Chapter 13
The days blurred together in a rhythm I was enjoying. Wake with the sun. Coffee on the porch. Work on the cabin and my case files until the light faded. Sleep hard and dreamless.
The roof was finally finished. Not perfect, but solid. I'd replaced the damaged shingles, reinforced the flashing around the chimney, and sealed every seam I could find.
It would hold through the winter rains. Come next spring, I'd give it another look, maybe replace a few more sections that were showing their age. But for now, it was one thing I could stop worrying about.
The siding was next, but I'd have to wait for hardware store to fill my order. Which meant it was time to deal with the inside.
I'd been avoiding the second bedroom. The door stayed closed, and I pretended there wasn't a problem behind it. But pretending doesn't fix rot, and rot doesn't fix itself.
The room was small, maybe 3/4 the size of my bedroom.
A single window on the exterior wall, dirty glass letting in gray morning light.
The floor was old fir planking, wide boards that had probably been beautiful once.
Now they buckled and warped near the wall, the wood darker there, the grain raised in a way that told me everything I needed to know.
I got down on my knees and pressed my thumb into the nearest board. It sank in. Soft. Punky. The kind of give that means the wood has stopped being reliable flooring.
I pulled up the first board with my pry bar. The nail heads were rusty, the wood splitting around them. Underneath, the subfloor was worse with dark stains spreading from the exterior wall inward like fingers reaching into the room. I could smell it now, that musty, organic smell of decay.
I kept pulling boards. Methodical, one after another. Stacking them against the far wall. Each one revealed more of the damage.
The joists were compromised in two places. Not gone, not yet, but soft along the top edge where the moisture had pooled. I probed with my screwdriver and found solid wood about an inch down. That was good. It meant I could sister new lumber alongside the old instead of replacing the whole thing.
But it was still more work than I'd hoped for.
I sat back on my heels and looked at what I'd uncovered. The sill plate was the source. Where the wall met the foundation, water had been getting in. Maybe for years. Claire's father either hadn't noticed or hadn't been able to fix it. Regardless, it was my problem now.
I photographed everything. Close-ups of the damaged joists. Wide shots showing the extent of the rot. The sill junction where moisture had entered.
I'd learned to document problems before I fixed them. Partly for my own records, partly because sometimes you need to remember how bad things were to appreciate how far you've come.
Then I made my list. Two-by-tens for sistering. Tongue and groove fir to match the existing floor. Construction adhesive. Galvanized nails. Polyurethane sealant for the exterior. New flashing for the sill plate.
A week's work, minimum. Probably more.
I looked at the mess I'd made and decided I'd earned some lunch.
Charley's was quiet when I walked in. The lunch rush hadn't started yet. Just a few regulars at the counter, coffee cups steaming, newspapers spread out in front of them.
Stella looked up from wiping down the counter. "Thomas. Sit anywhere you like."
I took my usual booth by the window. Stella brought coffee without being asked.
"Thanks, Stella."
I was halfway through my first cup when the door opened and Aimee walked in. She was wearing jeans and a blue sweater that made her eyes look even brighter. Her hair was down today, brown waves brushing her shoulders.
"Well, look who it is." She slid into the booth across from me. "The mysterious mountain man, come down from his cabin."
"Nothing mysterious about me."
"That's what all the mysterious ones say." She flagged down Stella for coffee.
"Who's covering at the grocery?"
"Zack. He needs the hours, poor kid. So, how's the hermit life treating you?"
"Keeping me busy. Finally got the roof finished."
"That's good. Rainy season's coming." She wrapped her hands around the mug Stella had brought her. "What's next on the list?"
"Found some rot in the second bedroom. Floorboards are shot. Water's been getting in at the sill for who knows how long."
Aimee winced. "How bad?"
"Bad enough. Had to pull up half the floor this morning. Two joists need sistering, subfloor needs replacing, then new decking on top of that."
"That sounds like a lot of work."
"Week at least. Maybe more if I find more damage once I start digging." I shrugged. "Always the way with old houses. You fix one thing, you find two more things that need fixing."
"My ex-husband used to say that. Of course, he never actually fixed anything. Just pointed at problems and complained about them." She smiled. "You actually do the work. That's different."
