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“She’ll understand.” Freddie was focused on the road ahead of him.
I nodded and hoped that Freddie was right.
FIFTEEN
HENRI
It turnsout that the G-Spot was the nickname for the General Store and Diner. If someone would’ve told me that when I first arrived in Chance Rapids, it would’ve saved me a rather uncomfortable conversation with Muriel.
“Oh, Dear.” Muriel had tears in her eyes. “You thought that Jack…” she slapped her knee as she turned on the high beams, illuminating the long laneway. “Was talking about the other G-Spot. In front of his mother.” She swiped at the tears rolling down her weathered cheeks. “Now, that would’ve been inappropriate.”
And calling your restaurant the G-Spot isn’t?I kept that thought to myself. Muriel found the whole situation a lot more entertaining than I did.
Muriel and I waited for Jack at THE DINER, as I called it, but we got a call from Bob, letting us know that Jack had gone off on a fire call with Freddie.
I texted Jack, asking him to meet me at the cabin when he got home.
Re-reading the text, it sounded like I was asking for a booty call. It couldn’t have been further from it – I wanted to talk to Jack about…I gulped, my feelings. Because, I think that he had the same ones – and neither of us knew what to do with them.
Following up the first text, I added a second.
We have to talk.
“Would you like me to walk you to the cabin?” Muriel asked. “I’m going to help Bob with Dave and Simon, but then I will be able to help you start the fire and get settled.”
“It’s okay.” I zipped up Jack’s coat and pulled a little flashlight from my backpack. “I know the way and I can start the fire.” I wasn’t one hundred percent positive on the fire thing, but how hard could it be?
Muriel nodded. “Alright dear. Thank you again for your help today. That Shawn looked more like Santa than the real Santa.”
“Maybe he is the real Santa.” I grinned.
“I don’t think that the real Santa keeps a flask of whiskey in his pocket.”
I clicked on the flashlight and laughed. “Another local’s coffee connoisseur?”
“Touché.” Muriel laughed. “At least I mix mine with coffee.”
The snow squeaked under my feet. The temperature had dropped and every time I inhaled, I felt like my nostrils were freezing shut. Luckily the fire was easy to start and I had it crackling in no time. I checked my phone but there still wasn’t a response from Jack.
Easy Henri.The man is fighting a fire.I reminded myself of this when I felt a pang of rejection stab into my chest.
My cell phone’s battery was in the red. I dug out my charger and plugged it in, along with my computer. The deadline for my story was Tuesday. I still wanted to talk to some more Rapidians to fill in the blanks in my story, but I had enough to get started.
I changed into my leggings and sweatshirt and crawled under the thick quilt, propped myself up in the bed and set my computer on my outstretched legs. When I wrote, I liked to listen to music with a similar tone to the story I was writing. For the dark small-town Christmas, I punched up My Chemical Romance, put in my headphones and started writing.
But the story felt wrong. Mary’s words ran through my mind and seemed to paralyze my fingers. How could I compare the lives of real people, with real problems, to characters in a film designed to help people feel good?
The lights above me flickered and it took me a minute to realize that the power could go out.
“No. No. No.” I hopped out of the bed and opened three drawers before I found some candles. I was able to get them lit before the lights flickered again and then went out completely. The cabin was bathed in the warm orange light from the fire and the candles, and with the sound of the small refrigerator gone, it was the quietest place I’d ever been in my life.
I grabbed my flashlight and stepped onto the porch. In the distance, candlelight flickered in the windows of the main house – the power must have been out everywhere.
“Thank you, fire.” I rubbed my hands over the small stove that was now providing me with both heat and light. The bed was still warm and I crawled back into my cocoon, but when I pulled my computer onto my lap, it had ten minutes of battery life left – long enough for me to save my document and shut it off.
In the silence of the cabin, I couldn’t just sit and wait and hope that Jack showed up. I still hadn’t figured out what to say to him. I hoped that it would just come to me.
I needed a distraction. I needed to write. The story was going to get done old school. With my notebook and pen, I sat cuddled under the quilt, my hand scrawling across the page. Yes, the assignment felt shitty, but it was my job. And as much as I hated every word I wrote on that page, it was perfect for The Platypus.
