Page 12 of Snow Blind (The Technicians #14)

H elen stood at the kitchen 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.

*

***

F OUR HOURS WAS A LONG time to relive watching a corpse getting set on fire or hearing the sound of a hammer against enamel. Crafting was her safe place. It was what she did in moments of stress. Her crafting page was still up on the Craftwithme site with instant downloads and offered a trickle of income to a pre-paid card account. She hadn't checked it in a while and on a pit stop for snacks, she jumped at the amount.

"I am definitely going shopping," she said, searching for a second-hand furniture store.

Helen located a store on her way home as well as a sewing center. She stopped at both places, spent entirely too much money, and had armloads of fabrics with embellishments. There was enough time to make gifts for the people in her man's office, the family, and something special for Cherry's new baby. She had time.

She arrived home, waving at the cameras, knowing Mustang would see the notice on his phone of her coming through the main gate. Her man would also see her bring in the two office desks, used but perfect for holding her new sewing machine on one and the new embroidery machine on the other. The bookcase, although not very heavy, was the perfect height to hold the new cutting machine, stacks of neatly cut fabric in 1-yard cuts, bags of scraps for embroidery projects, and fat eight stacks perfect for mug rugs would be the ideal Christmas gift for Mustang's co-workers. At the sewing center, she had purchased software and when she looked at her total, her credit card was going to hate her, but the family would be happy with the new gifts. She even made a quick stop at the craft store to buy a mug press for sublimations.

"The mugs can match the rugs," she said with a false sense of accomplishment.

In between setting up the machines and organizing her craft room, the meatloaf would have been easier, but chicken seemed like a lighter fare. She sauteed chicken, boiled pasta, and prepared a quick salad. By the time her hunky hubby came home, she would toss the chicken and pasta in pesto, and dinner would be served. Helen took a look around the home she shared with Mustang. He had strong masculine styles with bold chunky pieces of furniture which she had softened with the rugs and curtains.

The embroidery machine was pretty much the same as the one at her house in Kentucky that Cherry gave her, but a bit of an upgrade. At the store, she’d purchased blank kitchen towels that were loaded in the quilting hoop and ten minutes later, the first one read “Neary” surrounded by laurel wreaths.

"I like," she said, loading the second kitchen towel into the machine.

By the time her husband came through the back door, she'd completed kitchen towels and embroidered a very large N in the bathroom guest towels. She smiled at Mustang and offered him a kiss.

"You're home," he said, "and dinner smells wonderful."

He took note of the kitchen towels which bore their last name, the dinner on the table, and the sound of a machine running in the other room. He pointed, walking in the direction of the noise.

"Okay and wow," he said, staring into the space that had been empty when he left this morning. Now, it was a functional craft room with two workstations and a flip up cutting table mounted to the wall. "You've been busy."

"Yes, I have some time off until the first Monday of the New Year," she told him. "I'm looking forward to the downtime to get holiday gifts done."

"That is some craft room set up," he said, returning to the kitchen, looking at his wife. She didn't need to say it. He knew. A bad thing happened. He could see a bad thing had occurred in her training program, and she wasn't okay. "Is crafting how you deal with stress?"

"Yup. And I'm going to craft the hell out of some presents for Christmas and put your Mamma to shame," she told him. "Also, I need the names of your coworkers so I can craft a few mug rugs with tea and cocoa goodies for them. When is your last day at work before the holidays?"

"We are off on the twentieth," he said. "Helen, do you want to talk about it?"

"Nope," she said. "I'm going to make cute shit, love all over you, cook some amazing meals, and show up at your job with cookies, brownies, and cupcakes. Everyone in your office is going to be like, ‘Oh wow, Neary, you're so lucky.’”

"That I am," Mustang commented. "Helen, we can discuss it if you want. I know that some parts of what is done as a Technician you will take to your grave. A solo Technician has to carry that sweetheart, but you don't."

"I do. I have to carry the reality of what it is I signed up to do," she said. "I can't be the protector and defender of the women and children of Indiana without facing down the ugly habits of men. Three weeks is what I have to decide if I will continue or re-open my online craft business and make cute shit for money."

"Helen, if you want to stay home, I can more than easily take care of you," he told her.

