with impeccable technique and counterfeit emotion. Privately, music provided my only means to love, to grieve, to rage, and to be utterly vulnerable.
Now I felt like a fool. I had poured myself into that music, and Jack had heard. I couldn’t have been more exposed if I had opened my robe and flashed the good reverend.
“I read your note,” Jack said as I came out of the bathroom. He still stood by the closet. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I wanted to invite you to Jonah’s annual fall fun night. It’s tomorrow. There’s food and games for the kids.
Some dancing. Basically, it’s an excuse to get out of the house before everyone gets snowed in.”
“Before? There’s already a foot of snow out there,” I said.
“More like four inches. That’s just a dusting.”
“How much do you get here in a winter?”
“You don’t want to know. The festival is at the Grange hall, and starts at five. So, I’ll see you there?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, a polite no.
He took the hint. “Well, I better get back to work. Do you need anything? I think your woodpile is low.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m heading into town this afternoon,” I said with a groan. “Do you think Maggie would mind if I used her phone? I need to make a few calls.”
“Mom’s not home. She and Beth took a trip into civilization and won’t be back until late. But the inn’s open. Just go in. Until tomorrow night, then.”
Wordlessly, I closed the door behind Jack, but not before feeling a gust of frigid air. I put on another pair of socks and thermal long johns under my clothes, my boots, coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. I stumbled out to the truck, started it, and waited back inside the cabin for another fifteen minutes until it warmed up.
At the variety store, I took a plastic shopping basket and inspected the meager produce section: iceberg lettuce, already limp and turning brown, onions, potatoes, knobby carrots, and seven varieties of apples. My intestines screamed for roughage, so I grabbed three heads of lettuce and the carrots, finding the prunes next. I added a loaf of bread, peanut butter, some pasta, cans of sauce, and Jell-O to the basket, and brought my booty to the man at the counter.
“Excuse me,” I said with a huge, friendly smile. “I’m staying at Luke Petersen’s cabin. Would you know what kind of fuel I need for the water heater there? Luke probably bought it here, and maybe you remember?”
“I remember,” he said, packing my groceries.
“Oh, great. That really makes my life a whole lot easier,”
I said, words coated with saccharine. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to remember how much I would need?”
“Yep,” he said.
I let out a deep breath. “Wonderful. I’ll take however much I need. I have an account here, under Graham.”
He scribbled on an invoice. “I know who you are.”
“Of course. One more thing. Could you explain how I put the fuel in?”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll come over and show you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to be any trouble,” I told him, not meaning a single word.
“Luke would have done the same for me. Did do the same for me,” he said.
Please, don’t let this guy break into some Saint Luke monologue. “Well, thank you, really. Are you Mr. Brooks?”
“Yep. Carl Brooks. You need anything else?” he asked.
“Actually, you wouldn’t sell firewood here, would you?”
“No, but I can get you some, have it delivered.”
“Perfect. Just put it on my account. Or, have the bill sent to Rich Portabella. He’ll take care of it,” I said, reaching out my hand for the receipt.
Carl tore the top sheet off his pad. “You know, you weren’t so nice to my wife when you came in here that other time.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to take cold showers for the next six months, so I smiled tightly and said, “I am sorry. I was just having a bad day.”
“Well, if that were true, my wife would sure like
Now I felt like a fool. I had poured myself into that music, and Jack had heard. I couldn’t have been more exposed if I had opened my robe and flashed the good reverend.
“I read your note,” Jack said as I came out of the bathroom. He still stood by the closet. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I wanted to invite you to Jonah’s annual fall fun night. It’s tomorrow. There’s food and games for the kids.
Some dancing. Basically, it’s an excuse to get out of the house before everyone gets snowed in.”
“Before? There’s already a foot of snow out there,” I said.
“More like four inches. That’s just a dusting.”
“How much do you get here in a winter?”
“You don’t want to know. The festival is at the Grange hall, and starts at five. So, I’ll see you there?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, a polite no.
He took the hint. “Well, I better get back to work. Do you need anything? I think your woodpile is low.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m heading into town this afternoon,” I said with a groan. “Do you think Maggie would mind if I used her phone? I need to make a few calls.”
“Mom’s not home. She and Beth took a trip into civilization and won’t be back until late. But the inn’s open. Just go in. Until tomorrow night, then.”
Wordlessly, I closed the door behind Jack, but not before feeling a gust of frigid air. I put on another pair of socks and thermal long johns under my clothes, my boots, coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. I stumbled out to the truck, started it, and waited back inside the cabin for another fifteen minutes until it warmed up.
At the variety store, I took a plastic shopping basket and inspected the meager produce section: iceberg lettuce, already limp and turning brown, onions, potatoes, knobby carrots, and seven varieties of apples. My intestines screamed for roughage, so I grabbed three heads of lettuce and the carrots, finding the prunes next. I added a loaf of bread, peanut butter, some pasta, cans of sauce, and Jell-O to the basket, and brought my booty to the man at the counter.
“Excuse me,” I said with a huge, friendly smile. “I’m staying at Luke Petersen’s cabin. Would you know what kind of fuel I need for the water heater there? Luke probably bought it here, and maybe you remember?”
“I remember,” he said, packing my groceries.
“Oh, great. That really makes my life a whole lot easier,”
I said, words coated with saccharine. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to remember how much I would need?”
“Yep,” he said.
I let out a deep breath. “Wonderful. I’ll take however much I need. I have an account here, under Graham.”
He scribbled on an invoice. “I know who you are.”
“Of course. One more thing. Could you explain how I put the fuel in?”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll come over and show you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to be any trouble,” I told him, not meaning a single word.
“Luke would have done the same for me. Did do the same for me,” he said.
Please, don’t let this guy break into some Saint Luke monologue. “Well, thank you, really. Are you Mr. Brooks?”
“Yep. Carl Brooks. You need anything else?” he asked.
“Actually, you wouldn’t sell firewood here, would you?”
“No, but I can get you some, have it delivered.”
“Perfect. Just put it on my account. Or, have the bill sent to Rich Portabella. He’ll take care of it,” I said, reaching out my hand for the receipt.
Carl tore the top sheet off his pad. “You know, you weren’t so nice to my wife when you came in here that other time.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to take cold showers for the next six months, so I smiled tightly and said, “I am sorry. I was just having a bad day.”
“Well, if that were true, my wife would sure like
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