Cabin Fever (7 page)

“Our machine’s broke.”

I turn back to the girl at the register. “Excuse me?”

She holds out my card. “Our credit card machine’s broke. Cash or check.”

“You guys take checks?” I haven’t used a check at the grocery store in years. Maybe ever.

“Yep.”

I hand her four twenties and wait for my change. It’s becoming clearer every minute that I’m going to need to find the closest large town and take a big trip there. If I keep buying food at the mini-mart I’ll burn through my savings in three months, and I don’t have that much cash on me to start with. At this point I’d be willing to bet there’s no ATM in this middle-of-nowhere hamlet.

“Supposed to be a big storm coming through this week,” she says as I wrangle my stuffed bags off the countertop and head for the door. “Hope you have lots of candles and flashlight batteries.”

I pause with my hand about to push the door open and look back at her over my shoulder. “Do you guys lose electricity often?”

“Aaaalll the time.” She smiles, but it doesn’t get all the way to her eyes.

I deflate like a sorry balloon. I didn’t buy candles or batteries on this trip; looks like I need to do a little more shopping. “I’ll just go put these out in my car, and then I’ll come back in for the things I forgot.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She sits down on her stool and picks up her magazine, chewing on a lock of hair as she stares at it.

Chapter Nine

THE MANGEY MUTT IS RIGHT where I left him, but the jerky is gone. He watches my every move as I pack my groceries into the passenger seat. I take out a can of wet dog food that I just bought and open it with the flip top. Holding it out, I walk towards him. “You want some of this?”

He growls again. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but it seems less ferocious this time around.

“Mmmm, delicious dog foooood, just for youuuu.” I take several steps forward, bent over with the can out in front of me. If he bites me, he’s going to get a mouthful of glove and metal, so I’m not too worried about getting hurt. Besides, he can’t weigh more than twenty pounds.

His growl gets louder and his lip comes up again, revealing a yellow fang.

“I’m going to call you Jaws. How many rows of those teeth do you have in there, anyway?” I’m just a foot away now, the can held out as far from my body as possible. “See? It’s just food, Jaws. Smells good, right?”

His nose comes up as he sniffs the air. He stops growling for a few seconds before starting up again.

I stop and wait. “Listen, buddy, I’m not going to beg. Either come eat this food or I’m leaving. I have a wood delivery coming, and if I’m not there when the guy shows up, he’ll probably refuse to come back again, and knowing my luck he’s the only one in a hundred miles who has chopped wood for sale.”

I stop talking, not because I’ve run out of things to say, but because I realize I’m having a one-sided conversation with a dog who probably hates me.

He growls again.

Yeah. He definitely hates me.

I put the can down on the ground just inches from his nose. His growl gets louder.

Standing, I back away with my hands up. “Fine. I’m going. You keep the food. And don’t worry … there aren’t any sharp edges on that can, I checked. But if you get your head stuck in it, I won’t be here to help you since you’re growling at me. I can take a hint.”

He looks back and forth between the can and me.

I don’t have time to discuss this with him anymore. I’m seriously worried about my wood delivery. It’s only lunchtime, but the temperature has already dropped, and the warning of that incoming storm has me imagining the worst. And I still don’t have my candles and batteries.

I rush back into the store and grab two armloads of emergency supplies and pay for them with cash. I don’t even get a hello this time from Miss Sunshine behind the counter. She’s too busy filling out a questionnaire in her magazine about the perfect mate. I can see the title of the accompanying article from where I’m standing as I pay for my supplies. I could save her the trouble and tell her the perfect mate doesn’t knock a girl up and leave her to work in a convenience store alone, but I don’t bother. I’m no one to judge; my last boyfriend stole my couch before he left for good.

Jaws the mutt has finished his food, or as much of it as he can get to. He’s pushing the can around with his paw, but when the opening spins my way, I can see that most of the contents are gone.

“I’ll come back in a couple days to see you again, Jaws, okay?” I open my passenger door and put the bag in. “Unless you want to come with me?” I leave the door open and gesture to him to go into the car.

