2. Jana
Two
Jana
O ne month ago
“No. Absolutely not. This is nuts, Flint! I can’t break into some stranger’s cabin.”
My boss grunts where he kneels on the wooden deck, tool kit spread all around him, arms flexing as he works some magic on the lock. Not gonna ask how my ultra-reserved boss learned to pick locks, because if he actually tells me, my brain might explode.
And this whole caper is crazy enough already. It’s a sunny Saturday morning, birds are singing out in the trees, and my boss—the owner of Flint’s bar—is breaking into an abandoned cabin for me.
“These chairs,” I say helplessly, wandering over to the carved furniture set out on the deck and poking at an armrest. Sure, they’re covered in cobwebs and leaf litter, but these chairs are well made; carved with love and set out on this deck in anticipation of visitors. “These don’t look like abandoned chairs. If the owner comes back—”
“He won’t.” A tool clanks against the deck, then Flint picks up another, squinting against the bright morning sunshine. “This is that adventurer’s place. Sven or Sal or whatever. He never really settled here, then cleared out years ago. One of those fellas with restless feet.”
For my boss, that’s like an epically long speech. Flint is in his forties, with gray speckling his temples, and privately I like to imagine that he spent all his small talk decades ago. Now he mostly points and grunts, or clips out one-sentence commands.
“You need a place,” he mutters now, nodding as the lock clunks and the handle turns. The door swings open, but my boss stays kneeling and waves me past. “And you’re sure as hell not sleeping on my couch, Jana.”
No fear. If I crashed with my boss, there’d be a body by morning, and it’s even odds whether it’d be his or mine. Sighing, I pat his shoulder in thanks and squeeze through the door into the dark, empty cabin.
Dust .
That’s my first thought: this place is dustier than an old library. It tickles my nose and catches in my throat, and I cover my face with my bare arm as I step further forward. There are no lights on, obviously, and curtains have been drawn over the windows, but bright sunlight seeps through the cracks and gives some shape to the gloom. I make out a log-burner; a bookcase; some kind of sofa and a table and chairs.
Tools clink out on the deck as Flint sets to work changing the locks. For a mad, panicky moment, I picture the worst thing happening: some stranger coming home to his cabin and finding new locks on the door and a squatter inside. Pounding down the door or smashing through the window in search of vengeance.
Just the thought is enough to make my heart race and my palms sweat, but I breathe slowly into the crook of my elbow and force myself to keep walking.
Worst-case scenarios aren’t helpful right now. Not when I’m already homeless.
The nearest curtain feels stiff with dust, and as I yank it open, sunshine spears through mottled glass and lights up the room. Need to wipe down those windows. And wash the curtains, and dust and vacuum, and set out a welcome mat on the deck—and yeah , Flint is right.
The adventurer’s not coming back. Not when he let his cabin get into this state of musty neglect.
Meanwhile, after six years of being a model tenant, I’ve been kicked out of my precious rented apartment so the landlord can overcharge tourists for one weekend at a time. And I’ve looked and looked, touring complete dives and scanning the town listings every day, but there’s nothing right now. Nowhere for me to live—not that I can afford, anyway.
I got comfy for a few years, and in the meantime, prices went crazy. For the last six weeks, I’ve been pitched up at the campsite outside town, but summer’s fading and pretty soon the tents will be frosted over at daybreak.
Meanwhile, this adventurer guy left his cabin to gather dust. So crazy.
The deck creaks beneath Flint’s knees as he works, his forehead creased in concentration. He glances over when I finally get the window to judder open a crack, a warm breeze rushing inside and setting dust motes spinning. My boss frowns around the shadowed cabin, then nods once.
With fresh air rushing in, I can finally drop my arm away from my face. I pick my way carefully through the rest of the room.
It’s all one big space, with a double bed in one corner and a kitchen set up along one wall. Two sofas cluster around the log burner, a dusty rug splays over the floorboards, and that door over there must lead to the bathroom.
Floorboards squeak beneath my hiking boots as I walk slowly around the space. I figured it might be overkill putting these boots on this morning, but after hiking up the trail, I’m glad I did. Gonna need a flashlight for trekking back here after late nights at the bar. Maybe some pepper spray, too.
Pausing by a table lamp, I flick the switch to see what happens. Shock zings through my body when the bulb glows to life, and I go rigid.
“Flint! It’s still hooked up!”
My boss barely glances over. “He forgot, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“I asked around, Jana.” Flint sets down one tool with a clank and picks up another. His tone is bored, but the fact that my antisocial boss went around asking questions is actually kinda sweet. “No one’s seen this guy for years, and even when he was here, he never stayed long. Never settled. He didn’t take to Starlight Ridge, and now he’s gone for good, or probably dead from one of his record-setting stunts. But if he does come back—”
A panicked squeak leaves my mouth, and Flint gives me a look before he keeps going.
“If he does come back, we’ll say I’m the one who changed the locks. That this was all my idea. Alright? Now pipe down so I can concentrate. Electricity is not a problem.”
…No. No, I guess it’s not. If anything, it’s a gift, though one I feel extra guilty about taking.
Because how do I pay someone for using their generator? How does that even work? And if he’s really gone for good, wouldn’t the adventurer at least sell all this stuff and make some money back?
But… years , Flint said. The guy’s been gone for years, and he might even be dead. An unexpected sadness pangs through me at the thought.
After breaking into his cabin, I feel weirdly close to this guy.
So. Okay. I don’t need to stay here for too long—just until I can find another rental. And I’ll make amends for the changed locks, somehow. I’ll leave the new key under the mat, and a note with money for expenses. I’ll scrub this cabin from floorboards to rafters, and I won’t be any trouble at all, if I can only have a roof over my head…
Guilt pinches in my belly, but I push that feeling down and march to the kitchen cupboards in search of a cloth.
Bad idea or not, this is already happening. Time to make the best of it.