properly and I’ll be back.”
When he got back inside, Alex was on the couch, eyes on the door. Oren smiled at him.
He woke the next morning to Alex bending over him.
“The snow has stopped,” Alex said, excitement vibrating through his voice. “Oren, it has stopped!”
Oren sat up, rubbing his eyes, and forced a smile through the dread that sank in his stomach like a stone. “That’s great. As soon as it starts to melt, we can go.”
“Tomorrow?” Alex was very nearly thrumming with tension, his entire body tense and focused.
Oren hesitated. “Maybe. It depends on how warm it gets today.”
Alex sagged and Oren touched his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I promised, okay? As soon as possible.”
“Okay,” Alex said. He smiled suddenly, his brown eyes lighting up. “Your hair is… ridiculous.”
Oren felt at it, realizing it was standing on end and trying in vain to smooth it down. “Not everyone is as gorgeous as you when they roll out of bed in the morning, pal,” he said.
To his amazement, Alex blushed at that, ducking his head as dimples appeared. “Esti frumos tot timpul,” he said.