He sits down and licks his mouth.

“Okay, have it your way.”

I close the door and move around to my side, settling into the driver’s seat. Driving away, I’m struck by a pang of guilt for leaving him behind in the cold, but tell myself I have to be realistic. This dog hates me. He only accepted my offering because he’s starving. Otherwise, he would have happily bit my hand off.

His furry body gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and by the time I get home, I’m crying. I hate myself and my cold, cold heart. Why didn’t I give him more food for later? Why didn’t I ask the girl in the store to watch out for him? Why didn’t I make him like me? This dog has taken the place of all the men who I haven’t connected with over the years. My life: it’s a sad state of affairs for sure.

Unloading the groceries takes me the better part of a half hour, giving me time to get control of my emotions and come up with the game plan of going back for Jaws with more food in hand. It feels good to have a plan.

Just as I’m about to head back into town, a giant pickup truck comes barreling up the driveway, its back end swerving a little to the left before straightening out again. The driver rolls down his window as he draws near.

“You the lady who needs wood?”

“Yes, that’s me!” The first happy thing that’s come along all day! Finally! I have heat! “The house is up there.”

He rolls his window up, revs his engine, and leaves me there. His truck plows right through the snowdrift nearby and he makes a new driveway around my car.

“Oh. Well, that’s handy, I guess.” I trudge through his tire tracks to get back up to the cabin. By the time I reach his truck, he’s already throwing wood out onto the snow.

“What are you doing?” I ask, breathless as I try to run the last few yards.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” He pauses with his hands hanging at his sides. With the red and black flannel jacket, a greasy looking baseball hat, and a few days’ growth of beard, he looks like a lost lumberjack. He’s pretty much exactly how I pictured him, only younger and better-looking, in spite of that disgusting hat. “I’m delivering your wood, like you asked me to.”

“But you need to put it on the porch.” I look desperately from the pile of wood he’s already tossed out, to the place where I imagined it would be stored. I point for emphasis. There’re a lot of footsteps between there and here.

“I don’t get paid to stack. I just get paid to deliver.” He starts throwing wood out again.

“But there’s a storm coming!” I’m whining, but I don’t care. Desperate women are allowed to whine a little.

“Don’t I know it. I’ve got three more deliveries to get done today and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”

The bitter woman in me replaces the word
lunch
with
first beer
. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he came at all. I dated an alcoholic once; I couldn’t depend on him for anything.

I turn around to head back to my car.

“Where’re you going?” he shouts at my back.

“To get my groceries! Not that I’d ask you to help me!”

The jerk actually has the nerve to laugh, like I was making a joke.

By the time I struggle back up the so-called driveway with my armloads of bags, he’s done throwing my wood out into the snow and is standing on my porch waiting for payment.

“You got any beers inside?” he asks as I mount the steps.

“No.” He’s lucky I don’t drop my groceries on his feet. Instead, I let them fall by the front door. Like I’d give a guy a beer who threw my wood in the snow. Get a life. “My purse is in the car. If you want to get paid, you’ll have to follow me down.”

“You want a ride?” he asks.

I look up at him to see if he’s kidding. He sounds like he’s about to laugh.

“From you? No thanks.”

His voice softens. “Hey, don’t be sore at me. I’d love to help you out, but I really do have a bunch of deliveries to make, and I still have to go split some more wood before I can finish. With the storm coming I’ll be lucky to get home before it hits.” He smiles and reveals a deep dimple in both cheeks.

I want to stay mad at him, but it’s impossible; he’s too cute with those stupid dimples. And he’s right … I wouldn’t want anyone to be stuck in a storm without enough wood.

“I’ll meet you down there,” I say, stepping off the porch. The last thing I need is to hook up with a party animal out in the middle of nowhere. He could be dangerous for all I know.

“Suit yourself.” He fires up his truck and follows me down, careful to leave a lot of space between us, which I’m grateful for, since I could totally picture myself leaping into a snow bank to avoid being run over.

I hand him his money up through his open window. His tires are so big, I have to stretch up on my tiptoes to reach him.

