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She nodded, her eyes big. I could see it was sinking in: this wasn’t like getting home from the grocery store and realizing you forgot the milk. If we forgot something, we’d just have to do without it for another three or four months.
She was assuming I made the trip so rarely because it was a long hike. But that wasn’t the main reason. Going to town means people.
Together, we went through every damn thing in the cabin that could run out, everything that was broken and needed replacing, every job we needed to do that was waiting on a nail or a screw, wrote it all down and then checked it. Twice. Doing it on my own would have been a royal pain in the ass: I’d rather be swinging an axe or hunting or, hell, doing just about anything other than writing lists. But Bethany actually seemed to relish it and doing it with her was almost...fun. She thought of some things that I wouldn’t have remembered and she added one or two things that we didn’t strictly need but that sounded good. Like chocolate. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had chocolate but now that she’d suggested it, I couldn’t wait.
It was just one of the ways that things were changing, around the cabin. The previous morning, she’d walked in and told me that she was done with Betsy.
I blinked, thrown. “Betsy?” Then I looked at the bucket in her hand. “You gave the cow a name?”
She flushed, then lifted her chin and looked defiant. “Cows need love too.”
I shook my head, bemused, but I was smiling. “Okay.”
“And the same goes for Hank.”
“Han—You gave the goat a name, too?” I thought for a second. “Please tell me you didn’t name the chickens.”
“Amy, Adele, Florence, Whitney, Madonna, and Beyonce.”
“But not the—”
“Winklenose, Snortle and Rolypoly.” And she looked me right in the eye, daring me to laugh at her. But I didn’t. I just nodded and thought it was adorable.
There’d been lots of little changes like that. Like seeing her boots, stuffed with newspaper, lined up next to mine by the door. Like all the jars in the cupboard suddenly having labels, something I’d never gotten around to doing. Like, when I went out hunting with Rufus, how he’d bound the last hundred yards back to the cabin, excitedly barking, and then leap up at Bethany as she opened the door and not stop running around her until she tickled his tummy.
Ever since I’d built the cabin, there’d been something missing, something I’d never been able to put my finger on. I only knew that it didn’t feel like the place I’d been raised in. It was warm and dry but it didn’t feel like a home.
Until she arrived.
I didn’t know what to do about that. Everything was getting too damn comfortable. Sometimes I’d be sitting with her on the steps, drinking coffee, throwing a stick for Rufus to fetch and I’d almost slip into thinking that this could work, that she could just stay here forever.
And then the past would hit me, a freezing wave that swamped me, drowned me, left me choking for breath. How could I forget, even for a second? How could I forget what I’d done? I didn’t deserve Bethany, didn’t deserve any sort of peace. Being out here, far from people, was my punishment and my escape. But it was no life for her. She might be enjoying things now but long term, this solitude would drive her crazy. She needed people around her, friends...and one day, a husband and kids. I couldn’t give her that.
I had to keep the two of us apart but that was getting harder and harder.
The next day, we set off for town before dawn. It was a six-hour walk each way, so with a little time in town to buy supplies, it would be dark again before we were back.
It was a beautiful day. As the sun rose, we came out of the pines and into an area of aspens. Their leaves were changing from gold to deep orange and with the rising sun blasting warm light through every brightly-colored leaf, it was like walking through a palace of stained glass. We didn’t speak, just watched in amazement, soaking it up. And it hit me that I’d never had anyone to share this stuff with, until now.
Mid-morning, we came to the top of a rise and stopped for a water break, looking out over an unbroken sea of yellow and scarlet treetops. Bethany sat on a log and Rufus immediately laid his head in her lap for ear scratches and head ruffles.
“You ever think about living somewhere a little less isolated?” she asked.
I stared out at the trees. “Tried the city, back when I was in school. Didn’t like it, much.”
