Chapter 12 #3
A twinge of fear needled through me, and a red flag flapped in the wind of my thoughts.
What did I really know about Gray? What if he was some kind of kidnapper, a serial killer even?
Had there been another woman whom he had just disposed of once the relationship went sour?
Was I about to find a series of shallow graves out back under the snow?
After all, I’d met him on the dark web—practically a hunting ground for that sort of person.
Holy shit, Betty.
Why didn’t I get more information on him? Sure, he’d helped me, but maybe that was his way of getting close to his victims? Mobster turned serial killer has a natural progression to it.
“I’ll be gone soon enough,” I pressed on, chin held high. “Even if I have to do it alone. I’ll find a way.”
He chuffed.
My anger flared at the implication that I wasn’t capable. I was about to fire back when I heard a soft scratching noise and turned to investigate. My eyes widened as I saw Mr. Beans squatting in a pile of sawdust near the fireplace, preparing to make a poo.
“Mr. Beans!” I squealed, just in time to see him pinch off a Tootsie Roll right in the center of the sawdust pile.
Gray barked out a laugh, watching the moment the hot turd rolled down the sawdust, now looking like a panko-crusted fish-stick. This was mortifying, and somehow personally embarrassing since he was my cat.
“I guess we need a litter box,” Gray said, still chuckling.
He crossed the room, pushing over a plastic bin filled with what appeared to be puzzle pieces.
They spilled across a round table in the corner—where two chairs were neatly pushed in.
He walked back to the front door and disappeared outside.
When he returned a few moments later, the plastic bin was filled with more sawdust, and I finally understood what he was doing.
Before setting the bin down, Gray brandished a sharp wooden stick and speared the panko-crusted Tootsie Roll from the pile and set the bin down in its place.
Mr. Beans hopped into the shallow bucket immediately, dug around, and squatted to pee this time, looking as relieved as I had earlier behind the little copse of trees.
Villy came running over next, tumbling into the bin and doing the same.
I let out a hard laugh, then giggled at the Tootsie Roll skewered on a stick in Gray’s hand. He moved to the other side of the cabin, unlocked a second door, and went outside.
Curious, I followed, peering onto the wraparound porch and watching as he walked toward a big bin. He lifted the lid, releasing a cloud of steam from inside, and tossed the whole thing on top.
Gray noticed me watching him and shut the lid. “Compost bin,” he supplied, clapping his hands together to knock any extra sawdust from his hands. They could probably use a wash, but I wasn’t his mother, and it wasn’t my job to remind him.
I ducked back inside the cabin as he strode back in my direction. He stepped in and shut the door, then crossed to the sink and washed his hands. Good boy.
“Compost?” I questioned, looking for elaboration.
He nodded, rinsing and then drying his hands on a towel beside the sink. “Yeah, for the garden. The ‘litter’ will do well in there.”
My jaw dropped open. “Like, for the garden as in flowers, right?”
He shook his head and turned toward me, our eyes meeting and holding for the longest time since we’d arrived. “And… for the vegetables.”
I wanted to vomit.
“What do you think food grows in, Betty?” His question was belittling.
I blinked a few times. “Well… fertilizer, duh… but not my cat’s shit.”
He laughed.
The room was warming up, so I shrugged off my coat, mortified by the sticky pajama top I’d been wearing for three days. “Is there…” I looked around, suddenly afraid. “A bathroom?”
Why hadn’t I asked about the bathroom earlier? That should have been my first question. I would not be peeing in sawdust.
Gray let me stew in fear for a beat too long before gesturing towards the back corner, where a section of the room was partitioned off with a door.
My shoulders dropped with relief. “Oh, thank God.” I pulled at my top; it was sticking to my chest. “Clothes?” I asked with a wince, hopeful there were options that weren’t his size.
“I picked up a few things in town. I’ll bring them in.” He turned toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, and, uh… there’s a composting toilet, but no shower.” His face broke into a mock-apologetic grin. “We bathe in the river,” he said.
“The river?” I whisper-hissed.
My gaze met the rafters, fighting back tears that pricked my eyes. I guess that was the last straw. Emotions were bubbling up.
My body felt gross. I was exhausted, aching, had peed in the woods while wearing a diaper, and now I couldn’t even shower? I blinked a few times, fighting back the tears and willing myself to pull it together.
His tone softened. “I’ll get a bucket of water from the river and warm it for you, okay? Will that help for now?”
I nodded, my lower lip quivering. I bit down on it.
“Go to the bathroom, and I’ll get you some things in a few minutes,” he whispered, gesturing with his head toward the little room. “There’s a sink, and the water is clean rainwater. Though cold, you can start with that if you like. Wash your face at least.”
I nodded again and practically fled into the small space.