7. Millie
CHAPTER 7
Millie
Caden.
He gave me his name. Which is about as much of a peace offering or apology as I think I’m going to get today.
He’s not Bill, and Thank God . I couldn’t imagine a woman as lovely as Maura being married to such a grumpy bastard. I can’t wait to meet her in person, she’ll no doubt be a tonic after enduring this man for a seven-hundred-hour drive.
I stumbled across the Lodge – and, in turn, Maura – by chance last fall. Up until that point, my life had always been meticulously planned out. It made me feel in control in some kind of way. I had always felt like I was keeping myself safe from all of the things that could go wrong, all of the people who could throw my world off its axis if I let them in. But moving into my late twenties, I’d started to feel a yearning for more. The walls that had once kept me safe were now starting to feel more like a cage, and I was looking for a sign to take me out of my comfort zone and away from the life I’d always known in Rowenbridge.
That sign came to me in the form of a discarded brochure on the bench next to me at the park one frosty afternoon. Discover Alberta . I flicked through the pages, paying little attention to the ostentatious golf courses, Nordic spas, and $1000 per night hotels. But I was instantly pulled in by a quaint lodge nestled in the Canadian Rockies surrounded by trees, spread across page seventeen. Braggan Valley Lodge.
Between all of the greens and blues of the advertisement it would’ve been easy to miss the tiny white text box in the right-hand corner, but my eyes were drawn there, and I instantly knew that this was my sign. Now Hiring for Summer! I pocketed the brochure and, after a few too many margaritas for courage, sent off my resume alongside a pleading cover letter.
A few days later, I sat in front of a computer screen, sweat glistening across my forehead as I waited for the interview that could uproot my life. Nervous, and feeling like I should just hang up before she had the chance to reject me.
There’s something weird about sitting in the same box room that’s seen all of your one-night stands and failed situationships, with a dress shirt on top and pyjamas on bottom, hoping to appeal to a potential employer. I wasn’t entirely sure that the four walls around me weren’t cursed, just waiting to witness another ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ scenario, but this one employment related.
When it was time for the call, an older woman with blonde-grey waves falling loosely from a scrunchie on the top of her head popped up on the screen. There was something about her that instantly put my nerves at ease. I let my muscles soften and it didn’t take long for me to share a bit of myself, to let her see some of the parts that I so often keep hidden from the world. Maura seemed like the closest thing to warm honey in human form, a soft-spoken accent with hints of Irish and Canadian mixed together. We chatted at length about why I wanted to get away from Rowenbridge, about the lodge, and the ins and outs of working the summer season in Braggan Valley. And without paying any attention to the time, a call I had expected to last fifteen minutes stretched on for over an hour.
I’d already scoured the internet for more information on the lodge and its surroundings in the early hours, so I didn’t need much convincing of its ever-changing beauty. But as she told me of the landscape, with its towering fir trees, hidden waterfalls, and pristine lakes, largely unchanged by mankind, I was drawn to the magic of this place.
It felt like it was meant for me.
I needed something to run towards, the chance to start over, and Braggan Valley Lodge felt like that place.
The only upside of being subjected to this man and his pig-shit mood is the lump of fur currently curled up at my hips. There’s something soothing about the gentle rise and fall of his sleepy breaths. Mom would be happy to know I’ve found something to keep me calm .
I should text her to let her know I’ve almost arrived safely.
Using up all of my phone battery to take photos and videos, without even thinking about the potential of an emergency, wasn’t my smartest move.
This feels like an emergency.
I’m stuck here with a clear sociopath, who could be kidnapping me and driving me to a cabin in the woods for all I know.
“ Fuck !” His thick voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.
We’ve just veered off the highway and run into a line of slow moving cars ahead. A white gate complete with flashing red lights falls across the road, signalling the arrival of a train.
“Rail crossing,” Caden grunts, pointing towards the railway. “We’ll be stuck here for at least ten minutes while the freights pass.”
Great .
Stella must have a sixth sense, because now I’m certainly hungry and in need of an edible distraction to get me through this wait. I rest a paper bag on Doug’s sleeping body, pulling out a braided pastry covered in sticky cream cheese topping.
My desire to impress my driver evaporated somewhere between the bakery and now, which is a blessing because there is no attractive way to eat this. I tear off a hunk with my teeth, flaky pastry falling all around me.
Caden shakes his head in my periphery, resting his forehead on his palm as he taps his opposite hand against the steering wheel .
I make a concerted effort to make more of a mess with my next bite.
He reaches across the central console, grabbing the paper bag.
“Excuse me,” I protest, mouth filled with pastry. “Those are mine .”
He doesn’t seem to register my words as he dives a large hand inside the bag, claiming the cinnamon bear-claw I’d earmarked for later.
“Didn’t they teach you to share in kindergarten?” He scoffs as he shoves half of the bear-claw into his mouth.
I narrow my eyes into slits, wondering if I’d manage to drive this big ass truck back to the lodge by myself if he somehow came to harm.
It's a stick shift, and I’ve only ever driven automatic, but how hard could it be?
The first train trundles over the rails ahead of us, a loud horn sounding every few seconds. Caden cranks his chair back until it’s almost horizontal, letting his thick thighs spread out into a V as he reclines.
Now I’m the one that can’t stand the silence.
I turn the radio back on, searching through the channels for something other than country music. To set the record straight, I have nothing against country, and I’ll repent later for calling it trash. I just do not need to be listening to anything that might make me think about this man in those jeans.
He might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole built like a lumberjack.
I settle on classical music, satisfied that it’ll help me drift into a fantasy realm far away from this truck and its driver .
“No,” Caden barks, sitting upright and starting another tug-of-war over our music choices.
“Yes,” I retort, moving my hand back towards the dial, but before I have the chance to flood the cab with more Stravinsky, his calloused fingers wrap tightly around my wrist.
Deep blue eyes pin me in place.
“Country FM, or nothing.”
“Uch, whatever,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest as he fidgets with the radio controls. He’s firmly back on his side of the truck, but reminders of his hot touch still linger around my wrist like a handcuff.
Somehow, this short car journey has already felt longer than the twelve hours it took to make it across the province on the bus.
“Why Braggan Valley?” Caden’s accusatory tone adds to the tension between us.
“I needed a fresh start,” I answer, even though I don’t owe him an explanation. “I’ve been in the city all my life. I wanted to try something different.”
He rolls his eyes, pushing the truck back into gear as the gate lifts ahead of us. “What are you running from?”
“Excuse me?”
“Anybody who says they need a fresh start is running from something,” he points out. “Nobody just packs up their shit and leaves their life behind without good reason.”
I don’t reply.
He’s right, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s worked me out right off the bat.