Cabin Fever Read online

  Driving into town, she found Tall Pines to be like a 3-D photo with one scene imposed on top of another, slightly different version. On the one hand, it was just like she remembered, full of quaint, two-story buildings that had either been constructed in frontier times or had been built to look as if they were. The sidewalks were filled with pedestrians ambling slowly along as if they had no particular place to go. This was quite a change for Sarah, who was used to the Type A, hard-charging pedestrians who populated downtown San Francisco. Tall Pines was still the sleepy, slow-paced city, that she remembered from the last time she visited ten years past.

  On the other hand, though, there was no denying that the city had grown and changed in the intervening years. For one thing the streets were wider than she remembered, and appeared to have been recently paved. Main Street was prepared to accommodate a full four lanes of traffic, though Sarah had a hard time believing that they had anywhere near that number of cars in town. Likewise the national chains had made their way to Tall Pines; Sarah saw a KFC and a McDonalds, their parking lots dotted with shiny new SUVs. If there was a Starbucks in town she hadn’t yet seen it, a fact that filled her with a sense of foreboding. What was the coffee going to be like? She could make her own, but would she be able to buy a French press and some decent beans out here? Clearly she’d have to investigate further.

  She checked the GPS on her phone to plot the last few turns before she arrived at her destination. She felt lucky to have the new navigation technology at her disposal; there was no way she would have been able to get to the cabin by memory, and she was glad that she didn’t need to stop for directions. Directions would require conversation, and conversation might mean questions that she still wasn’t ready to answer.

  She arrived just as the sunlight was beginning to dwindle, and leaving her stuff in the car she walked on creaky legs up to the cabin’s front door and let herself in. Flicking on the lights, she took a moment to take it all in. It was all very … red. There were red curtains in front of the French doors that let onto the patio and red and green cushions on the couch. Even the wood-panel walls had a hint of red in them, though Sarah didn’t know if that was the wood or the stain that had been laid on top of it. Some of the décor was familiar to her – and the musky, stale air certainly was – but much of it appeared new, as well. For the last decade or more, this place had been her father’s private retreat. He came here to fish, hike, and do whatever it was that retired men do when they’re by themselves. If the decorations seemed a little tacky, all Sarah could do was tell herself that this was apparently the sort of thing that her father liked. In a way, that made it all a little endearing, like one of those mannerisms that are annoying in a stranger but tolerable in a close friend or family member.

  It didn’t take long to bring her luggage into the cabin – she only had two pieces, and one of those wasn’t even completely full. After unloading the car Sarah was left with the vexing question of what to do next. Should she unpack? Should she distribute her things throughout the cabin to signal that this was her place now? That thought made her feel a little uncomfortable, and so instead she performed her usual ritual when checking into a hotel room. She hung her clothes in the closet (which held a strong cedar smell – apparently moths were a problem), she arranged her toothbrush and toothpaste beside the sink, and then she sat down on the couch and tried to get comfortable.

  That didn’t last long. She’d have to do something about the dust before she could start feeling comfortable in this place. Clearly her father had not hired a cleaning lady to take care of the place, and every surface had a noticeable layer of dust on it. While she was hanging her clothes Sarah had noticed a feather duster on the top closet shelf, and so she returned to the bedroom, took it down, and started attacking the dust wherever she found it. Soon a cloud hung in the air, which made Sarah sneeze, and she felt good about the progress she was making until she wondered what would happen to the dust when it settled again. Was she cleaning, or was she just moving the dust around? Tomorrow she’d need to get in here with a broom or maybe a vacuum cleaner, but for now she only had the energy for making things a little more presentable.

  A television sat on a stand before her, and if Sarah knew her father there was a full cable hookup, too, but after the long drive she didn’t feel like sitting down again to watch something. She was tired, sure, but it was the sort of tired that says, “Get out and stretch your legs, you’ll feel better if you get a little fresh air and exercise.” Grabbing the keys and a black sweatshirt from her bag, she headed out into the night.

