Chapter 6
Claire
No need to think about that freak-out at the grocery store. I was fine now. This was fine.
So what, I unloaded my biggest trauma on the nearest person to walk by? No biggie. That was on him, really. He had been the one with the kind and open body language—well, that wasn’t exactly true. He looked like he was desperate to jump out of his skin, but he had listened. He could have run away, like most people would have, but he stayed. He let me unload.
“Oh gawd,” I groaned loudly to the car. I was going to replay this humiliating interaction for eternity. Every shower I took, every silent car ride, any time my hands weren’t occupied with a task, my brain was going to drift to that conversation. What had I even said ?
“No. We are done now.” Sometimes, saying it out loud helped stop the spiraling thoughts.
The drive up to the Carmichael house was easy, so that couldn’t account for this low-lying anxiety stewing in my belly. Luckily, the sharp, consistent cross-backs required so much of my focus that I didn’t have the mental capacity to question my sanity in all this.
The delayed shock had passed and my backroom confessional had lightened my load to some extent. Any other unpleasant worries or feelings were to be strictly ignored. Focus on the story. Then figure out the rest. One step at a time.
The decision was made; all I could do now was follow through. No point in playing through the what-ifs.
And anyway, this would all work out. It didn’t matter that I knew very little about the man I’d be living next door to for the next two months. I got the impression this L. Carmichael was just a grumpy, lonely mountain man who didn’t have the technological prowess in conversation that the younger generations had. Or maybe that was ageist? Maybe he was an old-fashioned blue-collar worker who begrudged any communication that wasn’t carrier pigeon or good ol’ face-to-face conversation. I’d exchanged a few texts with Levi about finding his place and how to get in. Every interaction was equally as charming as his listing for the house had been.
I wasn’t here to make friends, despite my dad’s concerns. In fact, I was quite content to cut all physical contact with humans for a while. When we eventually hung up at the general store, my father was a lot more comfortable with the situation, and I’d settled on once-daily phone calls. I would still need to figure out how that would work. He promised to wait to do the daily Wordle, but first things first.
“Here we are,” I said as I made the final turn according to the directions, slowing as I drove up a steep gravel driveway.
The concerns about future snow were real. Gravity tugged my head back against the headrest, like shooting off into space. Okay, maybe not that steep, but even as a person who’s always lived with snow, I would find this driveway intimidating in a few feet of fresh powder.
I would be gone before the worst of the winter storms arrived.
I brought the car to a stop in front of the tiny cabin and got out. The exterior was exactly as pictured: small, made of logs with a couple of steps up to the simple deck complete with a single handcrafted looking chair. With a deep breath, the cool mountain air filled my lungs and settled my nerves. It was considerably cooler up here, but only because there was just enough cloud coverage that the sun couldn’t do its thing. The dry, thin air usually meant that even if it was cold, the sun made it bearable, but with it tucked behind the clouds, I was thankful for my jacket.
I was really here. I was doing this.
Just a few thousand feet higher, and the air held a clean briskness that the city could never match. Palms pressed against my lower back, I stretched to face where the sun would be. I twisted side to side, nonchalantly scoping the main house as I did. It was the big brother version of my temporary home. No truck or car that I could see in the covered car park. No signs of life.
The owner’s main house was a modest-sized, two-story log cabin style that was very popular in these parts. It had a tall, deep-slanted roof and plenty of large windows. A full porch wrapped around the front. It was a surprisingly tidy place and well taken care of. That, too, reassured me. I leaned to the side to peek as much as I could behind it, catching the side of a large garage or shed, some sort of work area. I debated going to poke about but, even though I didn’t see a car, there was no way of knowing if he would catch me creeping around.
My imagination provided his shouts if he caught me and decided it wasn’t worth it. After a few more furtive glances toward the house, I got to work. I would meet him eventually, no need to rush it.
The lockbox holding the key was brand new and opened easily, reminding me once again that nobody had ever rented this place as far as I knew. I’d searched a three-hundred-mile radius from Colorado Springs, and this was the only place with anything close to the availability I needed aside from trying to rent a house, and I couldn’t commit to a year. I couldn’t think past Halloween at this point.
First, I’d bring in the suitcases and the groceries. Maybe make a tasty little assortment of snacks as Girl Dinner before getting straight to work. My stomach growled in support of that decision. Then I remembered that I’d panicked and fled the store with no food. Looks like I’d be eating the old protein bar at the bottom of my bag and the rest of my road trip Twizzlers for dessert.
The sturdy wooden steps creaked as I made my way to the front door of my new temporary home. Worry and disappointment in myself threatened to taint whatever awaited me on the other side of the door.
No matter what, it was temporary, and I would be okay with that.
I opened the door and was greeted with … peace. The air was slightly stale but not unpleasant. In fact, there was hardly a scent at all. I hadn’t been expecting the sense of rightness that spread over me. It was almost like a feeling of safety and comfort that I had been expecting when I’d moved in with Kevin, but that had never come.
“Huh,” I said, spinning slowly to take in the small space. Maybe because it was mine alone, or perhaps because I could finally breathe, but whatever it was, this space felt right. Even the walls seemed to creak with a welcome like it took a big sigh of relief.
A full-size bed was pushed against the right wall, made with a thick comforter and a pine green throw blanket at the end. I bent over to sniff. Smelled fresh. Okay, so that was good. To the left, under a window, was a well-loved but comfortable-looking loveseat with a short bookshelf next to it. It was stocked with a few recognizable thrillers, romances, and cozy mysteries, as well as several coffee table books about photography I would definitely be browsing later. The other side-facing window had the wood-burning stove, a small desk, and a chair, where I would spend most of my time. Past this main room was the kitchen area with a breakfast nook that sat two. Plus, a full-size working fridge and a brand-new coffee maker. Score .
