TWO DAYS
BEFORE THE CABIN
THE MAN
The man had been driving for a long time. He hadn’t stopped since he got out except when he needed to fuel up, piss, shit, or eat. He hadn’t dawdled. He’d gotten right back into his truck. A couple of hours ago he pulled into a dusty gas station that was set right off the highway. He filled up his tank and stretched his legs. It still felt odd to be allowed so much space. He stuck to walking in straight lines whenever possible. From his car to the gas pump. From the pump to the cashier. From the cashier back to his car. And then the straight line of the highway. This time, though, he could feel someone watching him as he unscrewed the gas cap and lifted the nozzle into the throat of the gas tank. His hand shook slightly and he concentrated on keeping his eyes downward, to his black cowboy boots. The tips were scuffed; they needed a good shine, though it had been ten years since he’d last worn them, so, all things considered, they looked pretty damn good. The abrupt release of the latch under his fingers signaled a full tank. He made his way to the small shop, keeping his eyes trained on his reflection in the double glass doors. His reflection always startled him. He looked ordinary, and for that he was grateful. In his last sessions, he had told them that the hunger was still there, would always be there, but they hadn’t listened. Fucking shrinks. What was the point if they didn’t listen. So far, though, he hadn’t gotten sidetracked. He was doing well. Only a few more hours and he’d have her.
The cashier was male and the man smiled to himself. Easy peasy. He asked for a pack of Marlboro Lights and a Bic. He threw a few crumpled bills onto the counter and waited for change. “Actually,” he said to the cashier, “keep the change.” He was feeling cocky; he could do this. He strode back to his car, eyes straight ahead. He didn’t look to the right even though he felt her there.
“Sir.” Her voice sounded like a song. “Excuse me, sir.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the woman jogging toward him, the one who had been watching him while she pumped gas at the station behind him.
“Your thingy is open,” she said. Then with a laugh, “I mean your gas thingy.”
“Oh.” His tongue felt thick. He managed to say, “Thanks,” and screw his mouth up in what he hoped looked like a smile. He walked around to the other side of his car and screwed the lid on until he heard the click. For the first time since he’d pulled into the gas station, he let his eyes wander. He watched the woman with the song-voice climb into her front seat. She raked her fingers through long dark hair and adjusted the rearview mirror. No one else in the car. Fucking bitch. He was doing so well and here she was, practically begging him. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. No. Not dark hair. The last one had dark hair. He pressed on the fleshy web between his thumb and pointer finger. The place where her teeth had left a crescent moon scar. He started his car and peeled out of the gas station, back onto the highway.
The man looked at himself in the rearview mirror. “You passed,” he said and grinned. The signs whizzed by; sixty-eight more miles until he was home.
ONE DAY
BEFORE THE CABIN
ROSE
Rose sipped her steaming mug of coffee and surveyed the mounds of snow from behind the glass door that led to her patio. Even with the outdoor lights on, she had to strain her eyes against the dark. She ran her eyes over what was visible of her backyard—her hydrangeas, rhododendrons, and rosebushes all covered in snow—and clucked, “How are you all holding up out there?” In a month, maybe less, she would start her morning routine by pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up her Bean boots, and taking her coffee outside. Early spring was a time for communing with her garden, cleaning up leaves, picking up sticks, talking to her plants, checking to see how everyone had weathered the winter. But for now, she could only sip in silence and wait for the snow to melt. It had poured a couple of days ago, the rain melting through most of the snow, and Rose had let herself hope that this was it—the true beginning of spring. But last night six inches of snow had been dumped from the sky; a mocking wink from Mother Nature, Gotcha!
These were her favorite hours, the hours between when she awoke, at three a.m., and when she left for the bakery, at five a.m. When she first started Rose’s Sweets, she struggled for months to adjust to the early rise schedule, but she insisted on always being the first one in the shop, always arriving at least a half hour before the first-shift bakers. When Sam grumbled and reached for her hand, trying to slide it into the warm crook of his arm, convincing her with grunts to stay in bed a few minutes longer, she would gently explain that she had to set a good example. “It’s the trickle-down effect, hun. If I’m late, even once, then the bar gets lowered, and before you know it—”
“Ok. Ok,” he’d mumble. “I’m so proud of you. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” and by the time she’d creaked off the bed, his breathing would be back to the deep exhalations and inhalations of the unconscious.
Even though she’d eventually entrusted her manager and staff with opening the bakery, her internal clock still woke her at 3:02 a.m. every morning. Usually, she shuffled around the house, picking up whatever she’d left about the night before, making coffee, tending to her garden (or staring at it wistfully depending on the season). But this morning she had things to do. Rose gazed through the glass for another minute and took one more swig of coffee, savoring the heat in her mouth, before striding to the oven. She pressed Bake and set the temperature to 350 degrees. She gathered the sugar and the butter she’d left on the counter overnight and tossed them into the KitchenAid. Cracking the eggs, stirring in the flour, and whisking baking soda into hot water (her signature move—well, that and the cornstarch) were all second nature; within minutes, she was spooning big chunks of chocolate chip cookie dough onto two large sheets.
She smiled to herself and hummed as she taste-tested the dough. Perfect. These were Thea’s favorite, and she couldn’t wait to watch her granddaughter’s face light up tomorrow in the car on the way to the cabin. She missed her granddaughter fiercely. She was still getting used to only seeing Thea and Anne every few weeks since they’d moved from Charlotte to Burlington. Two days at this cabin in the mountains sounded wonderful. And she hoped it would perhaps help to patch things up between her two loves. “A girls’ getaway,” Anne had said. How fun.
Rose spent the rest of the morning writing out a letter for her next-door neighbor, who would be looking after Sal. The border collie wouldn’t be awake for another couple of hours. He used to be up with her every morning, bounding around the house with a stuffed bear in his mouth, ready to expend massive amounts of energy at three a.m., only to be disappointed, every single morning, when Rose would rub him between the ears and whisper, “Bye, love. Daddy will be awake soon to take you out,” as she closed the door on his hopeful face. Now, Sal was going on fourteen and took his time getting up in the morning. Something, she knew, that Anne wished Rose would do a bit more of as well.