Chapter 8 #2
and my house is plenty big for the both of us.”
His voice was steady talking about his grandfather, but he blinked back tears, hiding it poorly by raking his hand through
his hair. He held a deep well of love and kindness for the people around him. He needed someone who could help keep his well
topped up. She had filled such a role in her marriage and her job both, not knowing how dry her own well had gone until Lee
started showing her. Maybe one day she could find balance.
“That’s awful,” she said. It sounded like a cruel and undignified death, one that had to impact how he approached George’s
situation. Still, why wouldn’t he want George to be around family? Surely he couldn’t think being in the woods alone was better
than being in an apartment in New York.
“It was. On the flip side, now I live with the best cook around,” he said with a weak smile.
“Was that her lentil soup recipe?”
“And her cookie recipe.” Oatmeal cookies with butterscotch chips and hazelnuts were a pretty inspired combination, if she
did say so herself.
“Anyway,” Lee continued. “I wanted to go to Devil’s Cauldron today, since it’s so nice outside. I was thinking of bringing a little picnic. I know you want to write, but it might be the last good chance of the season to go before the snow starts falling. Do you want to come?”
It wasn’t a trip to Juniper without a trip to Devil’s Cauldron. Considering this might be his last trip to Juniper, she could
try a little harder to make it nice for him.
A rush of joy came over her. Devil’s Cauldron was hers now for as long as she lived at Juniper. It would be a place of active
memory making, not a place to wax nostalgic about. George would not want such a beautiful place to be trapped in the past.
Despite the water being too cold for swimming at this time of the year, the waterfalls would be gorgeous with the foliage
near its peak and this bright sunshine. As much as she wanted to make an outline for her novel today, she wanted to visit
the falls. If Lee was there, too, so be it.
“That sounds fun. Let’s do it.”
“Great. You get ready to go. I’ll make us some sandwiches.”
Thora already knew the sandwiches would not be basic PB&Js and her mouth watered at the possibilities ahead.
It was common knowledge that being married meant accepting flaws. One of Cody’s flaws was his utter lack of a sophisticated
palate. Bryony, for all her money, was not a particularly adventurous eater beyond her penchant for oysters. The woman ate
Caesar salads like she had a quota to fill. She’d never thought about the pleasure of eating genuinely interesting food with
someone. Lee’s cooking was making her realize just how much she’d been missing out on.
But what was she doing comparing Lee’s palate to Cody’s? He’d be here for a couple of days, tops, and then he’d better write
down some of these recipes before he left, because she didn’t want to go back to her old ways. How could he have changed her
life in such a short time?
It didn’t have to be that serious. Everyone’s lives were a mosaic of influences, with most tiles provided by nearest and dearest, and the odd one here or there provided by a complete stranger.
One of Thora and Mack’s longest-running inside jokes came from an overheard encounter at the Woodhill Diner. The placemats
at the diner identified different notable landmarks in the area, John Brown’s grave being among them. They overheard a small
child at the booth next to them ask their father, “Who’s John Brown?”
And the guy answered in an obsequious kindergarten teacher tone, “He’s known as the Godfather of Soul.”
Mack and Thora managed to stifle their laughter in the moment. It was extra funny because of Mack’s tendency to mix up words
and names herself. From then on, literally any question that could be answered “He’s known as the Godfather of Soul” was answered
with “He’s known as the Godfather of Soul,” matching the lilting cadence of the original speaker of the quote.
That guy would never know much delight he added to her life. Sometimes the biggest changes came from the smallest moments.
And Thora would never have to tell Lee that he changed her culinary worldview with lentil soup and fruit salad.
Lee had parked Thora in with George’s old red truck, so he drove them to the swimming hole. That, Thora was used to. Nothing
made Cody feel cooler than driving her old Wagoneer, so she relished the role of passenger. And the back roads of the Adirondacks
could not be topped. Flaming foliage hung over the twisty roads, each clearing framing one spectacular view after another.
It was as if each new vista, a string of mountain peaks or a crystalline lake dotted with islands, tried to top the last.
Only one other car was parked in the unmarked dirt pullout near the swimming hole.
The trail in, mostly easy except a few steep descents over exposed tree roots, ended at picnic tables overlooking the falls.
Lee carried the picnic basket, while Thora toted in a bag stuffed with a couple of blankets, the novel she was reading, and her notebook.
She liked to sit on the rocks, because the picnic tables didn’t have a view all the way down into the so-called cauldron, an inky pool churned by the waterfall.
The sun warmed the rocks at the edge of the waterfalls. The air was genuinely pine fresh but not as crisp as expected this
time of year. He set down a blanket adjacent to hers and pulled out his notebook.
As soon as she sat, she realized she had forgotten sunscreen. She could picture it on the sink in the old bathroom. A quick
toss of the tote bag and the tube she sought fell into her lap. She must have been on autopilot after all, or maybe Juniper
was feeling benevolent today. Her frenzied motions caught Lee’s attention.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I don’t remember putting this sunscreen in the bag.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Because I put it in there. I’m not letting you get sunburned again.”
Indeed, she had gotten a terrible itchy, peely burn the one time she forgot sunscreen during that college summer. Had she
whined sufficiently that Lee remembered all these years later? Maybe complaining loudly was good, actually. She smiled to
herself as she applied the lotion thoroughly.
After reading the same sentence in her Bryony Brooks novel five times, she realized she ought to be more present with nature.
So she simply watched the water tumble over the rocks, listened to its roar, and looked for ephemeral rainbows in the mist. After a while, Lee handed her a heavenly sandwich of sliced, roasted root vegetables and feta cheese.
When he’d found the time to roast the vegetables, she wasn’t sure, but she also wasn’t questioning.
She reapplied sunscreen and drank it all up: the sunshine, the scenery, the company.
Glancing over at Lee, she found he was deep in the study of a fallen oak leaf. He was sketching it in his notebook, a nearly
photorealistic image rendered in pencil. Given his highly stylized comics, she’d forgotten how talented he was. His attention
to every vein and blemish on the leaf mirrored how she felt under his gaze. Both seen for exactly who she was, and also seen