Chapter 2
Aspen
The axe comes down with a thunk echoing in the cold, crisp air, splitting the log clean in two. A sharp pinch makes me jump, and I glance down to where a wood shard hit before flying into the thick layer of snow.
Ignoring the pain, I set another log on the chopping block, grip the wooden handle of the axe, and bring it down with enough force to create another perfect split.
The cold air wafts into my nose, setting my teeth on edge.
Something’s coming. This chill is a warning of a building storm.
And it won’t be just any storm, no. It’s the kind that will howl through trees and bury cabins under feet of snow.
I’ve lived here long enough to know when nature sends a warning that all hell is going to break loose.
And for that, I’m gonna need more firewood.
My attention drifts back to work, ignoring the cold biting my exposed skin and the burn in my muscles from the work. I’m mid-swing when snow crunches and a familiar voice breaks the silence.
“If it’s not the Grinch.” He chuckles. “Still out here pretending you’re a lumberjack?”
I don’t bother to stop, because I already know who it is. Only one person would hike far from the town just to call me the Grinch.
“Oliver,” I sigh, partly in annoyance, yet relieved to get extra company.
I lay the axe to rest on the chopping block and glance over my shoulder to look at him.
Chief Oliver Ricin is a few yards away from me, struggling to get onto the base of my porch where I had shoveled the snow.
Wrapped in layers, he exhales restlessly, each breath a visible puff of white in the frigid air.
“Figured I’d come by before the storm. You know, the weather forecast says it’s going to be a big one.” He pauses and smacks me on the back in a friendly way. “Wanted to make sure you’re not here freezing to death, alone.”
“Alone is good,” I snort. “I’ve got plenty of wood, so I’ll be fine.”
Ollie looks around, his gaze catching on the pile next to me before drifting to the even larger stack near the cabin door. “Yeah, that just got more obvious.” His eyebrows rise. “What are you trying to do? Heat the entire mountain?”
Ignoring him, I select another log to chop. “It’s better to be prepared.”
Oliver is silent for a moment, letting his gaze wander before shaking his head. “Right. I hope this has nothing to do with the season. Are you avoiding Christmas?”
My grip tightens on the axe as I force myself to swallow my response because he already knows the answer. Yes. Infinitely, yes.
My friend sighs and places his hand over the handle of my axe, effectively stopping me from avoiding this conversation with mindless activity.
“Listen. That’s why I’m here. Anna and I are planning to host a Christmas dinner.
She’s been making lots of lists and cooking up a storm for days—says she wants to make a banquet.
I already know what you’re going to say, but I’m going to ask, anyway. ”
“Then why bother, Ollie?” I cut in and push his hand out of my way before raising and bringing the axe down hard. A satisfying crack echoes through the trees, but that only stalls this ridiculous conversation momentarily.
He raises his hands placatingly. “Because I’m stubborn, and whether or not you like it, I give a damn about you.”
A grimace covers my face as I exhale, rubbing the back of my head and looking around at my accomplishment. The snow is still falling, light yet steady.
“I don’t do Christmas.” The line comes off rehearsed and fake.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that part. But Anna wants to see you. The boys, too.” His eyes smile as he continues.
“She’s convinced that if she feeds you well, and enough, maybe that might not change your mind about Christmas, but it should do something about you being a recluse. Maybe you’ll want company, family.”
“Not happening.” I slam the sharp blade of my axe into the tree stump I was using to split them on, glad to know it will be easy to find should I need to split some more wood later. This conversation is over. Completely freaking done. No Christmas. No family. None of it.
Oliver lets out a frustrated sigh, like he knew it would be this hard to convince me, but still can’t let it drop. “Come on, man. She’s pumped up for this. And you know she’s a skilled cook.”
“I don’t do Christmas.”
“Yeah. But it’s time to start.” He crosses his arms. “Every year you sit in this godforsaken cabin wishing yourself away. And I let it slide because I know how tough it was to lose them. You needed time, but Aspen—” his voice breaks into something soft, knowing it’s a fragile topic he’s treading on.
