Chapter 48
THE TIRES BUMP AND CHAFE along the deep grooves of another dirt road. The sedan feels lower to the ground than before we made that last left. I grit my teeth as I anticipate gouging our undercarriage. Ella’s undercarriage. We keep going deeper into an old-growth pine wood.
Finally, nestled among dozens of tall trunks with what look like Christmas trees sprouting out their tops, we pull up to an old cabin.
Like many, many decades old.
A knot of apprehension tightens in my stomach.
Dark, uneven siding is frosted with green moss, and the roof over the porch, running the length of the low-slung building, looks ready to crumble.
I glance back at Clint, but he’s already stepped out.
I open the door and take a deep breath of earthy crispness.
It’s cooler here. I stare down the long drive.
A tiny wave of relief like a stray breeze washes over me. No one has followed. Yet.
With cautious steps, I approach the weather-beaten porch planking. I want to cry out to the kids to be careful where they’re walking, but the wood is surprisingly firm under my feet.
“Isn’t it cool, Mom?” Reid twirls around. “It was built like a hundred years ago.”
“Sixty.” Clint grabs the bags from the trunk.
“I’m going to check on the raccoons.” Reid disappears around the side of the cabin.
Clint and I both call after him, but Erika says she’ll stay with him.
From a small zippered pocket of his day pack, Clint fishes out a ring of keys.
He has keys to Rob’s place. I swallow my hurt.
Clint unlocks and pushes open the larger-than-normal hardwood door. “We’ve got some shingles and siding to replace, but the bones are solid.”
Leaving the crisp forest aroma of pine, the cedar scent of new wood fills the air.
My breath catches in my throat. Gentle shadows are crossed by shards of sunlight that dance across a wide-planked floor, partially covered by a round woven rug.
Its fibers are a symphony of earthy tones and a subtle leafy pattern.
A stone fireplace stands proudly against one wall.
Beside it, a collection of weathered logs anticipates a flame.
A cozy nook is nestled in the corner, beckoning with its bookshelf of novels and other books.
I trail my fingertips along the smooth surface of the cedar paneling, marveling at the craftsmanship that has gone into its creation. My eyes immediately seek my husband, but he’s back outside, probably checking on the kids. I take in the quaint furnishings and simple yet homey decor.
Anger erupts inside me.
“We’ll make this work,” Clint says as he steps up behind me.
“Whose cabin is this, really?” I whirl around and shove my hand at his chest, eager to feel the beat of his heart as he answers me.
To his credit, he doesn’t lose eye contact, and his heart stays steady. “Rob knows a guy. His late father built it. It needed a lot of work.”
“And who owns it?” I flail my aching arms around, taking in the gleaming rough-sawn mantel and concrete waterfall island.
“Rob is the only one on the deed.” Clint swallows.
“But he’s preparing papers to give me half ownership.
” His words tumble over each other. “Rob bought it for next to nothing. After selling, the old guy just wanted a place he could still come and fish a couple times a year. There’s a great pond out back.
He hasn’t made it up yet, but I can’t imagine him taking too many weekends. ”
“I’m not worried about the vacation schedule, Clint.” My words shoot out from between my clenched teeth. “Why is Rob putting you on the deed?”
“We’ve both made significant investments of labor and materials.”
“When?” I ask, with my breath leaking out of me.
“You work a lot, Mer.”
Reid runs up and hugs his dad around his waist. “The baby raccoons are gone. Erika said they’re on their own now. But can we try and feed them tonight?”
“Hey, Reid. Why don’t we go check out that hidey-hole in the bedroom where we put those old games?” Erika tugs at his arm.
Reid crushes his face against his father’s side, looks up at him with devotion, and then allows Erika to drag him away.
I quickly mouth thanks to our daughter and then glare back at my husband.
“You lied to me,” I whisper.
“Huh, ditto, babe.” Clint’s sheepish look is changing into brazenness. “I think we stopped telling each other about our lives many months ago, if not years.” He’s in for it, if I want to go there.
Righteous anger burns inside me, tempting me to give it oxygen and fall into the pattern of a failing marriage. The urge potent and the words juicy across my tongue.
Except he is right. I fully realize how righteous my anger is not. We have patently stopped confiding in each other. Not only the stuff that would set each other off, but we’ve hidden our dreams.
Clint has wanted a cabin in the woods for longer than I’ve known him.
We’ve taken trips back to Maine exploring seashores, lakesides, and remote forests.
We’ve vacationed in Vermont, New Hampshire, and even up into Canada.
