Page 92 of Cabin Fever

"I really don't know. I'll text his assistant Jacoby." Bea held up her finger. She got up from the marble kitchen table that was sandwiched between two French doors leading to the back garden.

I had been home for three days. Each day I went to visit my father in the hospital, but not once had I been allowed to see him. There was always someone more important visiting him. I was his daughter, wasn't I more important than a politician? Apparently not.

The man was the owner of a grocery store chain. Why would so many politicians be interested in him?

Sarah dropped off a crystal bowl of mini blueberry muffins and a dish of fresh apple butter.

For the first time in my existence I noticed the decadence of my life. The size of my parent's kitchen was bigger than Carter's entire cabin. And the black marble countertops, custom white cabinets, and two black and white crystal chandeliers that hung over both islands in the center of the kitchen, were a sharp contrast to Carter's simple wood table and kitchenette.

"Wow. This is quite a spread, Sarah. You'd think the queen was showing up," I said with a light laugh.

All noise ceased. I glanced up to find my mom's mouth agape, Bea holding the phone to her chest, staring at me, and Sarah tilting her head in confusion.

I gazed down at the large, rectangular, mahogany table at the variety of scrambled egg whites, crepes, banana oat waffles, muffins, oatmeal, fresh strawberries from the greenhouse, various condiments, and jellies. Did we always eat like this?

"It's only a small breakfast, sweetheart." My mother patted my hand and gave me that look of hers—the expression she used when she was making up her mind about you and it wasn't good. Most likely that jet lag could extend three days and that I had a bad case of it.

"Yes, small," I mumbled and quickly shoved another piece of crepe in my mouth.

My mother returned to scouring social media to see what was trending and how she could make herself relevant. Bea went back to texting. And Sarah went back to being a fabulous chef. I watched her move about the kitchen, and I had the urge to help.

I missed fixing meals with Carter in the morning. Maybe I could cook up his potato hash. I think my mom might like it.

I got up from the table and went in search of a pan. After I found one, I set it on the stove. Then I asked Sarah where she kept the potatoes. At first, she was in too much shock to speak but once I told her I learned a bit of cooking from my time in Maine, the surprise wore off.

I grabbed a potato and began to scrub it under the tap before patting it dry.

"Olivia Jane Holiday Love, what on Earth do you think you are doing?" My mother's voice rose with every syllable.

"I'm making potato hash. I learned how to do it up in Maine."

I searched for a knife and cutting board. Sarah placed them on the counter for me.

"I'd love to see what you learned," she said with a smile.

It was a much different grin than what she usually had. It was softer and felt real as opposed to the stiff one she usually gave my mom and dad.

I began chopping and took my time. My mother and sister came over to sit on the bar stools at the large marble top island in the middle of the kitchen to watch. It felt like I was the star of a cooking show. We began talking and laughing. I told Mom about Carter, making sure I didn't mention his last name. She wouldn't want to know it anyway, given he was a farmer. I loved my mom, but she was a snob.

Once I was done, almost an hour later, my mother was even asking Sarah about her life. It felt good to help bring my family out of their secluded world and back down to Earth. But it didn't last.

"Dad gets out tonight." Bea scooped up a forkful of hash while holding up her phone.

"Wonderful. I'm going to have a party to celebrate. We'll make it Friday night. Invite everyone." My mother clapped her hands after three bites of my hash. That was her limit with all food—three bites and she was done.

"But he needs to rest. Maybe a party isn't a good idea . . ."

My mother laughed. "Of course, it's a good idea. What else do you do for a person just released from the hospital? Oh, Olivia, I think that mountain air has gone to your head. Maybe a day at the spa would do you some good. We should all go, us girls."

The spa was Mom's answer for everything. While getting a massage and sitting in the steam room does sound enticing, I don't think it wouldcureme of the mountain air.

The only thing that would make me feel better would be Carter. But he chose to stay. I had trouble sleeping the night before I left and ended up getting up earlier than my alarm. It was obvious that my confession of love meant nothing to him as he ignored it. And a simple trip to DC to meet my family was like asking him to set his cabin on fire.

He was fine with me if I stayed holed up with him, away from society. Keeping me from the world. If that's how he wished to live his life, that's fine. He was the only one that could dictate how he lived, but I wouldn't let him control mine.

I loved it up there, but it didn't mean I never wished to see the rest of the world, especially my family. There were things I wanted to do. I had been thinking of going back to school and study to become a veterinarian. That would take me away from the cabin for a while as the school I wished to go to was in Massachusetts.

"Okay, spa it is."

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