“Thanks a lot,” he says, grabbing the bill of his hat and tipping it at me.

“Hey,” I say, inspiration striking as one of my full garbage bags catches my eye through the back window of my car, “do you know where there’s a dumpster in town?”

“Sure do. Behind the diner’s one. Behind the police station is another…”

“If I pay you an extra ten bucks, will you take these bags of garbage from my car and dump them for me?”

“What’s in the bags? Better not be body parts.”

My face blanches. “Oh my god, are you kidding?”

He shrugs. “Stranger things have happened around here.”

A chill moves up my spine. “I hope you’re kidding. You’d better be.”

“Sure, I’ll do it for ten bucks.”

I should probably be worried that he ignored my question, but I’m too relieved to know that I won’t be hauling garbage around with me everywhere I go to press him on it. Besides, if this town were a serial killer’s hangout, I’d have heard about it, right? I make a mental note to get the Internet up and running as soon as possible so I can do a Google search for unsolved murders in the area.

He gets out of the truck as I open my doors and haul the bags out as fast as I can. I don’t want him changing his mind. The bottles clink together making a big racket.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any beer in your place,” he says, throwing the first bag up into the bed of his truck. The telltale smell of old booze and the banging of bottles reveals my lie.

“I don’t. Whoever was partying in the cabin last did, though.”

He laughs, throwing two more bags in, one with each hand. “Musta been some party.”

“I have five more bags on the porch, actually.”

“You want me to take those too?”

“I’d
love
it if you’d take those too. Do I have to pay you more?”

“No, that’s all right. I’m feeling generous today.” He grins at me again as he throws the last two bags in. Dimples, dimples, everywhere.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

After climbing up into his truck, he makes quick work of reversing up the drive and grabbing the rest of my garbage. I’m just reaching the top of the driveway when he’s leaving.

“See you around!” he shouts out his window.

I turn around to watch him go. It’s a huge relief to see the trash leaving with him. Now I have a fresh slate to start with.

As I imagine that blank slate, I’m suddenly inspired to paint something. It’s a sensation I haven’t had in a long time, so I turn around and rush up the front steps. I need to get a canvas framed up so I can start right away.

A loud, long honking truck horn and then the sounds of shouting make me stop and turn around. I can barely make out Ben’s voice from the porch.

“Son of a bitch! Watch where you’re going! You almost made me wreck my truck, asshole!”

Asshole? Who’s on my driveway now?

I stand on my tiptoes, trying to see who my visitor might be.

Chapter Ten

AT FIRST I SEE NOTHING, but then a very small brown speck appears in the snow. I go down the few steps to the ground and stare at my visitor. He carefully picks his way over the globs of mushy snow and jumps when the drifts are too high for walking.

“Jaws, what are you doing out here?” My heart feels so light it’s as though it’s going to float away. He followed me home! Now I don’t have to worry about him freezing to death.
Hallelujah
. A glance up at the sky brings another wave of relief. Now I won’t have to be alone during the storm, too.

He stops twenty feet away and sits.

“What are you stopping for? Come on, Jaws, come inside.” I take a step towards him.

He growls.

A sigh of exasperation flies from my lips. “Wha… Jaws? What the heck are you doing? You can’t follow me home and then growl at me.”

He growls again.

“Fine. You want to stay out here and growl? Stay out here and growl. I have firewood to move.” Forget painting. The muse has abandoned me once again, and I need to have a fire going before the cabin turns into a deep-freezer.

I start with the pieces nearest the stairs, getting two at a time into my arms. A path of slushy muck soon forms between the pile and the stairs.

At first I have this idea that I’m going to stack everything perfectly, a pyramid of wood just a few paces away from the front door. But as the sun disappears behind clouds and the snow starts to fall again, I abandon that idea and work on getting the wood under the shelter of the roof overhang any way I can.

After an hour, I’m only half done, all of it accomplished under the watchful eye of Jaws, the growling, punk dog. I talk to him the entire time.

“You know, this would go a lot faster if you’d help.”

His head moves back and forth as I work.