Page 52 of The Cabin

Brushing my teeth, I try to think of things I can do today to occupy my time and avoid quiet down time that’ll encourage spiraling. I mean, how the heck am I expected not to spiral about this? I read erotica out loud to the hottest person I’ve ever met (still not sure what magical confidence fairy came over me), and then he spent the night getting me more turned on than I’ve ever been, just so I could have a meltdown in front of him while he proves once again that he’s got a bad attitude and is sporting the same outdated software of himself as I am. OS WeHaVeNoIdEaWhAtWeArEdOiNg.0001.03.04.

Reading might do the trick, but I cannot read anything that will even remotely get me hot and bothered. Puzzling is quiet. Meditation is quiet. Coloring is quiet. Hiking is quiet. Yoga is quiet. Cooking is quiet.

I could go turn on Grayson’s saw. That is the opposite of quiet.

And do what? Shred all of his things?

…that’s actually not such a bad idea.

I could scream at the top of my lungs for seven hours. I could get all the pots and pans out and bang them together until I get a headache. I could put a bunch of raw meat out on the ground outside and roll around in it while I wait for a bear to come rip me to shreds. I imagine that wouldn’t be a very quiet activity. Although the waiting around might be too much downtime.

With all these fancy renovations, Grayson couldn’t install a freaking TV? Or, I dunno, Wi-Fi?

Even if he did have Wi-Fi, I have absolutely no idea where my phone is. And that’s a whole other rabbit hole anyway.

At this point I’m just pacing, wearing a hole in the floor. This is not good. I’m going to go crazy in here.

On the seventh rotation I notice a set of keys hanging on the hook. Bingo! That means whatever Grayson is doing is on foot, and his truck is here! Trucks have music. Trucks go places. I am totally stealing Grayson’s truck and getting out of here for the day.

I feel like I’m doing something bad (maybe I am) while I speed dress and grab my wallet, rushing to get outside.

The coast is clear when I shut the front door, so I dash across the tree roots as fast as possible, ripping open the driver’s side door and climbing in. I stick the key in the ignition and the radio starts blasting. Yes, yes, yes. Perfect.

I fiddle with the knobs until something I like comes on and put the truck in reverse. I feel invincible, like I’ve pulled off a heist or stolen the Declaration of Independence.

With the windows down and the music blasting I am just about as happy as happy can be. I sing, I watch the trees go by, I play the drums on the steering wheel. Wow, freedom really does taste so good.

Once in town, I slow down a little in hopes of people watching. Maybe I’ll drive to the Walmart like thirty minutes past Surley and find some things to do for when I get back.

There is an old couple outside gardening. The man is on his knees digging something up while the woman is holding a new thing of flowers. Now that is stinkin’ cute.

There’s a twenty-four-hour bar on the corner that I’ve never been to. And that has nothing to do with my dad scaring us off as kids and everything to do with never wanting to find out what happens in a twenty-four-hour bar. Two men are bickering outside smoking cigarettes. I get the impression they’re having two totally different conversations.

Just as I’m about to loop around to be nosy and drive through where the mayor and his wife live, I notice someone walking down their front steps. Now what do we have hereeee. Looks like trouble and I am so in. Ask and you mother freaking shall receive. The one good thing about small towns. My manifestation powers have been off the charts.

“Jade?” I question, rolling the passenger side window down and pulling off to the side of the road in front of the house she’s leaving. She puts her hand up to shield her eyes to see better in the bright sun.

“Sol?” She’s surprised, but a good kind of surprise. I can see it in the feline grin beginning to pull at her lips. This day is really shaping up.

She jogs up to the window and leans on her forearms against it.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she smiles and I feel funny in my stomach. The last time I saw her I was very drunk and running off of liquid courage. It’s a little scarier sober and in the daylight.

“Hey yourself.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just driving around. I was going stir crazy up on the mountain.”

“Want company?” Do I want company? As in company that is actually excited to see me or be around me and doesn’t get mad at me every forty-five seconds? Uh, yeah!

“Climb in.”

—

“Sorry, you’re telling me that was the first time you’ve ever been asked to dance at a bar?”

“It’s the first time anyone has even come up to me at a bar, let alone ask me to dance.” She pauses her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

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