CHAPTER TWELVE
Monday morning, Brody slept in. He thought about hitting the diner for breakfast, but out of respect for the townspeople and their tragic loss, decided to keep to himself.
As welcoming as they were, he was still an outsider. And he’d visited enough small towns to know interlopers were tolerated more than wanted.
He poured a cup of coffee, took it and his camera out onto the porch, and sat in his new rocking chair. It was a chilly fall morning, and his view was nothing short of spectacular.
Twisting the lens of his Nikon, he framed the lake with the surrounding mountains. Fiery treetops poked through patchy fog that hung delicately over the glassy cobalt water.
It was a terrible injustice that pictures couldn’t convey sounds.
The wind whispering to the trees, the errant call of a bird, and the gentle rhythm of water lapping at the shore only feet from his front porch made the whole scene idyllic.
Very conducive to self-reflection. If only he still had his beard to stroke.
He’d been avoiding things—his situation, his problems, his need to make some hard decisions—procrastinating by drinking beers with the locals, installing locks for strangers, and comforting feisty cabin managers, but he’d put it off long enough.
His first decision was logistical and needed to be made quickly. Where was he going to stay? He had no place to call his own. Traveling so much made home ownership impractical. Not to mention, financially irresponsible.
He was scheduled to check out on Wednesday, but the longer he soaked in the calming beauty surrounding him, the more sure he became that this was the ideal setting to lick his wounds, regroup, and make a new life plan.
One decision under his belt, it was time to tackle another to-do item he’d been putting off—come clean with his mom.
“Honey,” she greeted. “How are you? I saw the news last night. Looks like you don’t have to worry about that fugitive anymore. That must be a relief.”
“I suppose. Unfortunately, the bastard killed a local woman too.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Very sad. Did you know her?”
“I met her. In a town like this, everyone knows everyone.”
“I’m sure. How much longer are you there? What’s your next trip?”
“That’s kind of what I’m calling about.” He paused. Better to just get it over with. “I got let go from the magazine. This is my last assignment.”
“What? How could they? You’re their best journalist.” She was indignant on his behalf, which he knew she would be. They probably taught that in Momming 101.
“As my mom, you’re obligated to say that,” Brody said. “But in this case, you wouldn’t be wrong. I think it’s because of that actually. I cost too much. They can pay some twenty-year-old kid to do the same thing for half the salary.”
“But they’ll never get your quality. And name familiarity.”
“Yeah, well, apparently that’s a risk they’re willing to take.”
“Hmm. So, what are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna look into staying here for a while. Maybe write a book, start a vlog, or do my own thing online. I don’t know yet, but this seems like a nice place to figure it out.”
“So, you got dumped and fired in the same week?” She may have moved out of New York, but she hadn’t lost her tell-it-like-is attitude.
“Same night actually. I didn’t want you to worry, so I omitted the firing part of my Chloe breakup story. She was hooking up with my boss, so it was convenient for them. Killed two birds with my one visit.”
“What?” Loud sigh. “I never liked that Chloe.”
“I knew it,” he muttered.
“I have a great idea!”
Brody stiffened. He and his mom were close, but rarely agreed on what constituted a “great idea.”
“I am not growing a mustache,” he said.
“Ha. Ha.” He pictured her eye roll. “I was going to say, I should come visit you.”
“That’s not necessary, Mom. I’m thirty-five years old. I can handle being fired.”
“And dumped,” she reminded him helpfully.
“Yes. That too. Anyway, I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”
“All right. Well, next time you come to visit me, there’s a nice gal from the neighborhood I want to set you up with. She’s here taking care of her parents. I think you two would really hit it off.”
Brody groaned. “Nice gals” was another example of how their opinions seldom coincided.
“I haven’t planned very far ahead yet,” he said. “But I’ll come see you soon.”
After hanging up, he felt even better about his decision. It was easier to breathe here. Yes, this quiet, cold place in the woods would be his refuge for the foreseeable future.
As he sipped his coffee and gazed out over the water, something caught his eye. He picked up his camera and zoomed in. Through the lens, he saw it was Daisy, the one-winged duck, swimming in circles and going nowhere.
Shoot. Alex had promised to feed her after her run yesterday. But of course, she never finished her run. And the string of events after Alex’s injury surely meant the poor thing was on day three with no food.
Brody went back inside and set his camera and coffee cup on the kitchen counter. They could wait. So could his deep dive into his life’s failures. Anything to postpone the scathing, long-overdue self-evaluation.
He grabbed a handful of bread slices, put on the new boots and wool hat he’d purchased from The Outdoor Outpost, and walked to the boathouse. He sat on the steps, tearing the bread into little pieces as Daisy made her way back to land.
“Here you go,” Brody said, tossing crumbs to the grateful animal. Daisy scarfed up every last morsel. “Don’t make yourself sick.”
