Chapter Three
“Well, that’s a win, I guess,” Mo mumbled to herself.
She craned her neck to look at the view as she drove along, noticing how beautiful the thick, unruly, green Sitka spruces looked in contrast with the dark gray-blue water.
The road wound its way between the lagoon, different types of coastal trees, and rolling green and brown fields.
The Pacific Ocean was suddenly closer, and she barely caught a glimpse of waves lapping on dark-tan sand.
Hills that were probably sand dunes, thick with tangled brush and seawater-worn Douglas firs, quickly obscured her view.
She turned to look at her GPS, which showed her blue dot running along a thin line of land between the ocean and a lagoon.
“Neat.” Mo’s childlike interest slightly waned as her eyes met with a large, worn, basic wooden sign. She lifted her foot off the gas, reading the white lettering out loud to herself. “Redwood National and State Parks.”
Mo’s chest tightened significantly. She cleared her throat in an attempt to ease some of her anxiety.
Here Mo was enjoying tall trees and picturesque bodies of water, knowing full well that it was precious scenery she could have shared with Annie years ago.
The guilt hit her like a wave, and she suddenly pulled the Outback to the side of the road, sliding into a well-worn divot that was probably used by tourists to take pictures with the sign.
Mo didn’t want a picture. She wanted Annie back in the passenger seat beside her.
If she were alive, Annie would most definitely have grabbed Mo’s arm in glee, squealing before rolling the window down so she could peer up at the enormous trees.
She would have dragged Mo, with pure exuberance, next to the sign for a cute selfie.
Nothing could have stopped her joy at watching her wife’s face.
How Annie’s voice would have sounded. How it would have made her feel.
Mo even considered the annoying stuff Annie would have pulled, like dropping trail mix between the seats or putting her bare feet up on the dashboard.
Oh, what Mo would give to nag at Annie for that.
Even a crumb of interaction would revitalize Mo now.
Mo silently rubbed her billowing tears back into her eyes.
She had hoped to make it to her rented cabin relatively unscathed, but Mo had no idea how powerfully a bleached-out wooden sign could affect her.
Instinctively she reached into her front right pocket, fingering the cold item that Opal had given her.
She still had no idea what it was, so she had taken to calling it “Annie’s treasure,” allowing the many textures of the object to center her.
After a few long moments of composing herself, Mo looked back at the GPS to see how far away her cabin was.
“Orick, Orick, Orick,” she chanted to herself, using her fingers to zoom out the map.
Orick, California was the next town after this land bridge and not more than ten minutes away.
Mo took one more deep breath in before checking her mirrors to safely merge back onto the road.
Time flowed a lot slower now, and she wished she could concentrate better on the task at hand.
This, even though she had advertised it as much, was not a pleasure trip. Mo felt like it was the end for her.
Mo desperately wanted it to be the end.
More minutes passed by before the tree-lined road broadened into an open, flat, grassy field that was surrounded by tree-covered hills.
A few random dilapidated houses and a tiny run-down gas station clued Mo in that she had found Orick.
Most businesses that lined the main road seemed closed for the season—or forever, for that matter.
But as she drove slowly through, Mo noticed more than one burl shop, the huge redwood carvings out front doing far more for advertising then the faded signs she couldn’t read.
“How is more than one carving shop surviving out here?” Mo mumbled to herself, her head swiveling as she took in both sides of the tiny town.
Mo followed the directions down the road a bit farther, finally turning right before a bridge that ran over a rock-filled creek.
The houses she saw all seemed old, but only a few seemed like they weren’t in livable condition.
Because of that, everyone seemed to have their own space, and that gave a promise of privacy Mo hadn’t experienced since she was young.
As Mo passed a sign that read Orick Horse Trailhead – 3 miles, the GPS chimed in to tell her she had arrived at her destination.
Tucked back beneath a smattering of pine trees, Mo saw a small, box-shaped, reddish-brown building sporting a green tin roof.
It wasn’t a charming cabin you would find outside Lake Tahoe or in downtown Mammoth, but it wasn’t as beat up as most of Orick seemed.
She maneuvered the Outback down the driveway, backing it in close to where a deep-green door was covered by a log post awning.
Turning off the car, Mo pulled out her phone to check her email for directions about the rental.
She had found the place on Airbnb but had done a bit of sneaky research to contact the renter separately. After a few moments of trying to read the instructions, the words started to blur, so she decided to just give the owner a call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Odessa Pearson?” Mo asked, popping open her door to stretch out her achingly long legs.
“Yes, it is,” an elderly woman’s curt voice replied. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, this is Imogen Reeves. I talked to you earlier this morning about renting one of your lovely cabins.”
Odessa’s voice immediately perked up. “Ah yes, Ms. Reeves. You rented out the small one near the horse trail, correct?”
“Mrs. Reeves,” Mo corrected, grimacing at the habit she had yet to shake.
“I sent you the first week’s payment through PayPal like you requested.
I think I will take you up on your stellar price for the full month, though, so I will send that over once I get myself situated inside. Where are the keys?”
“My apologies for the mistake, Mrs. Reeves. But I am overjoyed that you are staying longer. You’ll find the keys, a cabin know-how booklet, and plenty of wood all inside the overhang behind the cabin.
There is electricity, running water, and a wood stove inside.
Everything you need to know will be inside that booklet. ”
“Thank you so much—” Mo tried to finish, but she was cut off by Odessa.
“There is also a lovely coupon inside the booklet for my husband and I’s store, the Orick Family Market.
Please come down and grab some groceries for you and your husband.
I hope you both enjoy your stay.” Odessa’s voice was so strong and sure, she almost had Mo believing she had a husband.
“If you need anything at all, just give me a ring or come on down to the store. We are located right across the bridge on 101, next to the post office.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pearson, but just so you know it’s just me staying here. Also, I’ve never had a husband.”
“Oh.”
“I hope to see you around, goodbye.”
“Bu—” was the only syllable Odessa could get out before Mo hung up on her.
She pulled herself out of the car, ignoring the deep-seated pain of hunger she felt in her stomach.
The cabin was really small, but Mo wasn’t here for luxury.
Crossing around the side, she finally saw the overhang Odessa was talking about.
It was made with weathered four-by-four posts, tall redwood picket fence panels on three sides, and a matching green tin roof.
To the common eye, it looked more like a sturdy chicken coop, minus the chicken wire, than a shed for wood storage.
Mo ducked to walk inside, admiring the large amount of dry, cut wood for her to choose from.
At the highest point of the pile was a set of two keys sat atop a ratty, neon green, plastic three-ring binder, and Mo reached for it and two pieces of wood.
Back at the door, Mo deposited the wood on top of a few more pieces set by the threshold and used the keys to let herself inside.
If Mo Googled “one-room cabin,” she was mighty sure a picture of this place would show up.
The floors were large plank oak stained a deep golden color and accented with a beautifully ornate, large, traditionally styled rug.
The walls were a mix of the same oak planks and white painted drywall, leading up to a vaulted oak-lined ceiling.
To the left was a small kitchenette framing the window that looked toward the road.
It sported a microwave, small sink, and a toaster.
The wood stove was next to it, its black piping leading all the way up into the roof.
Straight across was the doorway to the small bathroom, with bare essentials inside.
Finally, to the right was a double bed scooched into the far corner.
There was a love seat placed against the footboard, a skinny but tall bookcase filled with books and old VHS tapes, and the front wall sported a tiny wood dresser with an old tube-style TV sitting on top of it.
The entire place was dated for sure, but it was clean and felt far more comfortable than a hotel room would.
“Alrighty then,” Mo said out loud to no one, turning back toward her car to start bringing stuff in.