Page 9 of Timber Ridge

“No, not at all,” Timber replies with a quick shake of her head. “I had this thought that my mom might have passed through, but she hated the cold. She would’ve never considered staying here, especially when the temperatures fall so low.”

“Folks drift in, but few drop anchor and stay,” I say. The wheels turn inside my head. Could my mom have brushed paths with her mother had she graced Port Promise with her presence? I hate that I can’t pick up the phone to ask her.

“That’s the truth of it. Many drift past but few plant roots. Sorry, I can’t help,” May says, positioning her pen on the order pad. “But I can feed ya.”

Eliza orders her usual corned-beef hash and eggs, and Timber hesitates just a moment before requesting coffee and pancakes.

I keep my eyes on my plate, focusing on the ooze of the egg yolks rather than the weight of Timber’s gaze. The silence is comfortable for no one, filled only by May’s scribbling on her notepad. As she walks away, I risk a glance up, meeting Timber’s eyes, and I clear my throat. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Eliza perks up, always the organizer. “I’m going to give Timber the grand tour of town, which should take twenty minutes, and then head over to the community center to get her familiarized in the classroom for tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” I’m relieved that I have no place in these plans. That means Hailey and I can run our errands and get home. There’s work to be done on the chicken coop.

“What time do you need me there tomorrow?” Timber asks, her hands wrapped around the warm mug of coffee May just delivered.

I pause, a spoonful of hash browns hovering in mid-air. “No later than six,” I reply, the words landing on the table with a thud.

The shock on Timber’s face would be comical if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Six in the morning?” she echoes, and it’s clear this wasn’t in the job description Eliza provided. “When does the day end?”

Eliza winces, her shoulders hunching up around her ears. “I might have, um, forgotten to mention that the days are long. Most people will be by to pick up their kids by four, but you usually will have extra days off because the weather mucks up so many schedules.”

Timber’s head cocks to one side and then the other before she shrugs. “So, it’s a forty-hour week. Sounds about normal.”

“Give or take,” Eliza says and rushes on. “But think of all the time you’ll save! I’ve got the first week’s lesson plans ready for you. We’re bringing firewood straight to your door, and you won’t have to worry about meals?—”

I watch as the information sinks in. I half expect Timber to stand and declare that she quits before she starts. Instead, she takes another drink of coffee and says, “If anyone is taking orders, I’ll pass on the squirrel.”

“Squirrel tastes just like chicken!” Ever the innocent commentator, Hailey pipes up with the earnestness only a child can muster. She’s beaming and proud to share.

A burst of laughter escapes me that seems to lighten the morning load. “Well, you heard the expert,” I manage between chuckles, grateful for the break in tension. “Who needs chicken when you have squirrels?”

“If squirrels taste just like chickens, why did you need to mail order a whole flock?” Timber asks with a playful tilt of her head.

I wait for Eliza to answer, but she stares at me.

“Well, you see,” I start, leaning back in the booth, “the squirrels here are a part of the local charm. It wouldn’t do to have them all disappear into stews and pies. Plus, chickens lay eggs, and as far as I know, no one’s managed to get a decent omelet out of a squirrel. Besides, the closest fried chicken joint is in Anchorage, and DoorDash doesn’t deliver here.”

“You’ll have to give it a try. It’s far better than it sounds,” Eliza says.

Timber shakes her head. “Between you and me, I’d rather eat my boots than a bowl of bushy-tailed stew. I’m fairly certain of where my boots have been.”

After a hearty laugh, we fall into a comfortable silence. May delivers their food, and our breakfasts disappear while conversations weave around bites of food and sips of coffee. Hailey’s stories about her kindergarten adventures serve as our soundtrack.

The meal progresses smoothly until Eliza suddenly stills, her hand reaching for the top of her belly. She winces, a low groan escaping her lips.

Timber’s head snaps up, concern etching her features. “Eliza, are you okay?”

Eliza takes a deep breath. “It’s just heartburn,” she assures us, though her eyes are tight at the corners. “It happens all the time lately, but I think ... I might have to pass the town tour torch to you, Kane.”

That look in her eyes, and the slight tilt of her head—it’s Eliza’s way of saying “I’m sorry, but you know you’re the only one who can,” without words.

I run a hand down my face, a catalog of excuses racing through my mind, each flimsier than the last. I can’t let Eliza down, not with her in this state, or in front of Timber, who’s watching the whole exchange with worry and curiosity.

But there’s a nagging suspicion in my mind, a thought that this might be too convenient. I narrow my eyes at Eliza, who meets my gaze with an apologetic expression. I give her a look that I hope conveys “I’m onto you,” but the resolve in her eyes tells me she’s not faking.

“All right,” I say, pushing back from the table and standing up. “Hailey and I are your tour guides for the day.”

Eliza’s relief is palpable, and she squeezes my hand. “You’re the best, Kane. I owe you one.”

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