Page 41 of Snow Blind
Chapter 12-Happy Chance
Helen stood at thekitchen sink looking out the window at the dense wood line and snow falling. Her stomach wasn’t in the mood for coffee. Her brain wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Yesterday had taken a toll on her mentally. A low-down person had put a bullet in a drunk, pissy Barney, leaving the man for dead. Adding insult to his nasty demise, she had helped mutilate his body and set it afire after his death. People sucked. A small smile hovered at the corner of her lips as she thought of Chet, the other body on the slab. Yeah, people sucked.
Passion Fruit walked into the kitchen and noticed the smirk on Helen’s face. “Good to see you’re feeling optimistic this morning."
“Always hopeful, but I was thinking people suck,” Helen said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Chet, the cadaver,” she replied. “What if he was a Muslim? He’s going to arrive at his afterlife to 40 virgins and nothing to prick them with if you know what I mean.”
"Can you imagine poor Chet wondering why his excitement at seeing his afterlife prize triggers no physical reaction, only to look down and see no penis? He will be yelling, fuccck!"
"And the virgins will reply, not in this afterlife, Dickless," Helen said.
Passion Fruit burst into laughter. She liked Helen and her outlook on the follies of life. When the laughter ended, she inquired, “How do you decompress, Helen?”
“Crafting. I had an online store on one of those crafting sites where I made cutesy shit for the home and sold my pattern designs. It brought in butter and egg money,” she said.
“Go home and craft, Cranberry. Yesterday was a lot even for a seasoned Technician. Come back the first Monday of the New Year if you still want this life,” Passion Fruit said.
Helen mentally nearly took off running, but she stayed still, trying to remain cool. “The Boss is okay with that?
"Yes, she agrees with my medical assessment of you needing time to process what you have seen, had to do, and comprehend."
"Home?" she spoke the words softly like Dorothy speaking to Glenda the Good on returning to the farm in Kansas.
Passion spotted the sparkle in her eyes and knew this was the right call. "Yes. Go home to your man and your crafting machines. First Monday in January, come back to continue your training."
"Okay, you don’t have to tell me twice," Helen said, heading for her quarters to collect her things. In the hallway, she passed Bryan making his way for coffee.
"I’m heading home for the holidays," she told him. "You have choices and options, don’t think you don’t, but be honest with her and yourself. Loneliness can make us believe we’re good when reality says otherwise."
Bryan liked the woman called Cranberry. She was scary, but there was a calming effect about her which came with the voice of reason. She'd stood up for him when she didn't have to. Last night when they returned, the facial expression and look in her eyes indicated she'd done a thing she wasn't comfortable with aiding him in having a shot at a new life. He asked from a place of honesty, "Do you think I should stay here?"
"Right now, until you heal, I would. Talk about options and make a plan, but more specifically, talk it out, figure it out. It's quiet enough here to write that book," she told him. "You will have company, and when that cast comes off, Candy can take you for walks to strengthen that leg. Rebuild, Bryan."
"Can I come with you?" Bryan asked.
"You need to be under medical supervision," she said. "She will take good care of her patient. Plus, she's already seen you naked and held your flaccid penis and still looks you in the eye with a straight face."
Bryan actually blushed and found himself laughing. "Thanks for the reminder."
"Hey, if she can respect you when Oscar is in a dormant state, and she still wants to talk to you, there is a start," Helen said with a wink.
"Oscar?"
"The Mayer Weiner," she said and burst into laughter. "I gotta get a move on to get ahead of the snow. Be good, Bryan."
"You are really scary, and I shall miss you," Bryan said.
"Ditto," Helen said, heading into her room.
It took less than five minutes to throw her items in a suitcase, wave goodbye, and head to the garage. She wasn't planning to call anyone. She wouldn't even tell her husband she was on the way home. He would get off work and find her home, wearing an apron and pair of heels and pulling out a meatloaf from the oven.
"Meatloaf sounds good," she said, opening the garage and beginning to drive.
