Page 122 of Beyond the Cottage

She placed the sack on the coffee table and went to the kitchen.

Ansel checked the clock—he’d been out three goddamn hours. He sat up, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Gretta returned with a jar of water and two pills, and as he drank, his stomach audibly groaned.

“You must be starving,” she said.

“I’ll get dinner at the hotel.” Where the hell was his shirt?

She handed him a prepackaged sandwich. Shirt forgotten, he tore into it, devouring half in four bites. He hadn’t eaten since Tadpole’s omelet.

“I met with Nat while you were sleeping,” she said, joining him on the couch.

He stopped chewing and choked down his bite. “And?”

“He wants to meet with you tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow…

Ansel stared out the dark window. He hadn’t fully let himself believe this would happen. After being waylaid by nereids, he’d half expected some other distraction to derail his and Gretta’s plans. Maybe he’d even wished for that.

But he’d gotten his meeting. Tomorrow morning, mere hours away.

“Fair warning,” she said, “Nat thinks you’re a fraud.”

“I anticipated skepticism from potential investors.”

“Well, he’s a hardass, but he’s no fool. Once you show him what the repellent can do, he’ll come around.”

“What time is the meeting?”

“Ten-thirty.”

He finished eating and resumed staring out the window.

“Are you nervous?” Gretta asked.

Was he? The demonstration would be fairly straightforward. It would either make an impression or it wouldn’t. But his heart rate and clammy palms indicated a negative emotional reaction.

“I don’t think nervous is the right word,” he said. “Our adventure this morning convinced me the repellent works.”

“What, then?”

He crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it on the table. Gretta dropped it in a waste basket.

“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s a lot riding on this. Something could always go wrong. But even if the senatorinvests, I’ll remain…uneasy.” He glanced at her. “I suppose I find it difficult to trust good fortune.”

He also couldn’t shake the feeling something would take Gretta from him again. After all, rekindling their friendship had been the greatest fortune of all.

“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” she asked.

“Precisely.”

She sighed. “And the cottage strikes again. I know how you feel, though. I think when horrible things happen so young, you grow up with that as your baseline, no matter how much you think you got over it. Even good things get viewed through a lens of shit.”

An apt insight. Jonas had always been fond of reminding Ansel he was a paranoid killjoy.

Smiling, he said, “Like walking through a meadow of wildflowers and only noticing your hay fever.”

---