Chapter 19 Hannah
HANNAH
The drive is tortuously long. It doesn’t help that both Thomas and I are so brutally exhausted that we can barely think straight. We don’t talk much, only singing along to songs that play from his old iPod.
When the GPS says there’s an hour of the drive left, the Suburban following us flashes their headlights at us, veering to an exit and leaving us to our own devices.
Not long later, we take an exit off the freeway and drive onto side roads, passing through small town after small town, until finally we end up on a seemingly endless gravel road.
When Elena said we’d be in a remote location, she wasn’t kidding. I haven’t seen another house or even another car now in over ten minutes, the only thing my eyes can see is trees and woods. Arson has his head smashed against the window, his slobber all over the glass as he watches for animals.
“In eight hundred feet, turn left,” the GPS voice announces, and I can finally see a structure in the distance.
Thomas turns onto the road, and we continue.
Nerves bubble in my belly. What if the people hosting us are horrible people?
Are we staying in their house? I never thought to ask specifics, but now, it’s all I can think of.
Will Thomas and I be expected to share a room? A bed? I suppose so. We’re technically engaged, so I presume they’re thinking we will share a bed.
Oh god, why didn’t I think about this sooner?
The dirt road curves, leading us to a small farm with a red barn sitting on the opposite side of the property from the house. It must be a hobby farm, because I don’t see any signs that it’s a dairy or cattle farm.
More woods line the far edge of the property, with a trail leading deeper into the trees. Thomas parks the vehicle, and reaches behind him to grab the leash for Arson.
An older woman steps out onto the front porch. She looks straight out of a movie with her long gray hair pulled into a low bun on her neck, and a pale blue apron covering her front.
A man steps out behind her in a worn flannel and jeans. His dark hair isn’t fully gray, but speckled with strands and pieces that give him a salt and pepper look. If I had to guess, I would say they are in their early seventies.
Thomas hooks Arson’s leash with a click, and Arson climbs up onto the center console of the vehicle, waiting for him to get out.
Thomas looks over at me, and it’s visible how exhausted he is.
We’ve both been awake now for over twenty-four hours, and it shows.
His blue eyes are bloodshot behind the lenses of his glasses, with deep dark purplish circles under his eyes.
The familiar brightness and excitement that usually fills his gaze is gone, now a dull glow.
“Hopefully once we get settled, we can get some sleep,” Thomas says. “Are you ready?”
I nod, reminding myself to breathe. Like I told Thomas last night, meeting new people is hard for me, and this is no exception.
I overthink every little thing, from my hair or body, down to the way I interact with people.
It’s brutally exhausting. I still haven’t stopped overthinking everything with Thomas.
The only people who I am fully comfortable with are a thousand miles away.
Thomas gets out of the vehicle, Arson bounding with him. I take one moment by myself before I get out, my feet landing on the gravel driveway. The sun is hot, and it’s aggressively humid out, like walking into a sauna.
I glance around, the faint sounds of animals in the barn drawing my attention to it. Chickens mill about the area, pecking at the ground and clucking at each other.
Thomas waits for me at the front of the vehicle, and I move to stand by his side. We walk toward the couple, who have made their way down the steps and onto the driveway to meet us. Arson nudges at my hip a few times, probably sensing my anxiety, and I reach down, rubbing his head.
“Hiya folks,” the man says.
“Hi, Mr. Graff?” Thomas questions. The man nods, and Thomas visibly lets out a sigh of relief.
“I’m Thomas Cunningham, and this is my fiancée, Hannah Pearson, and our dog, Arson.
” I withhold my shock at him introducing me as his fiancée.
I mean, technically, to everyone on the outside, that’s what we are, but it was weird to hear him call me it.
He also referred to Arson as ours. Arson nuzzles into my thigh as if to agree with his dad, so I pet him a bit more.
“Nice to meet you two,” the man says. “My name is Ron, and this is my wife, Dottie.”
“Thank you for doing this,” Thomas says, reaching out to shake their hands. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.”
“Absolutely,” Dottie replies, a warm smile crossing her face. “We are happy to be a safe space for you in your time of need.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, finally finding my voice. Dottie glances over at me, her smile so genuine. It seems that she can see right through me as she holds my eyes for another long moment.