  Outside it was dark, much darker than she was used to. The nearest lights were from the next house down the road, which was about fifty yards away, and there were no street lights. Immediately Sarah felt vulnerable out here, without a flashlight or a good sense of her surroundings. She made a mental note not to stray so far that she lost sight of the cabin, and then set off down the road.

  The night air was cool enough to be refreshing but not enough to feel cold. It was hard to notice anything besides the aroma, however. A strong smell of pine filled Sarah’s nostrils and infused every breath that she brought into her lungs. The air felt fresh and clean, and she breathed deeply, as if to cleanse herself from the inside out.

  It was quiet, too, though if Sarah listened closely she could hear the sounds of living things around her – the hoot of an owl, a rustle that might be a squirrel sneaking through the underbrush, and beneath that the gentle hiss of the wind moving through the branches of the pine forest that surrounded her. Sarah closed her eyes and imagined that this was all that existed in the world. There was no San Francisco, there was no busy, fast-paced world of taxicabs and board meetings, there was only the forest, the creatures that lived there, and Sarah at its heart.

  She found comfort in that image. She felt that it would be easy, in a way, to live by herself in the forest, out where the only things to worry about would be food and shelter. Within the quiet of a moment that felt like it could stretch for an eternity, that life seemed honest, clean, and simple. But then she took another breath, and with it she opened her eyes and returned to the world. The life she imagined was simple – too simple. It didn’t have Ellie in it, for one thing, or her father, and it didn’t have her career, either. Though that career currently lay in a shambles Sarah would need to fix it, and soon. She hadn’t driven out here to find oblivion or isolation, she had come in search of answers, and now, for the first time, she felt ready to begin looking.

  By the time she got back to the cabin she was already yawning. She flicked off the lights and climbed into bed. It was really very quiet out here, she thought to herself as drowsiness overtook her and she drifted off to sleep. So quiet, and maybe a little lonely, if she let it be that way.

  4

  Morning found Sarah ravenously hungry. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch on the road, and she was seriously jonesing for a cup of coffee. A glance out the window established that the weather was sunny and looking warm, so she left her sweater behind and went out the door. Her first thought was to climb in behind the wheel of her car, but on second thought Sarah laced on her Nikes and started off down the road on foot. She had nowhere that she had to be right now, so she might as well take her time and get a feel for the town.

  At first Sarah worried she might get lost, but then she noticed that she could hear the sound of traffic in the city center and she only had to keep heading in the right direction. There was no sidewalk, but the shoulder was generous and was flanked by a wide strip of grass and dirt for her to walk on without needing to worry about a car running her down. The weather was nice, and it felt good to be out walking after such a long time in the car the day before. Sarah looked up through the branches of the trees, enjoying the patches of blue sky and white clouds that flashed through the deep green of the pine needles.

  It wasn’t long before she arrived in the business section of town, and not long after that she found herself in front of a diner. It w
as exactly the sort of place she was expecting it to be: wood-panel walls, slices of cherry pie on the counter in a display case, fluorescent lights overhead and a waitress who looked like she had stepped out of a movie or television show, complete with a pink-and-white uniform and a brisk, industrious air. With a smile Sarah walked through the door and took a seat at the counter.

  “What can I do you for?” the waitress asked, bustling up with a pot of coffee in her hand.

  “The coffee will be good for starters,” Sarah replied, her attention already focusing on the tantalizing aromas coming from the pot. It was probably just drip coffee, and it would almost certainly be bitter, but it was still a lot better than nothing. “After that, breakfast. What do you recommend?”

  The waitress filled her cup, set a small pot of cream next to it, and leaned over the counter to look Sarah up and down. “Well, let’s see. If you were a local I’d recommend the pancakes, because we’ve got some nice blueberries this morning and they’re delicious. But you don’t look like much of a pancake sort of girl. So how about fresh fruit and a pastry?”