Our imagination spooling out between us.
Before Clint, I figured vacations were just warmer or less congested versions of real life.
Clint introduced adventure.
The cabin is beautiful.
“I knew as soon as I saw the cedar shiplap.” My voice is still low.
“You remembered?”
“I’d almost let myself forget.” Tears dampen my lashes, but my heart beats steady. “Show me.”
“Do we need to—”
“Show me quick?” A little laugh bubbles out of me. Underneath what I now know is hurt is tremendous pride in all that my husband can do.
“Rob and I basically rebuilt the interior this summer. If you can believe it, it was in far worse shape than the roof and siding.” Clint’s eyes widen.
“There’s a small solar array on the back side of the roof, which we reshingled, and another one in a little clearing just behind us.
We also have a generator if needed. We can come up in the winter, but we’ll see how much of that we actually do. ”
“When did he buy it?”
“April.”
I think about the last six months as he takes me through the open-plan kitchen and living space. He shows me the new windows they got at a Habitat for Humanity reclaim store. Never has he hinted about an entire property he was renovating. A property he will own. We will own, I suppose.
But did he really never tell me?
A conversation last Mother’s Day itches the back of my mind.
“You did try to tell me about this place. We were playing—well, getting our paddles handed to us at pickleball. My mom’s latest guy friend . . .”
“Howard.”
“Yeah. Howard, ‘your most successful real estate partner in all of Narragansett,’” I parrot. “He interrupted your question about buying properties with friends. He never let you finish.”
Clint closes the electrical panel and turns toward me. “That wasn’t the only time I tried to tell you. I’ve actually said out loud to you that I was going up to the cabin.” His eyes stay on mine as I sift through a summer of memories that revolve around fund sales and work calls.
An ache pulses in the back of my throat, and I swallow. He tried telling me earlier in the week—something about Rob and a grant. We got interrupted, and I never asked him a thing about it.
“Is this where you came last Sunday? After our fight?” I ask. Until now, I’ve not wanted to know the answer.
He nods.
“I’m sorry, Clint.” I step toward him and pull him toward me.
“Hey, Dad, is there Wi-Fi? I want to see if our team won.” Reid creeps back into the main room.
“No cell service or Wi-Fi, and as much as this feels like family vacation, your mom and I have some things to figure out. We’re going to need some time to do that.”
My stomach clenches. Definitely off the grid. Are we safe, or did we back ourselves into a cedar-walled corner?
Reid moans.
Clint interlaces his fingers with mine. “We do have a satellite phone we can hot-spot, but . . .”
“How about some food?” Staying off the grid sounds good, for now. I pull out options for sandwiches and lots of fruit that I start to cut up.
As we are finishing up our early dinner, I comment on the changing of the light outside. It looks like filtered gold.
“Can we go to the pond?” Reid twists around and sprints to the window.
As much as I want everyone to stay inside, stay safe, I also need a moment to think.
I’ve gotten so obsessed with work, I’ve not paid nearly enough attention to Erika, who has barely eaten.
I wonder if she is thinking about her tracker being linked back to Garman Straub and about whoever is threatening her over these tests .
. . “I think there is just enough daylight left. Why don’t you and Dad go check it out? ”
I ignore Clint’s confusion as Reid whines, “But you’re the only one who hasn’t seen it. You have to come.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, honey, but I’ll see it later. Erika and I need to talk.” Feeling Erika stiffen in my periphery, I keep my eyes on Clint’s. “Erika, please take your brother back to the bedroom to help him get ready for the pond.”
Turning my back on the kids, I hear them shuffle from the room.
“Meredith, I think—” Clint begins.
“I have to figure out this connection with the tracker and Garman Straub.” I keep my voice low, but an urgency threads my words.
“Erika’s not going to talk to you about the picture.
You’re her dad and you’ve seen it. I haven’t, and we need to figure out what she knows.
How the picture and tests might be related.
I mean, it doesn’t have to be the pond.” Suddenly the idea of Clint more than ten feet from us feels like a bad idea.
“All right, you win, but only because I can see the approach to the cabin from the shore. I’ll leave the satellite phone here. Any car comes down that road, call the police. There’s a sheriff’s office right over the ridge.”
While tamping down the panic fluttering in my chest, I nod.
Minutes later, Clint leads Reid, with an old tackle box banging against his knees, down a pine-needle path to the left of the cabin.
I’ve split us up.
During every horror movie I’ve ever watched, this is the moment I yell at the screen.