“Why don’t we give you folks a short tour, and then we will leave you to settle in,” Ron says. I expect him to lead us into the house, but instead, he gestures to the UTV parked by the barn. “We’ll take the side by side down to the cottage.”
“Sounds good,” Thomas responds, glancing over at me. I offer him a little smile, hoping to convey that I’m okay. It probably comes across as a grimace, because Thomas furrows his brows in concern. “You okay?” he mouths.
I nod frantically, trying to show him I’m fine, but my aggression only makes him more concerned. He looks me up and down, and takes my hand before I can step away. He gives it a squeeze, and I squeeze back. Thankfully, that helps him realize that I’m alright.
Dottie and Ron climb into the front row of seats, leaving the back row to us. Thomas climbs in one side, closing the door and buckling while I do the same. Arson sits between us, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he glances around in excitement.
Ron starts the engine, and then we’re off.
He slowly drives by the red barn, pointing inside.
“We have kind of a variety of animals here as you can see. There’s chickens, a donkey, a cow, some goats, and an emu.
Dave, the emu, is around here somewhere.
He has free rein of the land, so he pops up now and then. You’ll meet him at some point.”
“Dave?” I can’t help but ask. Also, what the heck is an emu? Isn’t that like a smaller version of an ostrich?
Dottie chuckles. “The grandkids named him. They named all of our animals, so they all have some interesting names, to say the least.”
Thomas laughs in return. “My brother has a dog named Travis, so I get that.”
Ron drives us around their property, briefly explaining some things we need to know, until he reaches the woods, and the beginning of the trailhead. He directs the UTV down the trail, the sunlight dimming under the shadow of the trees.
“Back here, is the cottage. When we bought our house back in the seventies, it was a tiny shack. Over the years, we’ve cleaned it up, added an addition, and now families stay there when they come to visit, but it’s also a great spot for us to lend a helping hand for folks like you,” he explains.
“It’s tucked away about a mile down the path here, but there’s electricity, running water, everything you might need.
We stocked it with groceries, cleaning supplies and pillows and blankets.
Anytime you need something, give us a shout,” Dottie says.
“It’s a nice little spot for you guys to have some privacy, as well as safety. ”
The trees part up ahead, leading us to a clearing with a small wood cottage on the far edge of it. It’s definitely small, but also so cute. It has a small front porch with a wooden swing hanging from the overhanging roof.
“This is adorable,” I say.
“There’s a small pond, and it’s even swimmable,” Ron points to the pond across the clearing.
“Wow, that’s great,” Thomas responds.
“Come on, let's show you inside,” Dottie says, climbing out of the UTV.
We all follow, heading up to the front door of the cottage. The door opens with a slight creak, and Ron gestures for us to enter.
The interior is small, with the kitchen on the far side of the room.
It’s nothing special, a small fridge, stove, sink and a few countertops.
The pots and pans hang from one of those fancy things from the ceiling, and a small vase filled with wildflowers is on the countertop.
There aren’t any cupboards, just planks of wood lining the room with bowls, plates, cups, mugs and seasonings organized on them.
To the right is a staircase leading up to a lofted level. I think I spot a bed up there, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell from this angle. To my left is a sectional couch facing the TV hanging from the wall. In the opposite corner, a small wood fireplace sits on a ledge.
Dottie brings us further into the cozy cottage, telling us where we can find everything, and showing us the bathroom off the kitchen.
She and Ron lead us upstairs to show us what is, in fact, the bedroom.
There’s a queen-sized bed up here, made up with what appears to be a handmade quilt.
My stomach flips with the confirmation that we will be sharing a bed.
I can sense Thomas’s eyes on me with that confirmation, but I refuse to look at him right now. Thankfully, the light is dim up here, so I’m hopeful he can’t see how red my face is.
We head back downstairs and outside for Ron to show us a few more things, but honestly, I’m not paying much attention. I’m too lost in my head, which isn’t even functioning properly with how tired I am.
How long will we be here? A week? A month? A year? Will Thomas get sick of me in that time? Will he wish he never said we were engaged? The questions ricochet through my brain, and I lose my grip on what’s happening in front of me, zoning out on a knot in a piece of wood in the siding.