Page 7 of Carver’s Craving

My nails weren’t all that interesting, but I was giving him time to clarify his statement. Finally, when it appeared nothing else was coming, I added, “Oh?”

This time I turned my head.

That tic in his jaw was back.

Yet he remained silent.

“Okay.” I drummed out the rhythm of my favorite song on my thigh. “Can you at least tell me how you wound up here? In Mission City?”

Again, Carver cleared his throat. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“Except I’m supercurious. In my case, I was headed to the West coast with Baxter and the camper van broke down here”

“And where exactly is Baxter?”

I frowned. “That’s a good question that I can’t answer. I don’t know where he left the van for repairs, and I have no idea what happened to him. He let me off on the side of the road and drove away, supposedly to get it fixed. With my fucking guitars in it too. He never came back. My texts go unanswered. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I mean…just nothing. I have no idea how to interpret that.”

“Might he be in trouble?”

We leveled out again and there were townhouses as far as the eye could see.

I scratched my nose. “I suppose, but he could at least text. Anyway, I don’t see how much trouble one person can get into in this small town.”

“This is Baxter we’re discussing, right? Isn’t he the definition of trouble?”

Carver wasn’t wrong. Still, I didn’t like other people putting down my best friend—even if he totally deserved it and was on my shit list right now. “I want to say he’s been better lately.”

“Oh?” At a four-way stop, he turned left. Very quickly, we were surrounded by trees and only a few houses I could glimpse from the road.

“How rustic is this place?” The road curved, and I strained to see what was ahead.

“Rustic is a good word.” He chuckled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Had he warned me? I couldn’t remember. At the very least, I was now too far away from Mission City to walk. “I’ve done a fair bit of camping.” I eyed the trees. “Too warm for snow but not by a lot.”

“Good God. I have a building with heat, electricity, good internet, and a gas fireplace for when the power goes out—”

“The power goes out?” I might’ve squeaked that.

Another goddamn chuckle. “See all these trees? See all the branches? See the power lines?”

I rubbed my forehead. “I’m not certain what they all have to do with each other.”

“Oh, ye child of the city. Heavy snow, ice, and windstorms can fell branches or even trees onto the lines. When one lives this far out of the city, one needs to be prepared. I’ve already switched to my snow tires and have the snowblower gassed up.”

“Snowblower?” God, I must sound like an idiot. Still, I wanted to understand. This was Carver’s life. He’d given up all the creature comforts of the city to embrace a rustic lifestyle.

He hung a right.

I didn’t catch the name of the street.

“Do you have, like, neighbors?”

“Good God, Styx.” He laughed. “First, yes, each property has a property on either side. I back onto a municipal forest, so I don’t have anyone behind me. Second, don’t get too excited. I couldn’t afford much acreage. So I can see one of my neighbor’s houses and the other is behind a line of trees nearby.”

“Honestly, I haven’t thought about what you could or couldn’t afford. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how you wound up in Mission City in the first place.”

He signaled to make a left turn off the pavement. The driveway—or at least what I assumed was a driveway—was bumpier than the road. We drove through some trees before emerging into a clearing.