"I know, but I have something, Jay. There is a skill in me to do good. I know things and understand issues on a deeper level. So much information came at me that time is needed to sort through all of it. I was given so much information in a large brain dump that I need a moment to sort through it all. Crafting helps me think," she said. "Who is the Technician for Georgia?"

"Huh?"

"The Technician for Georgia, do you know him?"

"I've come in contact with him once, didn't make it long. He's not a friendly fella and he doesn't like people," Mustang said. "Any reason why?"

"His father is Kurtzwilde," she replied.

"Yes. It is a well-known fact."

"Kurtzwilde is Imperial of the Chrysalis," she told Jay, looking at his face. "He's also Passion Fruit's father. Oh, by your face, you didn't know that. Well, hold on to your hat, Trooper Neary; he's also Morgan's father on your former team as well as Thunder and Elm."

"Say what?"

"That is only the tip of the iceberg of my last two days," she said. "That man made a personal visit. I think he knew me and Bryan were in the other room, and he basically told me to go sit my ass down and be quiet for a minute."

Alarm bells were going off in his head. The last thing she ever needed to do was to come face to face with the slimiest eel in the pool. "Helen, you were in the same room with Kurtzwilde, and who is Bryan?"

"Bryan is Passion Fruit’s love slave captive, soon to be lover, I guess," she told him. "No, and I wasn't in the same room with that man. I was hiding in the other room with Bryan and Candy the Cane Corso. You know that damned dog weighs 100 pounds. That bitch knocked me down and pinned me to the floor like we were in a wrestling match."

Mustang could see the distress in the normally calm woman. She wasn't calm. He was concerned. "Baby, do we need to get away for a few days?"

"No, I need to create cutesy shit with people's names on the items. I need to make love to you each morning before sending you off to work, and if my cooter ain't too sore, hit that monkey again when you come through the door in the evening," she said, winking at him.

"Monkey? Helen, are you okay?"

Helen looked at the man she’d married. He was all sorts of handsome, great in bed, and a provider. He was a man who’d married her to ensure she had medical insurance, among other things. He also loved and supported her desire to be a Technician. She had to peel her emotions off her sleeve and put on her big girl panties. Time was what she needed to grow a larger pair.

"I'm home with my man. I can't be more okay than that," she told him. "My role in your life is to be the woman who loves and supports you. In between me going to do odd jobs for my side gig, I am a crafter. Your co-workers will know me as Suzie Homemaker, who sends treats to the office. I'm going to be okay. I need this time with you in our home."

"Roger that," he said. "The kitchen towels are cute. Helen, whatever you need. I'm here for you."

"I know, Jay, and I'm here for you as well," she said. "I guess next week I need to schedule a visit with my dad so you two can meet. I also need to make gifts for the boys and get those in the mail. I'm thinking about monogrammed bathrobes.:"

"Hell, I want one of those myself," he said.

"I got you, Jay," she said, plating the food for dinner.

She was home. She had three weeks to clear her head and wrap her mind around creating accidents for bodies alive and the recently deceased. There were no happy chance meetings or weird coincidences. The universe had spoken. Her understanding of death had been altered. In truth, so had Helen.

****

N EVER IN HIS ADULT life would he have imagined the words which formed in his head. He wouldn't speak them aloud, but he felt the phrasing all the way to his soul. Helen’s first weekend home, the change in her creating cutesy shit, as she called it, was a version of the woman he'd never seen. She was nesting all over the place, and he actually liked it. Hell, most of it he was loving, and by the end of the first week, in his heart he thought, "Fuck them Technicians. My wife needs to be home with me."

He'd never considered himself to be a selfish man, but Helen made him want to chop down trees to make her new pieces of furniture. On Monday, when he returned to work, in his lunch box was a note and a yummy lunch that wasn't leftovers from the night before. He opened the note in her girly handwriting, which almost looked like a Disney font, to read an inappropriate note about his stroke game with suggestions on methods to make her moan like a woman going into labor.

"Oh, my God," he said aloud, nearly choking,

"You okay over there, Neary?" James, his Deputy Director, asked.

"Yeah, my wife has a twisted sense of humor," he replied, smirking at the contents of the lunch pail.

"Hope to meet her soon," James replied.

"Perhaps," Mustang added. The note placed him in a good mood for the rest of the day. He had become excited to go to work each day and more excited to come home in the evening to see what his little bird had created in their nest. To say he was surprised was an understatement.

