Chapter 20
The morning light filtered through the cabin windows, soft and gray. I'd been up since dawn, working on replacing the hinges on the bathroom door. The coffee was still warm in my cup when I stepped outside for a break.
That's when I saw it, a small wrapped parcel sitting on the top step. Brown paper bag, folded neatly at the top.
I picked it up and looked inside. Six plain cake donuts, my favorites from Irma's bakery. No note. No explanation.
But I knew who had left them.
I carried the bag inside and placed the donuts on a plate. They were still slightly warm. She must have driven into Port Chasten early this morning, bought them fresh, and left them here before I noticed.
Grace had been coming and going for the past month. A pattern had emerged, though we'd never discussed it. Her white RAV4 would appear at the end of my driveway, parked in that wide spot by the mailbox, and stay for two or three days. Then she'd be gone for a week. Then back again.
I'd said nothing about it. Never walked down to check on her. Never knocked on her window to make conversation. I just left the lane clear when I saw her car and went about my business.
But this. The donuts. This was something different.
I ate one of them slowly, savoring the softness and sweetness. Then I took out a pen and smoothed the brown paper bag flat on the counter.
Grace — Thank you for the donuts. They were perfect. You're welcome to dinner anytime you want. Just come up to the cabin. — Thomas
I folded the bag so that my note was visible and walked down the driveway. Her car wasn't there now, but I left the empty bag weighted down with a rock in the spot where she usually parked.
Then I went back to fixing the bathroom door.
The next day, the white RAV4 was back.
I noticed it when I drove out to get supplies. The bag was gone. She'd read the note.
She stayed three days this time. I saw her car when I walked to the mailbox. I didn't approach. Didn't wave. Just noted her presence and went about my life.
On the third evening, I finally finished the fire pit.
I'd been working on it for two weeks, digging out the circle by hand, hauling the dirt away in a wheelbarrow, lining the depression with gravel for drainage. The bricks I'd gotten from my last trip to Forks. Red clay firebricks, got at a good price.
I'd arranged them in a double ring, staggering the joints like a mason would, leaving small gaps at the bottom for airflow. The inner ring sloped slightly inward to contain the coals. The outer ring sat two inches higher, creating a lip to rest cooking grates on if I ever got around to buying some.
It wasn't fancy, but it was solid. I was proud of it.
I gathered kindling from the brush pile and built a small fire, teepee-style, the way my father had taught me. The wood caught quickly. I added larger pieces, watched the flames grow, then settled into the folding camp chair I'd taken from the porch.
The sky was purple and orange, the last light bleeding out of the west. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks spiraling up into the darkness.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my new purchase. A corncob pipe, still smelling faintly of the drugstore where I'd bought it. And a pouch of cherry-flavored tobacco, the cheap kind they kept behind the counter.
Sybil had made me give up pipe smoking years ago. Health reasons, she'd said, though I suspected it was really about the image. Men who worked at an insurance firm didn't smoke corncob pipes like hillbillies. They played golf and drank scotch in moderation.
Well, I didn't work for an insurance firm anymore.
I filled the bowl carefully, tamping the tobacco down with my thumb. Then I pulled a thin twig from the fire, its end glowing orange, and touched it to the tobacco. I drew slowly, feeling the smoke fill my mouth, sweet and warm with that artificial cherry flavor.
It wasn't good tobacco and this wasn't a good pipe. I made a mental note to find a real briar pipe somewhere and some quality tobacco to go with it. Virginia or Latakia, maybe even some Perique. Something with actual character.
But for now, sitting by my own fire pit in front of my own cabin, watching the stars come out one by one, this smoke was very pleasant indeed.
My mind drifted to the inspections, but I pushed the thoughts away. I could deal with it later. Tonight was for fire and smoke and the simple pleasure of being alive in a beautiful place.
I drew on the pipe again and watched an owl glide silently across the clearing, hunting.
Then I saw movement at the edge of the firelight.
A figure approaching from the direction of the driveway. Small. Female. Carrying something.
Grace.
She stopped at the edge of the clearing, hesitating like she wasn't sure if she should come closer.
"Evening," I called.
She walked forward. I could see her better now. Jeans and a gray hoodie, her short black hair tousled. She was carrying a pink box from the bakery.
"Hey." She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "So, um, I thought maybe I'd take you up on that dinner offer? If it's still good?"
