Double Booked

The next morning brought no change in electrical status. Sidney wiped at his sleepy eyes, blurrily making out the overcast skies beyond the rain-spattered window panes. His back creaked with the stiffness of sleeping on the floor, but for the first time in a long while, his head lacked symptoms from the concussion he’d been battling for months now.

He knew the change didn’t mean much, and that it was only the beginning steps of his long road to recovery, but he took it as a good sign. Despite sleeping on the floor, despite the still-dreary weather, and despite the fact that he was still caked with mud because of the power outage, he knew today was going to be a good day.

“I feel like I’m living in Little House on the Prairie times,” Nora grumbled a few hours later, stepping back inside from her fifth attempt at calling the electrical company. From the way she looked in disgust at her phone, he assumed the call - yet again - hadn’t gone through. Unlike himself, Nora had woken up on the wrong side of the floor. She’d done nothing but grouch since eating cold cereal in the dim light of the kitchen window that morning.

“You’re right,” Sid deadpanned back, “I’m sure Laura Ingalls was always complaining about her cell reception.” He knew he shouldn’t have said that - the look she game him was a death threat. Before she could send another eye-dagger his way, Sidney ducked his head back down over the coffee table to the game of Solitaire he had set up, illuminated by the low glow of the sizzling coals in the fireplace and the dusty lantern he’d found in the utility closet.

She dropped into the chair across the room, still separated by the pile of blankets they hadn’t yet bothered picking up. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to shower sometime within the remainder of my vacation.”

He looked at her - hair stringy with dried rain, not a drop of makeup, and he was pretty sure there was a smudge of mud just above her left cheekbone. It was obvious she hadn’t seen herself in a well-lit mirror yet. But to him, he didn’t think it was that bad; he’d been around - he’d seen worse.

Eventually, she’d given up with her wireless technology and had subsided to the half-finished book she’d been working at since she’d gotten there. Something by Stephen King, something that made her eyebrows crinkle in wonder every so often - the latter was his favorite part.

He could tell it was late by the time either of them moved from their positions - the murky skies outside had grown even darker. It was Nora - her long legs untangled from their curled formation beneath her and reached the honeyed wooden floors and her book got propped open across the arm of her chair.

“What are you up to?” he asked her, interested in focusing his attention on something else for a bit. Hours of card games and rereading old South Dakota magazines and newspapers were beginning to make his brain as cloudy as the sky.

“I just remembered,” she said, a more enthusiastic note in her voice now, “I got a couple bottles of wine when I went out the other day.”

“Numbing your technology deprival with alcohol?” he joked, watching as she rolled onto the tips of her toes to reach the wine setting atop the fridge. She hadn’t even had supper yet - he knew because she’d made another frowny-face comment about how it was stupid to be opening the fridge when the power was out. Lest her cereal milk go bad.

“It’s called survival,” she joked back. He was happy to see her sense of humor return.

“In that case,” Sid said, throwing his card down on the table, “pour me a glass.”

---

She knew things were getting a little out of hand when they began drinking straight from the bottle.

“Your turn,” Nora said, outwardly aware of the slight slur to her voice. The last time she’d gotten tipsy off wine was with her best friend from high school in her parent’s basement. She shoved the bottle his way, the remaining liquid sloshing in the base. For the split-second it hovered over the lantern between them on the floor, briefly blocking the light, her vision went shaky. Somewhere between pouring the first glass and downing three-fourths of the bottle, they’d built the blanket-and-chair fort they’d reminisced about the night before and had hunkered down inside with their weathered deck of cards.

If only for tonight, they were five years old again.

Drunken five year olds.

As Sid sipped from the bottle, Nora gathered the cards that had been scattered throughout the lantern’s halo of light. “Okay,” she declared with a reasonless grin, “we’ve done Ultimate Golf, Old Maid, Go Fish-” She paused to think if she’d forgotten any.

“Hand and Foot,” Sid offered, blinking dramatically over the rim of the bottle he was still nursing.

She grabbed the bottle back before he finished the sucker off and wondered if she was in a state to walk and get the other bottle of wine on top of the fridge. “Right, hand and foot,” she agreed, cradling the bottle, “Any others?” Card games were so much more fun with alcohol - especially because neither of them ever knew who was winning.

He pursed his full lips and thought for a moment. “Slurpjwark,” she thought she heard him say through a burp, but upon him repeating himself he’d actually said, “Slap Jack.”

