Authors: Ever McCormick
"What were you doing with the shovel?" he asked from the bedroom.
"Huh?"
"Outside
, I almost tripped over it." He pointed to the bedroom and I thought of looking out the window one morning and seeing the shovel leaning against the house.
"I didn't do anything with it. It was there when I got here."
"No, it wasn't," he said. Quickly, he walked right past me and out onto the porch. I watched him descend the steps and disappear without explanation. I followed behind him as he went to the trail and turned in the opposite direction of his own cabin. I had difficulty keeping up. He picked up speed as cabin two came into sight. He walked right past it. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to something I couldn't see.
I walked to his side to see what he was staring at. A shed stood before us, but that wasn't the interesting part. A broken padlock lay in two pieces on the ground in front of the shed doors.
Adam walked to the shed and pulled open the door, rifling through the contents inside.
"What's going on?" I asked as I stepped into the shed. It was filled with everything anyone might need out here: tools, buckets, flashlights. It was helpful to know this was out here in case I did need something.
"I'm guessing you didn't break the lock on this shed?" he asked while opening the drawer of a giant toolbox and sifting through its contents.
"No, of course not." I noticed a broken beer bottle on the floor, the same brand I'd brought with me.
"Well, someone did," he said, slamming the tool drawer shut. "They took rope, a machete, a shovel." Adam walked past me out the doors of the shed. He rested his hands on his hips and looked in both directions.
He was blo
cking most of the sunlight. I walked outside and stood by his side, looking up into his face as he searched the woods around him.
"Adam," I asked, shocked at how young and scared my voice sounded, "can I stay with you tonight?"
Our eyes met. He stuck out his arm and pulled me close to his side. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."
6
I sunk back into the seat I'd been sitting in before we left to
check on my cabin. Our mugs still sat on the table with the dregs of our tea inside. Adam scooped them both up in one hand and placed them in the sink.
"L
isten," he said, and I hoped he’d say some magic words that would zap this fear out of me. "I don't know what you saw, but I believe you. I want you to feel safe again, but if you don't feel safe, I want you to stay here until you do." His hand reached into a pantry and pulled out an unopened bottle of wine.
T
here it was, the magic potion. Wine, if anything, could calm me down. I nodded and he placed the bottle on the table. He took a corkscrew from a drawer and two glasses from a cupboard. I noticed there wasn't too much in the cupboard, just a couple of glasses, bowls, and plates. The glasses he placed on the table were tall water glasses, not small wine goblets. He opened the wine and emptied half of the bottle by filling the two glasses. "How about if I make you dinner?" he asked.
I nodded. I hadn't eaten anything but Spaghettios and fruit since I'd gotten here. I'd packed only camping food, so a
n actual dinner sounded nice. I wasn't picky either. Being that I wasn't a very good cook myself, I was impressed by pretty much any dish that had ever been prepared for me.
Adam walked to the counter and fli
cked on a small radio. A ‘50s song doo-wopped through the kitchen and I smiled. I couldn't believe I was smiling given the circumstances. When I thought about being watched for the past few days, I shuddered. But I felt safe with Adam, and it didn't hurt that he didn't seem scared at all.
I even found myself tapp
ing my foot to the cheerful tunes. At college I always heard top 40, hip hop, and weepy guitars accompanying emo boys’ sad lyrics. There just didn't seem to be much variation in my classmates’ tastes even though most thought of themselves as non-conformist individuals.
"Do you mind the oldies station?" Adam asked.
"Not at all." I picked up my full glass and kicked my feet up on one of the other chairs. Then I took a gulp of wine.
"Make yourself comfortable," he said. I glanced over thinking he was making fun of the fact that I
was
getting so comfortable, but his back was to me. I studied his broad shoulders and solid back. My vision swept down to his butt and I swallowed, remembering that dream I'd had. He turned around and caught me staring. My face must have been crimson, but he just smiled and went back to what he was doing without comment.
Adam pulled items from his fridge, which was more packed than I thought it wo
uld be. For a bachelor living Davy Crockett style, he had a well-stocked kitchen. After asking if I ate meat, he defrosted and pounded out some chicken, sliced a ball of fresh Mozzarella, and cut some veggies. He placed a plate of sliced peppers, cucumbers, and carrots on the table in front of me, complete with a small bowl of dip, and he sat across from me.
"What's your story?" I asked him. I was suddenly very interested in Adam's history, and the wine was making me brazen enough to flat out ask about it.
"My story?" A pan sizzled on the stove and he turned to look at it, then got up to adjust the heat. He checked on all of the pots he had going. The complex aromas of whatever he was making filled the kitchen and my stomach rumbled, but I hadn’t forgotten my question.
"Yes, your story. How did you become a modern-day pi
oneer, living on a mountain, and cooking dinners that smell like something I couldn't afford at a five-star restaurant?"
He smiled
. "You think it smells good?"
"Um, yeah." I took a drink of wine. Surprisingly, I'd already downed half of it
. He picked up the bottle and filled my glass to the brim. "Sorry," I said. "I'll slow down."
He shook his head. "Drink up. I have a case in the pantry."
"See, what kind of person keeps a case of wine in his pantry? I doubt you get too many guests out here." Ugh. My stomach dropped. What if he did get a lot of guests out here? What if he was some kind of woman-hating chauvinist who only lived out here so he could avoid the next day weirdness from his string of woodsy whores?
"The kind of person who likes to sit on his porch nightly and drink wine, I guess."
