simple admission would seal his fate. Andrew Kane didn’t believe in fate or luck. Then he realized that Tommy didn’t care, probably hadn’t even heard Andrew’s lame excuse. Instead, he was checking out the four-room cabin.
“This place is pretty cool,” he said before ducking into one of the back bedrooms.
“Yeah, I love it.” And he did. It wasn’t as rustic as it looked. Though the walls were lined in knotty pine and the ceiling made up of rafters, there was also a skylight of small paneled windows, a modern bathroom and shower, a furnace and A/C unit. The kitchenette featured a full-size refrigerator, an electric range and a microwave that had been added since Andrew’s last visit. The screened-in porch that overlooked the lake and the treetops was where he’d be spending the majority of his time, hopefully working late into the night as he had in the past, writing by the flame of a lantern.
This had been his retreat, his sanctuary, and it had never failed him…yet. He had penned his first book here, but he hadn’t been back for several years, too busy to afford himself the luxury of its solitude, its isolation. Instead, he usually ended up writing bits and pieces in airports, waiting for his next flight, or in hotel rooms over cold, mediocre room service. Who would have thought being a writer would include so many hours on the road and in the air? In a strange way the broken collarbone had been a godsend, a painful sign for him to slow down and reassess his priorities. A reminder of why he had wanted to do this in the first place.
“Where’s the TV?” Tommy was back after an inspection of the bathroom.
“There is none.”
“No TV?”
“Nope. No TV, no radio, no phone, no Internet. Can’t even get good reception for my cell phone.”
“Holy crap. How long did you say you’re staying out here?”
“Two weeks.”
“This is why you have no life, buddy. How can you handle being out here by yourself for two fucking weeks?”
“I need to get away from the day-to-day distractions. Besides, I brought a nine-inch portable TV—if that makes you feel better. You know I can’t be away from the news for too long.”
“Day-to-day distractions? I hate to tell you, but that’s just life.” Tommy picked up the case of Bud Light and started putting the bottles carefully in the refrigerator. “So it sounds like you have the same philosophy about writing as you do about fishing,” he said from behind the refrigerator door.
“How’s that?”
“Fishing isn’t about catching fish, right? Sounds to me like writing about life isn’t about living life.”
“Very funny,” Andrew said. But he was annoyed enough to realize that Tommy could be right.
CHAPTER 11
2:30 p.m.
Melanie shoved the overstuffed laundry basket into the closet. She’d get to it tomorrow when things returned to normal. Though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew, she just
knew
that after today, things would never be normal again. It was only a feeling, the kind of feeling that gnaws at your gut. Something about this job of Jared’s didn’t feel right. Maybe she was simply disappointed that Jared and Charlie had been planning this without her. Maybe it was nothing, too much coffee at the restaurant when she had been trying so hard to do without. How had she ever expected to give up coffee and her smokes at the same time? Too much, too soon. Who did she think she was? Her gut instinct, she realized, had never been wrong before. In the past it had stopped her from doing some pretty stupid things. She reached for the Pepto-Bismol, screwed off the child-protective cap and took a swig from the bottle.
She loaded her own backpack with a change of clothes and some other necessities. She stopped at the mirror, tucking a strand of hair up under the baseball cap. It had been an effort to contain her thick, shoulder-length hair, first making a ponytail and then stacking it on top of her head. If she had had more
“This place is pretty cool,” he said before ducking into one of the back bedrooms.
“Yeah, I love it.” And he did. It wasn’t as rustic as it looked. Though the walls were lined in knotty pine and the ceiling made up of rafters, there was also a skylight of small paneled windows, a modern bathroom and shower, a furnace and A/C unit. The kitchenette featured a full-size refrigerator, an electric range and a microwave that had been added since Andrew’s last visit. The screened-in porch that overlooked the lake and the treetops was where he’d be spending the majority of his time, hopefully working late into the night as he had in the past, writing by the flame of a lantern.
This had been his retreat, his sanctuary, and it had never failed him…yet. He had penned his first book here, but he hadn’t been back for several years, too busy to afford himself the luxury of its solitude, its isolation. Instead, he usually ended up writing bits and pieces in airports, waiting for his next flight, or in hotel rooms over cold, mediocre room service. Who would have thought being a writer would include so many hours on the road and in the air? In a strange way the broken collarbone had been a godsend, a painful sign for him to slow down and reassess his priorities. A reminder of why he had wanted to do this in the first place.
“Where’s the TV?” Tommy was back after an inspection of the bathroom.
“There is none.”
“No TV?”
“Nope. No TV, no radio, no phone, no Internet. Can’t even get good reception for my cell phone.”
“Holy crap. How long did you say you’re staying out here?”
“Two weeks.”
“This is why you have no life, buddy. How can you handle being out here by yourself for two fucking weeks?”
“I need to get away from the day-to-day distractions. Besides, I brought a nine-inch portable TV—if that makes you feel better. You know I can’t be away from the news for too long.”
“Day-to-day distractions? I hate to tell you, but that’s just life.” Tommy picked up the case of Bud Light and started putting the bottles carefully in the refrigerator. “So it sounds like you have the same philosophy about writing as you do about fishing,” he said from behind the refrigerator door.
“How’s that?”
“Fishing isn’t about catching fish, right? Sounds to me like writing about life isn’t about living life.”
“Very funny,” Andrew said. But he was annoyed enough to realize that Tommy could be right.
CHAPTER 11
2:30 p.m.
Melanie shoved the overstuffed laundry basket into the closet. She’d get to it tomorrow when things returned to normal. Though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew, she just
knew
that after today, things would never be normal again. It was only a feeling, the kind of feeling that gnaws at your gut. Something about this job of Jared’s didn’t feel right. Maybe she was simply disappointed that Jared and Charlie had been planning this without her. Maybe it was nothing, too much coffee at the restaurant when she had been trying so hard to do without. How had she ever expected to give up coffee and her smokes at the same time? Too much, too soon. Who did she think she was? Her gut instinct, she realized, had never been wrong before. In the past it had stopped her from doing some pretty stupid things. She reached for the Pepto-Bismol, screwed off the child-protective cap and took a swig from the bottle.
She loaded her own backpack with a change of clothes and some other necessities. She stopped at the mirror, tucking a strand of hair up under the baseball cap. It had been an effort to contain her thick, shoulder-length hair, first making a ponytail and then stacking it on top of her head. If she had had more
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