6. Rune
Chapter 6
Rune
T his is getting ridiculous.
I look at Finn in a panic. “He’s just going to leave me here?”
Finn gives a wry grin. “Looks that way.”
“I can’t—he can’t—but why ?” I bury my face in my hands. What did I do to deserve this? All of this—the job, the breakup, the car in the ditch. It’s almost like I’m being punished for trying to turn my life around. “I am so sorry to intrude,” I start apologizing again.
“This isn’t your fault,” he sighs heavily.
“I’m the one who drove into the ditch. I shouldn’t be here.” And here come the tears again. My hands are shaking so badly that I set my mug of hot chocolate down on the end table next to me to avoid spilling it.
“Hey, now,” Finn says, his eyes darkening. “We’ll figure this out. You said you came to visit an aunt? Have you been able to contact her, let her know you’re okay?”
I shrug. “I didn’t have cell service to let her know I wasn’t. She’s not coming back from the Twin Cities until Friday. She just said to come whenever.”
“Does anyone know where you are?”
“My roommate from Chicago knows I’m traveling. I haven’t had cell service for hours and then my phone died.”
I don’t know why he seems so upset by that, but he blows out a long breath and looks out the window. It’s totally dark outside but the thick flakes are still visible, still falling.
“Well, Rune, I do have something to apologize for. The man who brought you here is my great-uncle. I didn’t know he was up north, he’s usually in Iowa this time of year with my cousin.”
His great uncle. I guess that’s marginally better than being a complete stranger. Very marginally.
“So you do know him,” I confirm carefully. “But you didn’t think of him when I said the name Bob and an old man ?”
Finn gives a rueful smile. “The family always calls him Uncle Fisher. Honestly, I forgot that he even goes by another name.”
“He dropped me off at your house. Without even asking first.”
“I’m aware,” he replies, amusement lacing his voice.
I don’t know why he’s being so calm. “You can’t possibly be okay with this. I could be a murderer. Or a thief. What if you’d come out of the shower and found your whole place trashed?”
“That would have been unfortunate. Has it been a while since you had something to eat?” Finn calmly breaks into my tirade.
“I’m fine,” I lie. I ate two granola bars when I was sitting in the ditch. It’s not like I couldn’t survive till morning or whenever I’m able to get to Aunt Mairi’s house.
“Well I’m hungry, so I hope you don’t mind if I whip something up for us,” he says smoothly. Noticing my shiver, he adds, “You can drink your hot chocolate by the fireplace. Might help you warm up faster.”
I take his advice, if only because it will save me having to make conversation. There is nothing I can think of to say that will make this situation any less awkward.
Thank goodness for the fireplace. At least I can sit here in silence and attribute my burning face to the heat. I pull my phone charger out of my backpack and plug it in. It restarts to a deluge of texts from Danielle.
Danielle: How's the drive going?
Danielle: Did you make it?
Danielle: Just tried calling. Did your phone die? You ok?
Danielle: Trying not to be paranoid here, but please call me back as soon as you get this. The snowstorm is all over the news, please say you made it safe.
It's nine o'clock now—over five hours since her first text. Guiltily, I try to think of the best way to respond.
Me: Made it up north. Lost service a while back, just got it now.
She's obviously been watching her phone, because she texts back immediately.
Danielle: Omg thank god. How's your aunt's house?
I hesitate, fingers dancing just above the screen. This misadventure is something that will likely be great in the retelling…but in the middle of it? Not so much. Still, I don’t want to lie to her.
Me: Not quite there. Had a little bit of car trouble. Some old guy helped me out but it's too snowy to drive any further.
Danielle: What kind of car trouble…
Me: The ditch :/
Danielle: Where the fuck are you, Rune???!!
I send her a dropped pin with my location.
Me: If you don't hear from me by ten tomorrow morning, this is the last place I was seen.
Danielle: Tell me you're joking. Who is there? Are you safe?
Me: Probably safe. I'll text you tomorrow.
Danielle: Please don't die.
I wince a little at the flood of angry and shocked emojis that follow in a subsequent text, along with a few snowflakes and police cars thrown in. It's enough to make me paranoid about my safety. Maybe I should text Aunt Mairi, too? But no, I don’t want to bother her. I’ll be fine.
Still, Danielle's warning sticks with me uncomfortably. Maybe I should be more concerned, sitting in a house alone with a complete stranger. It's just hard to summon the right amount of fear when I think about how much better this is than sitting in that ditch. That's how they get you , says the voice that's read about too many serial killers.