My god, that sounded delicious. I instantly felt guilty for thinking this was all a ruse to get unsuspecting nature-loving women into his lair.
The song on the radio
transitioned into a slower one. There was something so innocent and refreshing about this music. It was all about first love and simple rhymes and catchy melodies. I could feel my blood beginning to cool from the boil it had been at most of the day.
"Well, I’m that kind of person
too," I said, taking another drink of wine. "I mean, I guess I am. To tell you the truth, I am still trying to figure out exactly what kind of person I am."
He nodded. “Aren’t we all?”
Our meal was done fairly quickly, which surprised me, given how delicious it was. It may have been the best meal I ever had. I had worried about coming up with small talk during our meal, but it ended up not being a problem. I barely spoke at all between shoveling bites into my mouth.
I was working on seconds when the s
ong stopped abruptly in the middle of the chorus and Adam's gaze moved to the radio. I looked too. The red light shone brightly, indicating that it was still on. Papers shuffled on the air and the announcer's voice came over in a stern, serious fashion. His jovial DJ voice had vanished.
"This just in, folks."
I smiled at how even his presentation of breaking news seemed to be from another time.
"Locals have
been closely following the case of Sid "Roadsie" Roads, the prisoner who escaped from Mountain Retreat Maximum Security Prison a few days ago. Roads escaped, killing one guard in the process and injuring four more. Roads, believed to be armed and dangerous, is still at large despite multiple reports of sightings across this mostly unpopulated section of the state."
The announcer continued his explanation, and I felt the need to listen. I sensed how important it was to know all of the facts about this particular story, and yet I couldn't concentrate on the words. Instead, I kept repeating the name in my head:
Sid Roads, Roadsie.
Was that who had been in my cabin? Had I seen the tail end of him?
I turned my gaze to Adam, who was staring at the radio as if he could get a visual just from the announcer's description. He turned to me. We stared at each o
ther for a few seconds before Adam spoke.
"Just a coincidence," he said. "The likelihood that this guy
was in your cabin is not good. Mountain Retreat Prison is at least thirty miles away, and any escape prisoner who had half a brain wouldn't be hanging out on my mountain. He's probably on his way to California by now. Prisoners want one thing," he said as if he knew what he was talking about. I couldn't imagine what one thing he meant: sex? money?
"To get away," he
said. "As far away as fast as possible."
I nodded. That made sense. I swallowed hard.
For days, I'd shivered every time the wind blew. My body was clearly on high alert for every sound and vibration that could be misconstrued for an intruder. Maybe my mind had imagined that blurry dark figure in my cabin. Even as I thought it, my mind rebelled against the accusation. I had seen something. I had heard something. Deep down I knew it.
"You're staying here tonight," Adam sa
id, breaking into my thoughts. I looked at him. We had already established that, but I guess he felt the need to remind me. "You can stay here as long as you want."
"Maybe
I should drive home," I thought out loud. "I’m not cut out for this."
"No," Adam said.
I stared at his stern expression. I couldn't muster any response as my mind tried to sort out what it wanted. I'd promised myself this trip was about self-reliance, about figuring out a new me that didn't need a male counterpart. But the truth was I was scared as hell. I didn't want to give up my single girl escapade and head home, but I also didn't want to be shacking up with a guy I had difficulty not seeing as a sex object.
"I don't know," I started.
"You're doing this, Ina," he said. "You’re not running away."
"I'm not? So you're holding me prisoner?" I felt safe in his cabin, and it was stupid to go running around a forest where a prison escapee could be on the loose, but there was no way someone was going to tell me I couldn't. That directive had me bristling even though I very much wanted to stay.
"You're not a prisoner," he said. He grinned, which caused me to get madder. Nothing like not having your declarations taken seriously to get a girl all worked up. "
I'm
scared, and
I'd
appreciate the company," he said. He leaned in. "Please, stay with me," he whispered.
My gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips to his chin. I noticed how messy and wild his beard was. Michael was clean-shaven at all times. A few of the guys at college had trendy goatees or sported the occasional 5 o'clock shadow, but this was different, primal. Perhaps that's why his admission that he was scared and wanted my company made me laugh.
"You need
me
to protect
you
?"
He smiled. "I fear what
would happen if you left here and something happened to you. I take your—all of my renters'—safety very seriously. Please, have pity on my nerves. Stay."
"Better,
" I said.
He grinned.
"Do you invite all of your renters to stay with you?"
He
chuckled. "No. This is definitely a first."
I laughed, easily believing him. "For your peace of mind
," I said, "I will stay."
He grinned.
"But only for tonight, and no fooling around." I blushed as soon as I said it, and so did he. I saw a definite shift to red across the skin on his cheekbones and I felt it on my skin. Why had I said that anyway? I think I was saying it to myself more than him.
"No," he said
. In a quieter voice he added, "I imagine your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate that."
My face fell, and f
or the first time since I was eighteen, I said, "I don't have a boyfriend."
"No?" He got up and retrieved another bottle of wine. At the counter, he arranged something on a small dish that he carried over and set on the table. It looked like sa
lt, but I had seen him add water to it. He poured the rest of the almost empty bottle of wine into my glass.
"I am newly single," I explained, taking a gulp.
"Ahhh, it all makes sense now."
"It does?"
"I get quite a few newly single people out here. Every summer, in fact." He swirled his index finger around on the small dish and then rubbed one of the bites on my arm with the finger. The rough texture of the salt immediately soothed the itch and I groaned in satisfaction.