“—it’s been so long. Too long. You need to forgive yourself. ”
I do not bother weighing his words, instead turning back to the chopping block. “There’s no forgiving me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Yes, you do. Heck! Everyone does.”
I scoff and apply more force to bring the axe down on the log. This time, it doesn’t split perfectly in half, and the sound doesn’t mute Oliver’s next sentence.
“Your parents would’ve wanted you to.”
He unleashes his secret weapon, lodging the knife deep within my chest and twisting it. I look up at Oliver, my eyes burning with unshed tears, but I don’t let it show. “Don’t,” I hiss menacingly as I set up another log.
Oliver doesn’t flinch because he knows I wouldn’t lash out or attack him.
“I’m only saying because it’s true. You used to love Christmas.
You’d invite me over every year, even as kids.
We’d raise hell in these woods, tie a sled to your dad’s truck bumper…
Remember the time we nearly broke your neck?
And now what?” He glares at me, his nose puffing cold smoke.
“You’re up here, alone, keeping to yourself, like the world ended for you because of one mistake. ”
I grip the axe tighter. “It did.”
Silence follows, filled with tension, daring me to say more, but I don’t, much to his disappointment.
Oliver sighs for the umpteenth time, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Look, I understand, Aspen. It’s a terrible guilt. But don’t go through life alone. It was an accident. End this self-flagellation.”
I look away, my jaw tight. The wind blows slowly through the trees, fanning my face with snow. He’s waiting for me to say something, my best friend my whole life, but even for him, I can’t muster the words. And I can’t let go.
My friend shifts, walking forward, then stopping in his tracks.
“Anna is gonna make that pot roast you like.” I noticed how his voice softens when he speaks of his wife, and I wonder what it must be like to have someone to go home to.
Someone to share life with. Yearning builds within me, but I squash it back down violently.
“And pie. And oh, how she loves to brag about that pie. If you don’t show up—” he points his index finger at me. “—well, let’s just say she’ll be awfully disappointed. And you know how she can be when disappointed.”
A memory flashes in my head, and a reluctant chuckle escapes me, brief but genuine. Oliver catches it as a sign to press on.
“Just an hour, Aspen,” he says pleadingly. “You don’t have to talk to anyone or make jokes. Just sit in the corner, eat, and glare at people. Just…be there.”
I stare down at the axe in my hands, knowing he’s right.
Solitude isn’t helping. It hasn’t helped for years, if it ever did.
In fact, loneliness is eating away at me, the weight pressing against my chest making it harder and harder to breathe.
But old habits die hard, especially when one uses them to cope with pain.
Yet, the unspoken concern in Oliver’s voice reminds me he’s always been there, trying hard to pull me out of this abyss each time I kept crawling back. I just don’t deserve to leave. I shouldn’t be happy when everyone is dead and buried.
Finally, I exhale, dropping the axe to the floor. “I’ll think about it,” I lie between my teeth when in actuality, I’ve already decided.
Ollie clasps his hands in gratitude. “That’s all I ask.”
Not answering, I brush the cold snow from my face with my jacket sleeve, grab the sack full of wood, and dump it on my porch.
“You should also know that if you don’t come, she’ll send me up here with leftovers, and I swear if you make me hike through snow and storm to bring you a damn plate, I’ll make sure I bring the boys over.”
The threat of dealing with Oliver’s grown sons is a splash of cold water. There’s no way I’m going to host a bunch of firefighters in my cabin and have them drink whiskey and joke about their experiences and women. “They won’t want that. But I doubt Anna’s as stubborn as you.”
Oliver grins. “You have no idea, man. I love her regardless.”
“Yuck,” I tease.
“You’ll get that someday.” He turns to leave. “Take care of yourself.”
I watch as he disappears into the trees; the wind buries his footsteps in the snow, which is falling heavier than ever. I should probably head inside, but even the threat of frostbite won’t stall the restless energy inside. So, I pick up the axe and continue chopping.