Page 7 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
Me: Good. I went to Dottie’s, picked up some groceries, and made soup. It’s quiet here.
Connor: Any trouble?
Me: No.
There is a beat.
Connor: I called Graham. He said you look less tired today.
Heat creeps into my face. I start to type a joke and delete it.
Me: He is looking out for me. Don’t worry.
Connor: That’s my job. I wish I were there.
Me: I know, but I’m fine, and what you're doing is essential. I’m so proud of you. Love you, big brother.
Connor: I’m proud of you, too, little sister. I love you too.
My throat tightens. I answer with a small heart and put the phone down.
The workshop door opens outside. I hear the low roll of the cart he uses for tools, then the soft slam of the shop door closing again. I move to the window without meaning to. Through the trees, I can see the workshop lights, warm squares cut into the gray early evening.
I try to read again and give up. The quiet grows. I turn the music up a notch and move around the kitchen. I set the table and stir the soup one last time. I’m not sure if I should wait for Graham to eat or not.
When he doesn’t come back inside by six, I sit and eat at the table by myself. When I’m finished, I stack my bowl in the sink and run water to wash it.
The music track changes to something slow with a steady beat. I should turn it down. Instead, I reach for the volume and leave it. I sing along loudly while washing the dishes from dinner.
The front porch creaks.
I freeze as Graham comes inside. Heat floods my face. I really hope he didn’t hear my terrible singing.
I keep my back to him. My chest rises and falls. I reach over and turn the volume down.
“Hi,” I say. My voice is steady. “There’s soup in the refrigerator. I wasn’t sure when you were coming in.”
“Thank you. How has your day been?”
“Good, I texted with Connor and did some laundry.”
I leave Graham to eat and head back to the guest room. I change into flannel pajama pants and a soft shirt. I sit on the bed and open my notebook. I have not written here in months. I pick up a pen and write the date. Then I write:
I am safe.
I set the notebook aside and crawl under the quilt. Sleep does not come right away. My body hums from the steady motion and from the attention through the glass. I turn my face toward the window. The pines shift in the wind. My eyes finally close, and I drift off to sleep.
Sometime later, I wake to a sound from outside. A fox yips far down the ridge. A branch taps the roof. I roll to my other side and try to keep my breathing steady. What would happen if I went down the hall and knocked on Graham’s door? Could I pretend I had a bad dream and ask to snuggle?
There’s no way I would ever really do it, but thinking about it makes me happy in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
***
I wake up hours later and the cabin smells like fresh coffee. I blink into the light and sit up. A sheet of paper waits on the floor just inside the guest room door. My name is on it in block letters.
I pick it up. One line of writing sits under my name.
Lesson at ten. Wear old clothes and your boots.
