Page 85 of The Cabin
Nathan,Out of the blue, I know. On purpose.
You’re still mourning Lisa. I could see it on you, hear it in your voice, when we sat down to drinks that last time. And yeah, buddy, I knew then that I was dying. I was in denial still, to a point, but I knew. I was picking your brain, that day. I hope I didn’t cause you pain with my questions, but I needed to hear the answers from someone who knew.
I was coming to grips with understanding that I’d be leaving Nadia behind. How could I prepare her for it? What would it be like, for her, after I’m gone? Will she be okay?The letter blurs as tears haze my vision. I blink them away, try to settle my nerves. “You knew him.”
“Yeah.”
“How?” I’m still processing, so I’m numb, yet.
“I was set construction foreman for Love, Me. We would meet downtown for drinks now and then. Talk westerns and whiskey, mainly.”
I sniffle a laugh. “He loved old Western movies. Rooster Cogburn, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.”
“Yeah.” A sigh from him. “I wasn’t a secret best friend or anything. We weren’t even really drinking buddies. Friends, that’s all. We’d get together once in a while, in the years since the movie, drink some whiskey and talk some shit.”
I nod. Go back to the letter.
Read it through, make a sound that’s half sob, half laugh at the signature: The Ghost of Adrian Bell. What an asshole. There’s a single slip of a note, explaining the cabin, and a lockbox in town.
“He bought both cabins and gave one to you, one to me.”
He nods, facing the fire, nods as if his head is too heavy for his neck.
“And I assume the other letter and the book were in the lockbox?”
“Yeah.”
I read the second letter.
I wrote it for you. And for Nadia…it’s about moving on. About finding love after loss…
You’re here for her.
Don’t show it to her. Not yet. She’s not ready.
I’m not crying, but my eyes sting, feel damp and salty. My throat burns, feels tight, constricted. I float across the floor to the large easy chair by the fire, sit, and start reading on page one.
Nathan just stands by the fire, staring into the flames. Waiting.
By the end of the first chapter, I understand. “He set us up.”
Nathan just nods heavily again.
“You knew.”
Another nod.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is tight, hard, sharp.
He turns, a hurt, confused, angry frown on his face. “What was I supposed to say? When am I supposed to bring that information out, Nadia? First day we meet, I say, ‘oh, by the way, I knew your dead husband. He gave me a secret book about you, and he wants us to…’” he trails off, shaking his head.
“Wants us to fall for each other,” I finish for him. “But all this time, he was feeding you information about me, in this.” I shake the book. “It explains so much. How you knew about Josh wine, and my thing for champagne, and chicken parmesan, and…how I can’t make my own fucking coffee. He’s showing you how to make me fall for you.” I stand up, and I don’t know if I’m more angry or confused. “And you know the craziest fucking part? It was totally working.”
I walk out. Leave his door open, and the book upside down on the chair, still open.
It’s drizzling. I don’t care. I’m heading for my cabin, and then Nathan is in front of me.
“Nadia, wait.” His hands are on my arms, gentle but so strong. “Please, wait.”
“Is this part in the book, Nathan?” I stare up at him; raindrops freckle his cheeks, bead in his eyelashes, on his beard. “Is this part of the…the script?”
“No.” He sighs. “We’re off-book, now, as they say in show business.”
“I think that means something different. Like, you’ve memorized your lines to the point that you can extemporize, improvise, just play the role without having to think about the lines you’re supposed to say.”
“Right.”
“So are we off-book?” I pull out of his hands. “What’s my line, here, Nathan?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”
“How was it supposed to go? I fall for you, we make love by the firelight, and maybe in a few years you tell me the truth? That my dead husband gave you pointers from beyond the grave on how to woo me? Or were you not going to tell me? Were you just going to keep that little tidbit to yourself?”
“I don’t know, Nadia. I don’t fucking know. I wanted to tell you. I didn’t know how, or when. When was it right? When was it going to…god, I don’t know. When was it going to go any different than this?” He turns in a circle, wipes his wet face with a palm, and then returns to towering over me, turmoil written in the lines on his face. “I didn’t ask for this, Nadia. I was doing just fine on my own.”
