Page 69 of The Cabin
Nathan catches my eyes on his knuckles, and flexes his fist, shakes it out. “Had some rough times, after I left home. I was angry at life, and thus at everyone. I’d hit walls as much as people, if I couldn’t find anyone to pick a fight with.”
“You seem very much the opposite, now.”
He nods. “Get locked up for assault and battery, you start to reconsider things. Realized if I wanted to end up like Dad, all I had to do was keep going the way I was and I end up there sure as shootin’.” Every once in a while, I can really hear the Louisiana in his voice. “Or, I could pick a different path. So, I quit feeling sorry for myself and quit letting my anger at a shitty hand in life make me ornery, and I found someone that’d let me work with wood. A shop teacher at a local community college. Mr. Greene.” He sighs, thinks back. “He never asked me a single question. Saw me on the street one day, whittling, invited me to the college shop, and we ended up friends. He let me come as much as I wanted while the college was open, and even if he was teaching class, I could be there working on something.”
“Were you homeless?” I ask.
He nods. Spears more pancakes, and suddenly I’m glad I made what I’d thought would way too many. “For a time.”
“You’ve overcome a lot of hardship, haven’t you?” I sip coffee, and then mimosa.
“I guess,” he says. “But I’ve never really thought about it like that. It’s just my life. It is what it is. Shit comes at you, you can either lay down and let it roll over you, or you can figure it out.” He tosses back the last of his mimosa. “Lisa getting killed, though, that’s a hardship I couldn’t figure out. Getting over her was just too goddamn hard. It was so sudden, so unexpected. She was just…gone. And I …I couldn’t deal.”
I nod. “I know how that feels. The not being able to deal.”
He eyes me. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
I hand him my wineglass. “More, please.”
He snickers, and fixes us both another. The pancakes are nearly gone by now, two-thirds of them in his belly. My appetite is coming back, slowly but surely, and I find myself taking thirds, to my own surprise.
The coffee pour-over thing is empty, and he lifts it. “You want more?”
I nod. “If the question is coffee, the answer is always yes.”
“Be right back. You keep eatin’, I’m full.”
A few minutes later, my plate is empty, my belly is about to burst, and he’s clomping up the steps with a fresh pot of coffee. There are three pancakes left, and I notice him eying them.
I stab them with my fork, fix them the way I saw him do it for himself, butter on each one, syrup. I’m not sure why, but I cut them up, too.
And then I had the plate to him.
He takes the plate slowly, as if he’s confused. I am too, honestly. Why did I do that? Fixing his pancakes for him feels…intimate.
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” I say, by way of explanation.
He nods, again slowly, eyeing me almost warily. He eats, and the look of happiness on his face is a beautiful thing. “Damn good pancakes, Nadia. Thank you.”
“As good as Lisa’s?” I hear myself ask, and then immediately bite down on my tongue until I taste blood.
His fork clatters abruptly. “Don’t do that,” he says, with a tinge of anger in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what the hell came over me. I’m really, really sorry.”
He sighs. Sets the unfinished plate on his knees. “They’re different. She made hers smaller, the batter thinner. Not better, nor worse. Just…different.”
“You didn’t have to answer. It was a monumentally stupid question.”
Why would I sabotage something as good as this? It’s been comforting, friendly, no pressure. A companion in a dark time. I realize I really appreciate him, the little bit of time I’ve known him.
I blink back tears, stand up, and take my mimosa out toward the dock. Why sabotage a good thing? I can’t figure out why the hell I’d say something like that.
I don’t like the answer that bubbles up inside me. Because it’s a good thing.
Because you like him.
“It’s fine, Nadia. Don’t be upset.” His voice is close, directly at my left shoulder, closer than I think he’s ever been to me, physically.
“I am.” I sniffle. “I’m sorry. I truly don’t know what came over me.”
“Mouths run away from brains, sometimes. Happens to the best of us. No worries.”
“It was an amazing morning, until that. I feel like I ruined it.”
He bumps against me, his big, broad shoulder nudging me sideways. “Nah. We had delicious pancakes. Mimosas. Pretty damn good coffee, if I do say so myself. It’s a beautiful morning. So, still amazing.”
