Page 14 of Curvy Girl and the Mountain Man Wolf
Near the kitchen area, I notice a calendar hanging on the wall. Moving closer, I see it's marked with simple notations—"J - supplies" appears once a month, and phases of the moon are carefully tracked. Otherwise, the days are blank. No appointments, no reminders, no social engagements. Just empty squares stretching into the future.
What must it be like to live that way? No deadlines, no obligations to others, no schedule to maintain. Complete freedom, but also complete isolation. I try to imagine it and find that I can't. Even at my lowest points, I've always had Lily, always had connections to other people. The thought of eight years alone makes my chest ache.
The door opens and Kane steps in, bringing a blast of cold air with him.
"Generator's fine," he reports. "Should keep running even if the power goes out."
"Does that happen often?" I ask.
"Often enough in winter," he says with a shrug. "The lines are old up here, and ice brings them down. That's why I installed the solar panels and backup generator."
The cabin is at least partially off-grid. Practical, for someone living so remotely.
"Mr. Kane," Lily calls from the bookshelves. "Can I read this one?" She holds up a book with a colorful cover. Some kind of field guide to local wildlife, from what I can see.
He seems momentarily startled by the direct address, then nods. "Of course."
"It has pictures of wolves," Lily explains, bringing the book to the couch. "Maybe I'll see a picture of your wolf."
Kane's eyes find mine, and something passes between us: a question from me, a warning from him. There's more to the story of the wolf than he's telling, I'm certain of it now.
"What should we do for dinner?" I ask, changing the subject. "I'd like to help, since you've been cooking for us."
"There's stew in the freezer," he says, moving to the kitchen area. "Made it a few days ago. Just needs to be heated."
"That sounds perfect," I say, following him. "Let me help."
He hesitates, as if unused to sharing the space, then nods once. "Bowls are in that cabinet."
We work together, but he never comes too close, always maintaining a short distance between us. I notice the way he sidesteps when I reach for something, how he times his movements to ensure we never brush against each other accidentally.
"Have you always been a good cook?" I ask, trying to fill the silence with something other than the sound of Lily turning pages in her book.
Kane considers the question as he stirs the stew. "Had to learn," he finally says. "Out here, it's cook or go hungry."
"You didn't know how before you came here?"
A shadow crosses his face. "Military food. Then takeout. Never needed to cook much before."
It's the first direct reference he's made to his life before the mountain, and I seize on it like a detective finding a clue. "You were in the military?"
He nods once, his expression closing off. "Army. Special Forces."
That explains some things—the physical fitness, the survival skills, the hyperawareness of his surroundings. But not why a highly trained soldier would choose to live alone in the wilderness for eight years.
"Thank you for your service," I say, "Is that how you learned about tracking animals?" Changing the subject slightly. "In the military?"
"Some of it," he admits. "The rest I learned here. Trial and error."
I try to imagine him, newly arrived on this mountain, learning to live off the land through experimentation and probably failure. It must have been incredibly difficult. Dangerous, even. What drives someone to make that choice?
The stew begins to simmer, filling the cabin with rich, savory aromas that make my stomach growl. I realize I'm starving after the long hike and judging by the way Lily perks up and sniffs the air, she is too.
"Smells amazing," I say, setting the table as Kane focuses on the stew. "Lily, put the book away and wash your hands, please."
She complies without argument, returning the book to its exact spot on the shelf before heading to the bathroom. I watch her go, grateful once again for her resilience, her ability to adapt to our sudden change in circumstances.
"She's a good kid," Kane says, surprising me with the observation.