There were two closed doors, one that led to a simple bathroom with a shower. The second was a closet with a small stacked washer and drier with cleaning supplies and extra linens. A quick sniff told me those were freshly laundered and critter-free. Tucked away in the back of the small house was another door, this one locked. Though I hadn’t even met the man yet, I heard his grumpy voice telling me to stay away from there too.
If a door is locked, that means it’s not for you.
“All right, sorry,” I grumbled to the imaginary man in my head.
The place was perfect, and it was mine for now. All anxiety melted away as I opened a few windows to circulate some fresh air. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Mr. Grumpy Pants made it out to be. Why rent out a place if you didn’t actually want anybody to stay there?
I returned to the car to bring in a few more things when movement in my periphery toward the main cabin caught my attention. A jolt of adrenaline had me widening my stance and tensing my shoulders as a grayish-brown blur bolted at me. I had just been reaching for my pocketknife when I realized the blur would not reach higher than my kneecaps and was thin enough to get lost behind a sapling.
It was a dog running full speed in my direction. I may have braced for impact in any other situation, but this little thing wouldn’t intimidate a house mouse. Its whip-thin tail and high-arched back reminded me of a Greyhound, but one shrank to a fraction of its original size.
This must be the dog I was warned about.
Terrifying.
“Are you the ferocious protector of Chateau Carmichael?” I knelt to catch her as she approached.
She was not having it. She trotted right past me, barely sparing me a side-eye. She stopped at the front door and scratched, her little frame wracked with shivers. It had to be in the upper fifties, yet she shivered like she’d been left out in the tundra. How did this dog handle these conditions in the coming months? This was not an outside dog.
Her whine increased, along with the shivers rattling her bones, and her thin tail tucked under her legs. I couldn’t tell if she was malnourished or just built like the child protagonist of a Dickens novel. I made my way to the door and touched the handle.
“You wanna come hang out?” I asked.
She looked up at me quickly with beady little dark eyes as though I would deny her more porridge at any second.
“Hi, I’m Claire. We’re going to be friends for the next few months.” I spoke calmly and sweetly as I held up a hand and slowly squatted down, studying the tagged black collar. “Can I get your name?” She stared ahead, whining quieter but with no outward signs of aggression. Thankfully, her tag was angled in my direction. “Ripley. Nice to meet you. You’re a good girl, Ripley. You don’t have a secret dark side that leads to sudden acts of violence, right?” I said in a sweet, high voice reserved for dogs, children, and birds that intimidated me at the park. Not cats. They hated that voice.
I slowly extended my hand, but she only gave a cursory sniff. I stood back up and opened the door. “Okay. Why don’t you give me the full tour? Good idea.” She zipped in and out of sight.
“Ripley?” I turned around in the room slowly, looking for the furry blur. The quick whipping motion of a tail caught my attention from where it stuck out under the throw blanket, lying across the heavy down comforter on the bed.
“No. This is good. You make yourself at home. I’ll just do my thing, and you do you, boo.”
Her tail wagged harder under the blanket before she let out a contented sigh and settled.
“I’m sure your owner is wondering where you are.” I looked out the open door up at the house but didn’t see any grumpy old men clambering at me. Maybe she snuck out.
I closed the door and set up my computer next. Then I remembered the idea that came to me on the drive up about a sharp hook in the introduction paragraph and I needed to jot it down before I forgot it. As promised, there was no internet and no reception on my phone. No matter, I had plenty of notes and files saved to my external hard drive.
My note turned into a sentence that turned into a paragraph, and the next thing I knew, I reached for my headphones so I wouldn’t lose the flow. My phone was filled with downloaded playlists because I’d planned ahead, and I let myself sink into my work.
Working eased more of the tension from me. I was safe here in this little bubble. This was what I was meant to be doing. If Kevin’s hurt features drifted into my mind like a floater in my vision, I just blinked him away and focused on the importance of this work and getting the article written.
Hours must have passed when I finally came back to my body and its physical needs. And possibly Ripley’s too. She wiggled restlessly in my lap. I blinked down at her.
“When did you find your way here? Sneaky.” She sat in a shivering ball on my thighs with the throw blanket wrapped around both of us. I paused my music and took out my earbuds, stretching my neck.
“Okay, potty break,” I said.
She balanced on pointy paws to stretch, as yet another chill wracked her body.
“We gotta get you a sweater or something.”
She whined and placed a paw on my desk. Her tiny pointy face aimed at the window with intense focus. She growled, the muscles of her upper body tensed. All at once, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled with the awareness of being watched.
I wasn’t alone.
Ripley started to bark a surprisingly deep protective bark for such a wispy thing.
My heart hammered as I reached for the pocketknife in my jeans. Should I pretend I don’t notice the dog looking out the window? Pretend I didn’t know a person stood just a few feet away from me? And then what? I had a little more sympathy for the victims in scary movies. You always assume you’d know exactly what to do in these situations, but in the span of just a few seconds, a thousand of the dumbest ideas I ever had rotated through my brain.
Where would I even get plastic wrap and Vaseline on such short notice?
I slowly dragged my gaze to the window, feeling every deep punch of my heart against my chest.
There, shrouded in shadow, was a tall figure, hooded and glaring at me through the glass.
I screamed. Ripley barked.
Somewhere, there was muffled cursing.