Turning Wood

Turning Wood By Ofelia Gränd Mason Dager slowly spun the misty whiskey tumbler between fingertips grown cold from the prolonged contact. The beautiful, egg-shaped glass didn’t look well balanced. He was almost afraid to let it go. When he forced himself to release the glass, it sat perfectly still on the bar disk. The ice cubes were nearly all melted, but he had yet to take a sip. “Not to your liking?” The bartender, a blue-haired woman with tattoos struggling to climb her neck despite her attempt to hide them under a scarf. It was a black and gray sugar skull scarf. He frowned. She was probably not trying to hide them at all. Glancing at her face, he noticed a mark underneath her bottom lip. “Not allowed to wear piercings while working?” Mason almost chuckled. He was amazed that a posh winter resort, River Cove—such a lame name—allowed a blue-haired woman to tend the bar. Her eyes, a lighter shade than the hair, crinkled at the corners. “I can do whatever I want to…after hours.” She winked. “Mhm.” He went back to stare at the amber liquid in his glass. “You want me to put it on your room?” She nodded at the whiskey when he looked up. “Ah…erm…yeah, that would be good.” He put the glass to his lips and took a sip. Nice. Though how he would pay for it when checking out, he didn’t know. His phone buzzed in his pocket for the hundredth time. He didn’t look at it, didn’t need to. He’d checked it the first twenty times, but now he didn’t have the energy anymore. Every time Joel’s name came up on the screen, a part of him died. How had it come to this? He downed the whiskey and asked for another, and another…and another. The bartender went from looking curiously at him to frowning. His life was over, his money gone, his car—Joel had sold his car. He rubbed his forehead. It was his own fault. He’d signed everything over to Joel, believing him when he’d said he could get a cheaper car insurance. The insurance part wasn’t a lie. Mason was twenty-four, Joel thirty-three, so he did get a cheaper insurance. But signing over the apartment and getting a joint bank account instead of the one he used to have…He was so f*****g stupid. How would he get out of this? He had bills to pay and food wasn’t free either. The only reason he’d come here at all was that it was already paid for and breakfast, lunch, and dinner were included in the price. It was going on a holiday over Christmas or starve. There was no way in hell he’d tell his mom what had happened, not now. New Year’s Eve was the highlight of her year. She put so much time and effort into making the party as perfect as could be. He would not ruin it. If he could walk around smiling at friends and family, pretending everything was fine, he would. He raised the glass to his lips only to find it empty. “Could I have another?” He smiled at the woman. She was getting a little fuzzy around the edges. Mason blinked to clear his vision. Normally he didn’t drink. “Are you gonna keep it up till I cut you off?” The woman grabbed the bottle, looked around, and refilled his glass. She was pretty in an odd way, like a drawn superhero or something. She raised an eyebrow as he studied her. “I like your hair.” She snorted. “Sure you do. Most men mingling around here in their fancy suits and constantly buzzing phones love my hair.” She put the bottle down and wiped the counter. “Yeah?” He believed the opposite. Why Joel had booked them a week here, he didn’t know. Mason wore a suit, he’d even put on a tie before coming down to the bar, but he was pretty sure his entire ensemble cost less than what most of the men in the room paid for a pair of socks. And maybe he was being prejudiced, but he didn’t think they appreciated tattoos, blue hair, and piercings. But then again, Mason knew nothing about what people thought. He’d believed Joel loved him, had believed all his pretty lies, and now he didn’t dare trust anything anymore. River Cove wasn’t a place Mason would have gone voluntarily—too expensive, too far away from civilization, and he didn’t ski, so what the hell would he do at a winter resort? How could a resort, even an expensive one, survive in a town named Snowmelt? Snowmelt. Mason shuddered. This far north, the snow probably didn’t melt before midsummer. “No, silly. They hate it as much as my boss does.” She grinned, a dimple appearing in her right cheek. She was cute in that way Ryan liked. Thinking of his younger brother, he groaned. Ryan had never liked Joel, and, in a week, he’d have to go to the New Year’s party on his own. There would be no end to the comments. He’d have to come up with a reason why Joel couldn’t be there—flu? Ski accident? A group of assassins? “Are you here on a conference? You don’t look like a doctor.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “What else do we have this week? Computers, right? Wait, we have the affiliate summit or whatever.” She frowned. “Funny, you don’t strike me as a marketing guy.” “Eh…no, I’m here for the food.” Mason rubbed his forehead and, when she looked at him funny, he added, “I’m a transcriber, business-related most often.” She kept on staring. “You’re a what?” “I listen and type.” She made a face. “I’m so sorry.” Mason stared at her. What had he said? Damn, he was getting dizzy. His phone vibrated in his pocket again. Perhaps he’d talked about Joel without realizing. “Yeah…” He tipped back the whiskey. It burned on the way down. “I think I’ll go for a walk.” “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The bar spun as he got to his feet. “Yeah.” He nodded but stopped when a wave of dizziness hit him. “Which room is yours?” Oh no, had he given her the wrong idea? She might be pretty in a cartoony way but…“I’m queer.” “Good for you, now where do you belong?” He pursed his lips. Belong? He didn’t belong anywhere. He had nothing left. She made a sound of frustration and searched for where she’d noted his room number earlier. Silently, or as silently as he could, he slipped away.