Page 7 of Cedarwood Cabin

“That's cool. I’ll watch a horror movie or something,” I reply with a slight nod,

trying to mask my tiredness by smiling. Curling up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn sounds like the perfect way to end this exhausting day.

As we head home, a group of bikers drive next to the truck in the other lane. The two bikers at the front spark a flicker of recognition. One of the riders turns his head sharply to the side for a split second. On another motorcycle, a woman with brown, curly hair clings tightly to another tattooed man, her arms wrapped around his waist.

My father observes them. “There are a lot of bikers in this town,” he states.

“Hmm,” I reply.

We pull into the driveway and my father parks the truck, remaining in the driver’s seat.

I hop out of the truck and feel the evening air hit my face. The bikers come back to mind, with their dark aura and tattoos. I try to ignore my thoughts as I turn to my father. “Want me to cook you anything for dinner?”

“It’s okay. I’ll grab a bite to eat at the bar,” he replies.

Before I can shut the truck door, my father speaks up again, “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, Flora?”

“I’ll be fine,” I reply, shutting the truck door and offering him a small smile to ease his worry.

He reverses the truck out of the driveaway and shouts out the window, “I’ll be back later!”

I turn to face the house, appreciating its imposing size. It is much larger than the house we had back in England. Double the size, in fact. With its pristine, white paneling with matching windows and doors, the house stands proudly on its plot. We left a small brick Victorian townhouse behind in England.

Before, my bedroom was tiny, big enough to fit a single bed and a small dresser. Now, my bedroom is spacious with large, bay windows that let in plenty of light. It’s nice having a double bed and a cozy reading nook.

I open the door to the house and step inside. Even though I preferred this house, it still felt unfamiliar with our old furniture mixed with new pieces we’ve collected since moving.

I feel relief as I sit on the hallway bench. I unlace my hiking boots and tug them off, setting my aching feet free. I wiggle my toes and let out a deep groan.

I push myself up from the bench and walk into the kitchen to grab a glass from the cupboard. I fill it with water, taking a generous sip. I turn to the cupboard and search for a snack. Finding a box of popcorn, I open it and put it in the microwave. I head upstairs to change into something more comfortable, my legs aching with each step. Ouch. Fuck. Ow.

I make my way to my bedroom and walk over to the closet, taking out my Chucky T-shirt. I take off my hiking clothes and change into my loungewear.

I hear the microwave's faint beeping and go back downstairs. Before I even reach the kitchen, I can smell popcorn. I can’t help but feel excited for this chilled evening. Grabbing the popcorn and a glass of water, I head to the living room. I sink into the couch and pull a blanket over my legs. Picking up the remote, I begin to flip through the movie options. I settle on the movie Misery, my father and I’s favorite. We have always shared a bond over horror movies. There is something about controlled terror. The opening credits roll and I feel a sense of calm wash over me.

My thoughts drift to my father; I hope he is enjoying his evening. As the movie progresses, my phone buzzes. I pick it up and see a text from my father.

Dad

Hi, Flora. Just checking in and making sure you’re okay. Nancy says hi.

Me

Hey, Dad. I’m good. Just watching Misery and munching on some popcorn. Tell Nancy I said hello. Enjoy your evening. ??

I send the text message and place my phone down, focusing back on the movie. The minutes tick by and the movie reaches its climax. My phone buzzes once again and I glance at it, expecting another text from my father. Instead, it is a news alert about a local event, something that can wait till later. I return to the movie and it quickly comes to an end. I take the empty bowl and glass to the kitchen to clean up. I wander back to the living room and glance out the window, looking out as the moon shines over the backyard. My phone vibrates on the table once more. Picking it up, I see another text message from my father.

Dad

Glad to hear. I love you.

Me

I’m going to bed. I love you, too, Dad.

I decide to turn in for the night. I walk upstairs and crawl into my bed as the day’s fatigue finally catches up to me.

I wake up and realize I must have fallen asleep straight away last night. I glance at my alarm clock: 6:00 a.m. I push back the covers with a groggy sigh. A pressing need to pee drives me out of bed. I step into the hallway and notice Nancy at the top of the stairs, pausing at the sight of her. She is wearing a loosely buttoned blouse that hangs open just enough for me to notice the lace underneath. Her dark red, wavy hair is a tangled mess, probably from a fun night with my father. Holding her boots in one hand, she glances up at me with an embarrassed look.

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