The key turned in the lock easily; a sheen of WD-40 glinting in the afternoon sun revealed the reason why. Isaac expected a waft of stale air to assault his nose when he swung open the door to the trailer, but was greeted with fresh air with a hint of bleach. A quick glance to the windows explained why—they were all open, letting the evening air circulate. With Bass’s hand clutching tight to his, he led them both into their home for the next few months.
The trailers of his youth were musty, dingy hovels, but the temporary worker housing at Idun’s was crisp and efficient, with a palette of pale wood trim, whites, and grays. They stood in a small entry—directly in front of them was a closet with a stacked washer and dryer. To the right of that was the door to the bathroom—the source of the bleach scent—complete with an actual tub. The toilet didn’t even have rust stains. Farther right was a walk-through kitchen; the cupboards already housed a few dishes. He dropped the keys onto the white counter and opened the fridge, smiling to see a fresh jug of milk, a few cold waters, and some apples. He tossed one to Bass and took one for himself, biting it with a crunch, sucking the juices so they didn’t dribble into his beard—the hazards of facial hair. A peek into the pantry revealed a few boxes of cereal and cans of soup. He couldn’t imagine the brisk Sanna stocking the cupboards, so it must have been Einars—or Sanna on Einars’s orders. Though he had trouble envisioning Sanna taking orders from anyone.
A small table rounded out the kitchen, tucked tightly against a bank of windows that looked out onto the back property line, with more trees in neat lines on the other side. On the end of the trailer was a snug living room with a worn but clean sofa. A peek under the cushions proved it to be a hide-a-bed. Next to the window, a folded blanket lay on the back of a slim recliner. It was spare but cozy.
“Where’s the TV?” Bass asked.
Isaac looked for a cabinet or spot where one could be hidden, but didn’t see one.
“I think we are sans TV for the summer.” Bass’s face fell in disappointment. “TVs are where you watch other people’s adventures. We’re going to be having our own.” Bass perked up a bit, but Isaac knew it would be a long summer, especially since the trailer wouldn’t have Wi-Fi either, per his request during his phone call with Einars.
Before going out to get their luggage, he stuck his head in the bedroom, which took up the back third of the house and contained a queen bed and a built-in dresser.
“Looks like you’ll be bunking with me, Sardine,” he said, giving Bass’s hand a little squeeze. “Let’s get our stuff.”
In one trip, they carried the couple of duffel bags and Bass’s backpack from the black Prius. Bass unzipped his bag and pulled out a green fuzzy object, setting it on the right pillow of the bed, his preferred sleeping side.
“Snarf make the trip okay?” Isaac asked.
“He’s a stuffed animal, he’s fine.” Bass rolled his eyes, but moved the dragon a bit farther from the bed’s edge before dumping the rest of the backpack’s contents out. Sprawled across the clean white comforter was his son’s life—everything he had deemed important enough to bring on their trip: a stack of baseball cards, books four and five in the Amulet series, his baseball glove and a baseball, a Mad Libs book they had bought somewhere in Kansas in which all nouns entered were either fart or butt, his iPad, and a handful of superhero action figures.
But Snarf was the prize possession, a gift from his mother, Paige, shortly after she and Isaac had divorced. It was a squishy green dragon with hidden pockets to keep secret treasures. Snarf’s pockets were filled with sticky notes written by both Isaac and Paige for Bass’s kindergarten lunch box during the last year of their marriage. Bass wasn’t aware that Isaac knew he’d kept them. Isaac had discovered them before Snarf got his first bath after falling in a mud puddle. Before tossing it into the washing machine, he’d dutifully checked all the pockets, each note a sad reminder of the year they tried to make it work even as Paige had slipped away. Some notes were in his precise print—simple reminders on how to spell their last name and that Q came after P in the alphabet, followed by a dozen Xs and Os to show his love. Paige’s notes were in a wobbly cursive, illegible to a six-year-old, but treasured all the same.
As Bass sorted his treasures and found them homes along the windowsills, Isaac dumped out the duffels onto the bed to organize their clothes in the dresser, careful not to let the envelope of papers, one of which was Paige’s death certificate, fall out. With a subtle glance to make sure Bass hadn’t seen, he closed the now-empty duffel and slid it under the bed. Bass was still too young.
? ? ? ? ?
After devouring the frozen pizza Isaac found in the freezer, Isaac and Bass tidied up the kitchen. With so little space, they would need to keep things clean, which wouldn’t be too difficult with the little they had brought with them.
“Time for bed,” Isaac said.
Bass slid the last dried plate into the cupboard and yawned.
“Not tired.”
“Dude, you just yawned big enough an ostrich could have run in and out of your mouth and you wouldn’t have noticed.” He paused, walking back toward the bedroom, knowing he was pulling Bass in his wake. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow we actually have work to do.”
He opened the dresser drawer and pulled out Bass’s pajamas.
“I don’t want to work with her.” Bass crossed his arms.
“You have to. You broke the window and some of her equipment. Since you don’t have money, you need to work it off. Besides, you might even learn something.”
They both got into pajamas and went into the bathroom to brush their teeth. It had become their routine to do it together.
“She doesn’t like me.”
Isaac was a little worried about this, too. Sanna didn’t seem like the most warm and fuzzy person, but it would be good for Bass to learn how to interact with different types of people. He would make sure to spend some time with her, too, make sure the prickly woman was giving Bass a fair chance—or at least that was the level of interest he was willing to admit to himself tonight.
“She doesn’t know you.” He squirted toothpaste onto each of their toothbrushes.
“She’s really tall. As tall as you,” Bass said around the toothbrush in his mouth, spraying white foam onto the mirror.
Isaac smiled and wiped it off. He loved hearing Bass’s take on events. For some magical reason—or more likely the not-so-magical reason of trying to extend his bedtime—Bass always became more talkative at this time of night, and Isaac found it impossible to resist the conversation. It wouldn’t be long until the surly teen years, might as well soak up the conversation now. He spit out his toothpaste.
“I noticed.”
“Do you think she needs a ladder to pick apples?” Toothpaste foam dribbled out of his mouth as he spoke. Isaac resisted the urge to wipe his chin.
“You can ask her tomorrow. I bet she’d tell you.”