"It's still good. Grab that folding chair off the porch and come sit."
She walked over and handed me the box. "I brought bagels. Figured I couldn't just show up empty-handed."
I opened the box. Everything bagels, still fresh.
"I already ate, but these will go great with the leftover lasagna I've got in the oven," I said. "You hungry?"
"Starving, actually."
"Give me a minute."
I went inside and pulled the lasagna from where I'd been keeping it warm. Cut a generous square and plated it. Grabbed a fork and a napkin. When I came back out, Grace had settled into the other chair, placing it a few feet away from mine.
She took the plate gratefully. "Holy shit, this looks amazing. You made this?"
"Nothing fancy. Just noodles and sauce and cheese."
She took a bite and closed her eyes. "Okay, this is way better than the microwave burritos I've been living on."
"That thermos has iced tea made from tea grown on the farm next door. Pour yourself a cup." I speared one bagel on a long stick and held it over the coals. "Give it a few minutes and I'll have a toasted bagel for you."
She ate in silence for a while, methodically working through the lasagna. I tended the bagel, rotating it so it wouldn't burn. The fire crackled between us.
"Weather's been nice," she said finally. "Warm for May."
"It has. Though I hear June's supposed to be hot. Real summer weather."
"Yeah." She scraped the last of the lasagna from the plate. "I actually bought some screen material yesterday. Gonna rig something up so I can sleep with my windows cracked without bugs getting in."
"Smart."
"Mosquitoes are no joke out here. Back in Seattle, I never even thought about them. But out here?" She shook her head. "Little bastards will drain you dry."
I pulled the bagel from the fire. Golden brown, slightly charred on one side. I broke it in half and handed her the better piece.
"Thanks." She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "This is actually really good. The smoky flavor."
"Old camping trick."
We ate in companionable silence. I added another log and watched the flames lick up around it.
"So." I kept my voice casual. "Everything okay where you're parking? No problems?"
"It's perfect." She said it quickly, emphatically. "Way better than the campground I was at before."
"Yeah?"
"Oh my god, yes." She leaned back in her chair.
"That place was sketchy as fuck. Noisy all night, people partying, cars coming and going at weird hours.
And then these fucking tweakers moved in a couple of months ago.
Just absolute chaos. Screaming at three in the morning, fights, someone's dog barking constantly. "
"Sounds rough."
"I went to work so many times running on like two hours of sleep. My manager probably thought I was on drugs or something." She shook her head. "But here it's just quiet. Peaceful. I can actually sleep."
"Good. I'm glad it's working out."
"You're lucky to own so much land."
"Actually, the acreage leading up to the cabin belongs to my neighbor, Claire Beaumont. The driveway is just an easement to get to the cabin."
"Really? So, like, I should be buying bagels for your neighbors instead?"
"You can if you like, they're good people," I laughed.
"I make sure to keep everything clean," she added quickly. "I don't leave any trash or anything."
"I noticed. I appreciate it."
She relaxed slightly. Then she cleared her throat.
"So, um. The bathroom situation. I know you're probably wondering."
I held up a hand. "You don't have to--"
"No, it's fine. I just dig a hole to pee. And I always cover it up after. Cat-style, you know?" Her cheeks flushed slightly in the firelight. "I'm not like, leaving anything gross around."
"I appreciate the consideration," I chuckled.
"It's the least I can do. You're letting me park here for free."
"Hey, you paid ten bucks. That covers the summer. I'm just being a landlord."
"Serious, for real."
I poked at the fire with a stick, sending up a shower of sparks.
"So where do you work? If you don't mind me asking."
"The motel. Off the highway, like outside of Port Chasten? The Seaside Motor Lodge."
"I've seen it."
"It's pretty basic. I clean rooms mostly.
Sometimes I work the front desk when Rita needs a break.
" She shrugged. "Doesn't pay much, but it's steady.
And Rita's pretty cool. She lets me use the shower and do laundry in the back.
Sometimes, if a room's not booked, she'll even let me crash there for the night. "
"That's where you stay when you're not here?"
"Yeah. But summer's coming, so." She made a face. "Tourist season. Every room's gonna be booked solid from June through September. Which means I'll be living in my car a lot more."
"You're welcome here. Anytime."
She looked at me, something guarded in her expression.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"