“You’re on,” Nora giggled, splitting the stack in half and giving him half.

“I used to play this game for hours with my little sister when I used to be at home,” Sid noted, adjusting his cards in his large hands.

Nora smiled. “I used to play it with my Grandma when I stayed at her house,” she said, more to herself than to him. Sidney laid down his first card - a ten. She threw an ace on top of it.

“God, I loved going to Grandma’s,” he added as he dished a seven, “she made the best fucking cookies.”

“And bread,” she added, indeed feeling five years old again. She contributed a four to the growing pile.

“And scalloped corn,” Sid said with a ridiculously straight face and another ten.

“And what?” Nora snorted, almost losing grip of her cards.

His face remained straight. “Yeah, scalloped corn,” he said again, face still as straight as a pole.

Nora couldn’t get over that word - scalloped. With another giggle, she blindly threw her card down. Only when she saw Sidney lurch forward did she slap a hand toward the Jack that she had unknowingly placed on top of the pile.

His hand was down first, then hers over it. She blamed it on the alcohol intake, but she kept it there, loving how warm it was beneath hers in the chilly cabin. It took her until right then - drunk and covered in day-old mud - to realize how happy she was that Sidney was there. Because if he weren’t, she’d be in the same state - a drunken mess. But only she’d be alone.

He kept his hand there, too, to claim his prize. The cards, of course. Not her hand, goodness no. She was sure the moment she took her hand off, he’d take his cards. But she still kept it there, for whatever reason she had, and eventually she felt his shift beneath hers.

At first, she wasn’t sure why his hands flipped over beneath hers, or why his fingers tangled with hers. Blame it on the alcohol. And then logic began to mingle with the burdened synapses in her brain and she let her fingers relax against his and enjoyed the feeling of his hand in hers.

“Your hand is so huge against mine,” she observed giddily, leaning in closer for a better look. To her, it didn’t make sense that a man who had dedicated himself to a sport like hockey had somehow come out of it with the world’s softest hands. Barely a callous on them. It didn’t make sense to her.

Blame it on the alcohol.

“I think your hand is just tiny.” She could tell he had leaned in, too - his voice was very close.

“It’s because I’m a microbiologist,” she explained, looking up at him. His face was maybe seven inches from hers. Maybe eight. “I work with tiny things.”

“Do you?” he challenged. Nora knew there was a deeper meaning behind his short response, but she knew better than to dwell. Drunk or not.

She nodded, and - she wasn’t sure - but she could have sworn that nod made their faces come closer. Maybe five inches apart now. She could feel his heat wash over her face and the imaginary pulse between them beat. There was no way any good was about to come from this.

Blame it on the alcohol.

Slowly, the small distance between them began shrinking. Soon four, then three inches between them. The closer he got, the warmer she felt and the faster her heartbeat went. This, too, she blamed on the alcohol. It was the only excuse she had.

And then there was one inch between them, which quickly melted into half of that, one-fourth-

A sliver of space was left between their ready lips when everything around them burst into light. Lamps flashed on, the kitchen light shone through the opening to their fort, the low hum of appliances purred back to life, and the thankful gurgle of water began moving through pipes.

They shot apart like a spark had zapped both of them; Sidney knocked half of the fort down with his size. Nora scrambled out from beneath the mess, vision turning like she was stuck on a rocky ship. A confusing mix of feeling spread through her - the fuzzy warmth of alcohol blended with the confusion of what the hell just went on. She was sure the feelings would be a lot more organized by morning.

“Still have dibs on the shower?” she heard Sidney mumble.

Still holding onto the floor for dear life - she was much too stunned and drunk to stand just yet - she swept a curtain of hair from her face and looked at Sidney. He had a dopey, drunken grin on those lips, hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot. Like they hadn’t maybe almost kissed.

Blame it on the alcohol.

“You bet your fine ass,” she retorted bluntly, also sure she’d be blushing about that one come morning.

“I get that a lot.” He shot her that boyish grin of his. Sidney was the poster boy of “Aww Shucks” looks, as far as Nora was concerned.

I bet you do. She needed to get out of there before her unfiltered mouth got her into any other trouble. She knew the situation was sticky as is, but the venture to the bathroom felt like parting the red sea at this point.

Blame it on the alcohol.

She made the venture anyway.