Page 9 of Loud Unspoken Memories

“Your shoes are soaked. They need time to dry. We can put them by the fire.”

“Oh.” It seems I hadn’t noticed my shoes at all. Or maybe I plain forgot when he started playing doctor with me.

“You can stay here and make your calls. I’m going to bring in another pile of wood so it can start drying out.”

Most of my body still feeling like a popsicle, I slump forward and hold my hands out, getting them as close to the flames as I can without burning them. A glance around the cabin reveals it to be the opposite of everything I expected.

The entire side wall is covered in—I squint—wine bottles and books?As in there must be a hundred bottles of wine and at least triple that number of books. So I was right about him. This long-haired, Ivy League hermit is turning out to be quite the interesting character.

My eyes take a brief moment to peruse the rest of the room. It’s large, kind of like a hotel suite, with a small kitchen along one wall, a love seat and coffee table along the other, and a queen size bed whose headboard is made up of one of the large bookshelves. It actually looks quite artistic.

There are two doors to the right. The bathroom he went into earlier, and what I assume to be a bedroom. I look back at the bed, wondering why it’s out here if there’s a bedroom behind door number two. There’s another door next to the front door which must be a closet. The entire place is about the same size as the large dorm room I shared with two other girls at FSU.

The front door opens, and a gush of frigid air comes inside with Dallas, his arms loaded with wood that is still dusted with bits of snow. As he piles it in the corner, I finally get out my phone now that my fingers have regained feeling.

My bottom lip trembles when my favorites screen appears and I see Charles’s name and photo underneath the cracked glass. I wonder how long it will be before I’ll be able to delete it. My brother Asher’s name is on the same screen, along with his daughter Bug’s.

The only other name that ever reached my ‘favorites’ designation is Suzanne, my friend and neighbor who I often swap babysitting duties with when one of us needs to run errands. Her daughter is right around Charlie’s age.

I swallow my grief for the thousandth time since Anita called me yesterday morning to give me the news. Scrolling through my contacts, I find her number and tap it. There arethree beeps. I try again. The same thing happens. I look at my service bars to see there are none.

I hold my phone up when Dallas brings in his second load of wood. “I thought you said you get service here.”

He doesn’t speak until he’s meticulously piled every last bit of wood next to the previous load. He gets his phone off the small kitchen table. “No bars.” His head shakes. “My tower must be down again.”

I tilt my head. “Yourtower?”

“Sometimes when too much ice builds up, I have to climb up and knock it off. And I can’t do that when it’s dark. It’ll have to wait until morning.”

I stare him down. “Again,yourcell tower?”

“When I bought the place a few years ago, there wasn’t any cell service. I needed to be able to work remotely so I had one put up.”

I belt out what must sound like a ridiculous laugh. “You justhad one put up?”

Of course he did. Don’t all Yale-educated geniuses have their own cell towers?

“Kind of convenient thatyourtower is down and there’s ‘too much’ snow to use your truck.” I use air quotes when I saytoo muchto get my point across. “It’s a big truck, Dallas. You can drive me out of here.”

“Maybe if it were a few hours ago, but now, no way. You see the snow. You saw the ice. Hell, you almost broke your neck slipping on it. Almost lost your life when you slammed into the tree. Yeah, I have a truck. But I’m not risking your life trying to drive you the fifty miles to get—"

“You said thirty.”

“It’s thirty miles to Luther’s auto shop. It’s fifty to get to anywhere that’ll do you any good. There’s a hotel/restaurant/gas station that caters to tourists. Listen, I’m not going to put you indanger. Sleep with the knife. Or don’t sleep at all. Whatever suits you.”

I don’t really have any options here but to trust the guy and hope I wake up intact and alive. “Fine,” I huff and nod to the doors on my right. “But only if you let me take the bedroom and you stay out here.”

He points to the bed. “Marti, thisisthe bedroom.”

“What’s in there?” I ask, motioning to the door next to the bathroom.

“Nothing.” He turns away and I can’t see his face. “A hobby room of sorts.”

“Great. So you only have one bed? I’ll take the couch then.”

“If you want to wake up in traction,” he says. “It’s not nearly big enough.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

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