The mantle, which initially only held a photo of the two of them, was now covered with frames and photos of him and Helen doing activities with the family. He smiled at the photo of him and Naomi with her pony Misses Sprinkles. The image which really tugged at his heartstrings was a photo of Mark, his father, and Michael, his brother, standing around the grill, laughing.

"Helen, when did you take these photos?" he asked, looking at the photo of him in the kitchen with Ruth, licking the batter off the tines from the cake paddles.

"I have a lot of photos of you on my personal phone," she said, walking down the hall with a load of laundry.

He followed her but stopped in the hallway. This morning, the walls had been bare. This afternoon, there were printed canvas images of moments from their lives. A black-and-white image on canvas of Oscar and him working on the desk hung in the center of the wall on the right. Surrounding the larger image were smaller black and whites of Jeffrey and him working on the car, Stephen and him at the grill, and Apple and him at the table talking shop. There was also a photo of Ricky and him, but Mustang was looking at the man as if he were a suspect he'd pulled over on the side of the road. However, his breath was taken away by the imagery on the left.

In the center was a brightly colored image of him and Helen on their wedding day at the courthouse. He remembered the woman taking several photos with Helen's phone but never imagined this. He also didn't imagine seeing the image of them in his workshop in Oregon making the end tables or of the two of them in his canoe.

"Fuck them Technicians," he said, feeling emotional at how their home was coming together. "Helen, this is wonderful. I love all of this. You are amazing."

She'd never had the opportunity to nest like this before, and she planned to take full advantage of having a home to share with a man who told her encouraging words, hopeful words, loving words, like she was amazing. It felt good.

It felt even better on Friday when she arrived at his job in time for the holiday celebration, he'd mentioned to her in passing. Mustang received a call that a visitor was waiting for him at the front desk. He arrived to see Helen standing there with a large wicker basket she used to do laundry.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see her. He was also surprised at the basket loaded with lots of cellophane wrapped items. "Let me get that...what is this?"

"I brought goodies and gifts for your team," she said, smiling. "The holiday gathering is today, correct?"

"Yes, I didn't realize I’d mentioned it to you," he said, taking the basket.

Helen was provided a visitor’s pass, and he escorted her to the break room where the team was gathered. She waved to everyone as he made the introductions. Her eyes scanned the room for the one woman who thought there would be an opportunity to become her husband's work wife and eventual side piece. Helen found her in less than ten seconds. She was the one woman scowling at her.

"Everyone, this is my wife Helen," Mustang announced. "I have no idea what is in this heavy basket, so I will leave it up to her. Honey, do I need to do anything to help with...what is this?"

"I made a couple dozen of your Mama’s famous peanut butter cookies," she said, lifting out the platter of cupcakes. "These are cupcakes with holiday sprinkles."

The small group gathered around as the wicker basket began to get unloaded. "Let's see, I have holiday gifts from us to your team. This one is for James, who loves to fish."

Helen began passing out the gifts in clear cellphone bags with red and green ribbons. In each bag was a personalized mug which matched the personalized mug mat, which came with a pack of cocoa, mini marshmallows, a holiday season tea bag, and a peppermint.

"It's not much, but Jay has told me so much about each of you, I wanted to do a little something for his work family," Helen said as her watch beeped.

She looked at her husband, who was looking at her with so much love and pride in his eyes that Helen felt emotional. The team all fawned over the gifts as he moved to stand closer to her.

"This is nice; thank you," he said, offering a kiss to her temple. He’d laughed at the kid Jeffrey's comment about how often he kissed his wife, but he wasn't ashamed.

Helen's watch beeped again, "Honey, I have to get to the airport. Daddy's plane will be landing soon. The steaks are marinating, but don't forget to pick up some beer."

Mustang was scowling, "And why am I not having wine with my steak, wife?"

"Because my Daddy prefers beer," she said. "We are playing nice, remember?"

"No, he can have beer, and I will have a full-bodied red," he said, laughing. “You might want to stop at a convenience store for him to pick up a six.”

Helen provided a quick kiss to his cheek, wished everyone a happy holiday, and was off to the airport. On top of everything else in her life, she now had to spend the weekend with her overly emotional father who hated the holidays. Maybe this year, she could offer him a bit of seasonal cheer.