"I just prefer doing what I can when I can."
"Ain't that the truth?" She sipped her coffee. "So what's the plan for today?"
"Lunch here, then drive up to Forks for lumber. There's a yard up there that should have everything I need."
"Long drive."
"Hour each way. But they've got better prices than anything around here, and I need a lot of material."
Aimee nodded. Then she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping.
"Hey, something happened the other day. Thought you might want to know."
"What's that?"
"Harlan Foster was asking about you at the store."
I felt my jaw tighten. "Was he?"
"He wanted to know if you'd been buying supplies. What kind. How much. Whether you seemed like you were fixing the place up or just camping out until you gave up and sold."
"What did you tell him?"
"Told him I didn't keep track of what my customers bought, and even if I did, it wouldn't be any of his business." She smiled. "He didn't like that much."
"I bet he didn't."
Aimee studied me over the rim of her cup.
"So? You going to tell me what happened?" she asked. "I know he came to see you."
"How do you know that?"
"Thomas, please. It's Port Chasten. Everybody knows everything. Harlan Foster drives his fancy Range Rover up to the new guy's cabin, people notice." She set down her coffee. "Come on. Spill."
I told her the whole thing. Harlan showing up unannounced, the butterscotch candy, the stories about hunting with Mark James. The offer to buy my land. The way his eyes went cold when I turned him down.
Aimee listened without interrupting. When I finished, she let out a low whistle.
"One hundred thousand over what you paid? That's a lot of money."
"It is."
"And you said no."
"I did."
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Most people would have taken that deal, Thomas. Even if they didn't want to sell. One hundred thousand dollars is one hundred thousand dollars."
"It's not about the money."
"Then what's it about?"
I thought about how to answer. The words came slowly.
"I spent twenty-two years doing what other people wanted me to do. Living the life my wife wanted. Working the job her father gave me. Being the man everyone expected me to be."
I looked out the window at the narrow street, the old buildings, the mountains rising in the distance.
"Other people made choices for me, but I can't blame them for all my failings.
I'm a grown-ass man and I should have taken more responsibility for my life.
I know that now. I can't run from the past, but I can make my future.
That cabin is the start of it. I bought that land because I wanted a place that was mine.
Because I chose it. Because for the first time in my life, I'm building something that belongs to me. "
I turned back to Aimee.
"Harlan Foster can offer me whatever he wants. That land isn't for sale. Not to him. Not to anyone."
Aimee was quiet for a moment. Then she shifted under the table and ran her foot along my calf.
"That might be the sexiest thing you've ever said to me. I'm soaked."
I laughed. "Standing up to a rich old man is sexy now?"
"Standing up for yourself is always sexy." She traced her toe up to my knee. "You know what else is sexy?"
"What's that?"
"A man who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to go after it." Her foot traveled higher. "Speaking of which, you said you're going to Forks after this."
"That's the plan."
"How flexible is that plan?"
"Depends on what you're offering."
She smiled that warm, wicked smile I'd come to know.
"I'm offering a tumble at my place before you make that long drive. If you've got time."
"Aimee." I leaned forward, matching her tone. "I always have time for you."
"Good answer." She pulled some bills from her pocket and slapped them on the table. "Coffee's on me."
"I can pay for coffee."
"You can pay me back in bed." She was already sliding out of the booth. "Come on, mountain man. Daylight's burning."
I followed her toward the door. Stella watched us go, her expression knowing.
"You two have an enjoyable afternoon," she called out.
Aimee waved without looking back.
"Always do, Stella. Always do."
Aimee's place was a small house on a side street, three blocks from the main drag. White siding, blue shutters, a porch that needed painting. She'd lived there since her divorce, she told me. It was small, but it was hers.
We barely made it through the front door.
She kissed me hard, her hands already working at my belt. I kicked the door shut behind us and walked her backward toward the bedroom, our mouths still locked together.
"Missed this," she murmured against my lips.
"It's been four days since last time."
"Four long days."
We fell onto her bed, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing. I pulled her sweater over her head. She arched her back so I could unhook her bra. Her breasts spilled free, full and heavy, the nipples already hard.