Except Finn didn't look like he was in on the plot at all. He looked like he'd just walked in on a stranger in his house and was trying his very best to figure out what to do about it.
He also looks like a Greek god, which is a very dangerous thing to notice. I’m on this trip to ground myself in reality, to discover what’s next in life. I can’t allow myself to be swept up into a distracting crush with a stranger.
“I have some food ready, if you want any,” Finn calls from the kitchen, breaking into my thoughts.
What I want is to fall asleep for a year. To wake up and realize this has all been a nightmare. But I'm also starving. I force myself to get up and face Finn as if I’m a normal, mentally stable house guest and not the slightly hysterical intruder that I actually am.
What would a normal person say, I wonder, surveying the very attractive charcuterie board that Finn has curated on the island countertop. It’s filled with multiple varieties of cheese, cold cuts, vegetables, crackers, hummus, and a few grapes.
“Impressive,” I say.
“Dig in.” He picks out a slice of cucumber for himself. “Would you like something else to drink? Uncle Fisher—uh, Bob—brought some beer.” He winces at the cheap six pack. “Otherwise I have water or some Chianti?”
“Chianti sounds nice.” Because it's classy and alcoholic.
He pours a glass for each of us. “Cheers.”
We tap wine glasses politely. Can I down a glass of wine in two seconds? Yes. But I force myself to drink slowly, sipping like the kind of fancy person I imagine Finn must be used to hanging out with, watching as Finn makes little sandwiches out of the crackers, cheese, and meat. I try to chew quietly in the silence that stretches between us. It's difficult. I really want to shove it all into my mouth. I'm so freaking hungry.
“So,” Finn says after a while. “I think it’s safe to say that Uncle Fisher has abandoned us and the snowstorm is likely to last till tomorrow morning.”
“Yes,” I reply.
“In which case, I suppose I’ll have to extend an invitation for you to stay the night.”
I flinch at his words. He's been forced into this situation, and even though I know this wasn’t my intention, I feel horrible. “I really am sorry. I would never have?—”
“You’re lucky that Uncle Fisher brought you here,” Finn says firmly, cutting me off. “It could have been hours before anyone else found you. There's no need to apologize for anything.”
With nothing else to say, I make my formal acceptance speech. “Thank you for the offer. I accept.”
We go back to eating, easily polishing off all but a few crumbles of goat cheese. By the time the food is gone, I’m half asleep and can’t focus on a single thing that Finn’s saying. I can’t stop the yawn that threatens to crack my jaw.
“So, sleeping arrangements,” he says. “I have a second bedroom, but the bed is awful. You can definitely sleep in my room and I’ll take the couch, if that works?”
That jolts me awake. Wearing Finn’s clothes is already making me feel things I should not be feeling. I don’t think I can handle sleeping in his bed, too. “Actually, I wouldn't mind sleeping on the couch,” I say. “It would be nice to sleep near the fireplace.”
“That works, too.”
He pulls together a pile of blankets and starts making a bed on the couch. A patchwork quilt folded in half as a base, followed by a fluffy down comforter and another soft throw folded at one end.
“Just in case,” he tells me.
I have my own pillow, but he brings another one, anyway. It looks more comfortable than my own bed at home.
Finn gives a satisfied nod at his work. “Just like when I was a kid staying at my grandma's house.” There's a light in his eyes, the hint of a smile that causes a weird little flutter in my stomach. Stop it, Rune.
“And you sure you’re ok with me being here tonight?” I confirm.
“I’m not worried that you’re a serial killer, Rune,” he teases.
“Okay, but you don’t think it’s ridiculous or indecent?” I ask, trying—and failing—to stifle a yawn. Those aren’t the words I mean to say, but my exhausted brain can’t think of the right ones.
His eyes meet mine, looking somewhat abashed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask whether you were comfortable staying the night here. If you’re not, I can call a neighbor, and?—”
“No, no, that’s fine.” If I’m worried about bothering the man, forcing him to find me new accommodations seems like it would be worse. “I just feel bad about the inconvenience of it all. And—and didn't know if you had a girlfriend or something who might be upset.” After I say that last bit, I realize it sounds like I'm fishing for information, which I'm not. Much.
If he notices, he doesn't let on. “No one will be offended that I'm playing the hero. Just try to refrain from murdering or thieving and I’m sure it will be fine.”
Spoken with the true confidence of a man who believes he has nothing to fear.
I settle into the makeshift bed. It will be fine, I tell myself.
It’s only for one night.