the night, alone, totally engaged in an utterly meaningless virtual world, and each time it happened, he felt ashamed. And he felt something very close to shock. How did he get to such a place? How did it happen? He cleaned; he listened to jazz; he played computer games; he exercised; he collected and consumed wine; in time he got into photography, buying equipment, taking pictures, trying to learn PhotoShop; and one by one the months passed until there was more than a year’s worth of them and if anything essential had changed he didn’t know what. He was pushing his way through time like a swimmer working to cross a huge body of water.
“We can make a fire,” Jenny said. She came out of one of the bedrooms with a white quilt wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. “There’s a great fireplace in the bedroom.”
“Did you check the flue?” T asked.
“That’s better,” she said, noticing the countertops in the kitchen. She went to the window, which looked out over the river. “I love the views here.”
“It’s a great cabin.” T joined her in the kitchen. “What’s your uncle do?”
“CPA,” she said. “But we don’t want to talk about Uncle Chuck.” She leaned against the window and watched him a moment. “You’re handsome,” she said. “You look good in moonlight.”
“Think so? Moonlight hide my age?”
“You’re old,” she pronounced, as if she had been considering the subject, “but you’re sexy too. You’re one of those sexy older guys it’s easy to get off on, like Richard Gere, kind of; or, no, Sean Connery. Who wouldn’t want to get down with Sean Connery? You’re kind of like that,” she said. “I bet you know it, too.”
“You’re flattering me.”
“I’m not,” she said. She looked down at her legs as if remembering something and then rubbed them briskly with the palms of her hands. “I’ve got to get out of these things,” she said. “Ever worn leather several days straight?” When T didn’t answer, she added, “I didn’t think so. How about this for a plan? You make a fire. Meanwhile, I get out of these pants and take a quick, cold shower. Then, when I’m done, I can warm up with you in front of the flames.”
“Did you check the flue?” T asked again.
She shook her head. “Think it’s a problem?”
“I’ve got a flashlight in the Rover,” he said. “You go ahead. It’ll probably be fine.”
She wrapped her arms around him and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “There’s wood in the thingamajig by the fireplace.” She grabbed her backpack from the couch, clutched it to her chest, and disappeared into the back of the cabin.
Outside, there was a definite chill in the air. It felt like a storm might be coming on. T hugged himself and put the hood up on his jacket. He hurried through the shadows to the Rover, where he found Lester in exactly the same position, with his nose in the seam between the seat cushion and back-rest. When he saw the bucket of fried chicken on the floor, he realized he was hungry. He opened the container and was amused to find half the chicken gone. He wouldn’t have thought she could eat that much, and he wondered if perhaps Lester had pulled himself up out of sleep long enough to eat a fried-chicken dinner. He imagined them both munching on cold fried chicken, wondering where the old guy had gone off to, and then Lester going back to sleep while Jenny went out to look around. Or she might just be a small girl with a big appetite. He grabbed a chicken leg from the bucket, took the Mag light from the glove compartment, and went around to the back of the Rover for his suitcase. After he finished off the drumstick and before he closed the hatchback, he remembered the emergency supplies stored near the spare tire and retrieved a blanket-sized fleece tightly rolled and packed into a clearplastic container. He pushed the guitar case aside and crawled to the back seat, where he spread the fleece over Lester.
After
“We can make a fire,” Jenny said. She came out of one of the bedrooms with a white quilt wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. “There’s a great fireplace in the bedroom.”
“Did you check the flue?” T asked.
“That’s better,” she said, noticing the countertops in the kitchen. She went to the window, which looked out over the river. “I love the views here.”
“It’s a great cabin.” T joined her in the kitchen. “What’s your uncle do?”
“CPA,” she said. “But we don’t want to talk about Uncle Chuck.” She leaned against the window and watched him a moment. “You’re handsome,” she said. “You look good in moonlight.”
“Think so? Moonlight hide my age?”
“You’re old,” she pronounced, as if she had been considering the subject, “but you’re sexy too. You’re one of those sexy older guys it’s easy to get off on, like Richard Gere, kind of; or, no, Sean Connery. Who wouldn’t want to get down with Sean Connery? You’re kind of like that,” she said. “I bet you know it, too.”
“You’re flattering me.”
“I’m not,” she said. She looked down at her legs as if remembering something and then rubbed them briskly with the palms of her hands. “I’ve got to get out of these things,” she said. “Ever worn leather several days straight?” When T didn’t answer, she added, “I didn’t think so. How about this for a plan? You make a fire. Meanwhile, I get out of these pants and take a quick, cold shower. Then, when I’m done, I can warm up with you in front of the flames.”
“Did you check the flue?” T asked again.
She shook her head. “Think it’s a problem?”
“I’ve got a flashlight in the Rover,” he said. “You go ahead. It’ll probably be fine.”
She wrapped her arms around him and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “There’s wood in the thingamajig by the fireplace.” She grabbed her backpack from the couch, clutched it to her chest, and disappeared into the back of the cabin.
Outside, there was a definite chill in the air. It felt like a storm might be coming on. T hugged himself and put the hood up on his jacket. He hurried through the shadows to the Rover, where he found Lester in exactly the same position, with his nose in the seam between the seat cushion and back-rest. When he saw the bucket of fried chicken on the floor, he realized he was hungry. He opened the container and was amused to find half the chicken gone. He wouldn’t have thought she could eat that much, and he wondered if perhaps Lester had pulled himself up out of sleep long enough to eat a fried-chicken dinner. He imagined them both munching on cold fried chicken, wondering where the old guy had gone off to, and then Lester going back to sleep while Jenny went out to look around. Or she might just be a small girl with a big appetite. He grabbed a chicken leg from the bucket, took the Mag light from the glove compartment, and went around to the back of the Rover for his suitcase. After he finished off the drumstick and before he closed the hatchback, he remembered the emergency supplies stored near the spare tire and retrieved a blanket-sized fleece tightly rolled and packed into a clearplastic container. He pushed the guitar case aside and crawled to the back seat, where he spread the fleece over Lester.
After
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