“What are you doing?”
Brody jumped at her voice. “Geez. Where’d you come from?”
“How could you not hear me coming?” Alex asked. “These crutches are hardly inconspicuous.”
“Must have been lost in thought,” he said. “Anyway, I remembered you’d planned to feed her after your run, but your plate’s been pretty full since then.” He shrugged.
“Oh, well. That’s very nice of you. Thank you.”
“How’s the ankle? What’d the doctor say?”
“Sprained. Crutches for a few days, then a boot till I’m able to walk normally.”
“Good it’s not broken anyway.”
“Yeah.” She glanced around as if looking for an escape.
He was tempted to inquire how she was dealing with Jenny’s passing but couldn’t think of a tactful way to do it without sounding intrusive.
“So,” he said. “I was gonna come find you today…”
“What’s up?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I wanted to ask if I could stay a little longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Well, indefinitely.”
Alex’s brows shot up. “This have something to do with your New York trip?”
“You have to admit. It’s a real pretty place to have a midlife crisis.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Yes. Very pretty indeed.”
“I’m thinking of writing a book, and there’s a strong Henry David Thoreau vibe goin’ on here.”
“Funny you mention writing. Unless they cancel, a romance writers’ group is coming for a retreat this weekend. Maybe they’d let you join.”
“You’re hilarious,” he said as she laughed at her own suggestion. “Is there room for me or not?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. I had cabin twelve off the books until the spring anyway.”
“Great.”
“One thing.” She held up a finger. “I scheduled a new roof for it on Thursday. I thought you’d be gone. They said it would only take a few hours.”
“That’s fine. I’ll work around it.”
“Also, there might be a little noise while they finish up at the rec cabin this week. Sorry in advance for that.”
“No worries,” he said, then nodded to her ankle. “Let me know if you need help with anything. I really do have a lot of time on my hands.”
“I have Lauren and my friends, but thanks. And thanks for feeding Daisy. Later.” She hobbled away.
Back at his cabin, he finished his coffee and opened his laptop to get some work done. He used his phone to open a hotspot. Technically, it was cheating, but he had to get online to do his job. He was still on the company dime and had an article to write.
The program he used was a collaborative thing. Any employee with the password could access his work-in-progress. It was how he communicated with his editorial team.
When Brody logged in, he saw his editor had commented a “LOL” on the entry regarding his arrival and check-in—Alex hadn’t fared so well there. And added a laughing face emoji at the police coming to his cabin.
He wrote a few preliminary paragraphs detailing the woodsy atmosphere and quaintness of the town, then uploaded photos of his hike to the falls.
Today, he’d finish exploring Whispering Pines—take a walk around the lake and check out the progress on the rec cabin.
Tomorrow, he’d explore downtown and go back to the state park to round out the “things to do” section.
If he finished all that, he could have a rough draft done by Thursday.
Polish it up, and wash his hands of it by Friday.
He scarfed down a sandwich, grabbed his camera, and headed out. It took about an hour to walk around the lake, mostly because he paused every few minutes to snap a picture.
On his way back, he stopped by the rec cabin.
The holes in the kitchen had been filled with a refrigerator and a stove.
Several pieces of furniture huddled in the middle of the room, still in their original packaging.
The odor of wood stain assaulted him as a worker put the finishing touches on the freshly built bookshelves and cabinets that lined one wall.
It was taking shape, and Brody could see the potential. The fireplace looked especially inviting. He envisioned the wingback chairs flanking the hearth, a fire blazing. The perfect spot to read a good book on a cold night. He would paint that cozy scene for his review.
The man sealed up the can of stain and wiped his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?” he asked, finally noticing Brody standing at the door.
“Oh, no,” Brody said. “I was just checking things out. Looks good.”
The man grunted his reply.
Brody noticed a pile of leftover wood semi-stacked next to the entrance and remembered Alex’s idea about having a home built for Daisy.
“Is this the wood for the duck house?” Brody pointed to the boards.
“Huh?”
“A shelter? For the injured duck? Alex said she was going to ask you to build something.”
“Not me, brah,” the man said. “Could have been one of the other guys from last week.”
“When will they be back?”
“Oh.” He scratched his face. “I don’t think they’re coming back. I’m here to stain the cabinets and do the final cleanup.”
If they’d built it last week, the house would be down by the boathouse. With so much going on, maybe Alex had forgotten to ask.
“Mind if I take some scraps?” Brody asked.
“Suit yourself.” The man shrugged. “Save me the hassle of getting rid of it.”
Brody loaded up as many boards as he could carry and staggered back to his cabin. The lumber weighed less than Alex, but barely.
He left the wood on the porch, got into his car, and headed for The Tool Shed. All the while, telling himself that starting this project was not just another excuse to kick his impending soul-search down the road. Little Daisy needed shelter. It was the humane thing to do.