Page 14 of Mountain Grump
Something wraps around my throat.
I don’t know that we were friends exactly. But to be honest, I don’t know that I’d call anyone myfriend.
I’ve lived in this state my whole life. Never livedin town, but Lonely has always been the closest town. The school I went to. But everyone I knew from before, when I was young… we don’t stay in touch. Not since looking after my sister became my life. And not now that my work has become my life.
“You alright?” Sandra asks, bringing me back to our conversation.
“I’m good.” I lie. “Bad service.” Not a lie, but not relevant. “We still on for dinner tonight?” I’m not really in the mood, but canceling would just lead to more questions.
“Yep. Usual place?”
“If you don’t mind driving.” Our usual place is closer to me than it is to her.
“Nope, I don’t mind.”
I duck under another branch and come out onto the service road, putting my truck in sight. “Just call to confirm dinner, or do you need something?”
I’m being short, but Sandra ignores my attitude. “That’s all, Bro-than. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”
Hanging up, I unlock my truck, and I push all thoughts of the mountain fairy named Tilda out of my mind.
Chapter 8
Tilda
My stomach grumbles,and I sigh.
Time to make some food.
I shift forward in the chair, planting my bare feet on the deck, readying myself to stand, and my knee protests.
When I fell, I landed on both of them. But my right knee clearly took the brunt of my weight. The sun felt good on my legs, but now that I’m looking at the mud and blood on my skin, I feel itchy.
My next sigh turns into a groan as I stand.
I’m glad my body tends to run hot, because the weather here is certainly cooler than I was expecting, and I’m dressed for a desert summer.
But the mild temperature is appreciated since I didn’t break a sweat hanging my suncatchers. Hauling my boxes into the house was a different story. But it was a good distraction from… everything.
Reaching through the empty screen door frame, I push open the inside door and step through.
One of these times, I’m sure I’ll trip on the lip of the screen door, but right now, stepping through it is a tiny touch of fun that I desperately need.
Stop it.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Standing in the space between the living room and kitchen, I hold my arms straight out from my sides, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
I’m fine.
I’m better than fine.
I have a house.
I have property.
A truck.
