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Peaceful.
Loving.
Yes, it was January in Alberta.
But it was beautiful outside.
I could breathe out here in the fresh, cold mountain air.
I’d even started a fire so I could stay out and look at the gorgeous, perfect sky.
When I finally achieved the optimal level of calm—I spotted bright headlights driving up. They stopped moving and then turned off.
A door slammed, and I heard loud footsteps tracking through the snow.
Cash stormed up to the fire and peered down at me. “Did you eat?” he asked in a controlled voice that surprised me.
I nodded. “Yeah. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want.”
He swallowed and turned toward the cabin. I watched him go inside.
Then I wondered if he was saving all his angry words for after he ate.
Oh, well.
I guess I’d find out soon.
A few minutes later, he walked out of his cabin and sat on one of the logs around the fire. He alternately stared at the fire and at me while he ate the linguini I’d made.
Still, not a word.
When he finished, he stood up and took his plate into the cabin. When he came back out, he had his guitar in his hand.
Cash walked up to me, set the guitar against my chair, and walked back to his seat on the log.
He wasn’t going to sing.
He wanted me to.
He wanted a song.
From me.
To him.
I picked up Cash’s guitar and tuned it. Then I started playing the opening chords to Sheryl Crow’s, “Strong Enough.”
Because I had to know.
I needed to know if he was in.
Or not.
It was a lot to be with me.
It would cost him in more ways than one.
Just like it already had.