  Sarah was wondering what made her look like something other than a pancake sort of girl when her stomach gave a loud growl and she laughed. “I guess my stomach likes the sound of it. Fruit and pastry it is. But, ummm, is the pastry fresh?” She hoped the question didn’t sound rude, but the waitress didn’t look offended. If it was a rude question, it must be one that she was used to hearing.

  “Fresh this morning, from the bakery just down the street. You’ll like it, Dan’s breads are a beauty to behold – and even better to eat!” With that she was off, breezing off to freshen the coffee of the other patrons and exchange a few words here and there with the regulars.

  Sarah focused on her coffee for a while, enjoying the aroma as much as the flavor. With surprise she noted that the coffee was not bitter at all, and in fact was one of the better cups she’d had in a while. She usually ordered a latte when she got coffee, and it wasn’t because she loved the extra calories, it was because – as much as she loved coffee – she often found it unpleasantly bitter, while the steamed milk balanced the flavor. This cup, though, was so smooth that she didn’t feel it needed the cream.

  Soon the waitress was back with a plate and silverware, which she lined up in front of Sarah. “So what brings you to town?” she asked.

  “I needed some time to myself,” Sarah answered.

  “Man trouble?”

  “Oh, no. Business trouble.”

  “Oh boy. I’m sorry about that. Men come and go and we get on with our lives, but it sounds like your troubles might be a bit more stubborn than that.”

  “They could be. Actually I’m here to think about what to do about that situation. Figure out what’s next.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Tall Pines is just the place for a good think. Why, I find myself thinking all the time!” She smiled and extended her hand. “You can call me Bessie, by the way. I run this place, and you’re always welcome here if you need someone to talk to.”

  Sarah smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bessie. I’m Sarah. I think I just may take you up on your offer. You make some of the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

  “Don’t compliment her or you’ll never hear the end of the bragging,” said a gruff voice. Sarah looked over her shoulder to find that it belonged to an older gentleman in a rumpled shirt and tie, who was easing himself slowly into the adjacent stool. Bessie playfully batted at him with a dishtowel and moved off down the counter to wait on her other customers.

  Sarah swiveled the chair to face him, holding the coffee cup in both of her hands and enjoying the warmth that seeped through her fingers. “You don’t like the coffee?”

  “Oh, I love it, but I’ve been coming in here for more than twenty years. After all the nice things I’ve said about the coffee and the food, it’s starting to go to Bessie’s head.” He peered at her appraisingly and then extended his hand. “You’re new around here, aren’t you? I’m Duane.”

  “Sarah. Is it that obvious that I’m a tourist?”

  “Well, sure, you look the part – not many people around here dress as finely as you do, but it’s mostly that you’re pretty. I notice the pretty ones.” He spread a newspaper out before him on the counter and started scanning the headlines. Something he saw there upset him, and Sarah could hear him muttering under his breath.

  Finally she was too curious not to ask. “Bad news?” she asked, inclining her head to the newspaper.

  “No worse than usual, no. But these writers! They wouldn’t know quality journalism if they found it lodged inside their…”

  “Watch your mouth in here, Duane. I’ve told you before – the other customers want to enjoy their breakfast, not hear you shout about the decline and fall of western journalism.” Bessie placed a bowl of fresh fruit and a croissant on a dish in front of Sarah and gave her a smile. “There you go. Will you be needing anything else right now?”

  “Freshen my cup?” Sarah asked, pushing the cup across the counter towards her. Bessie obligingly topped it off, and Sarah took the warm cup back between her hands. She looked at that croissant with some suspicion, then reached out and tore a corner off. It was tender and flaky, and when she put it in her mouth it melted into a sensation of pure buttery delight. She moaned.

  Duane chuckled. “Pretty good, huh?”

  “Oh my God. It’s amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever had a better croissant.”

  “Dan is a talented man. We all thought he was crazy, closing up his bakery in Portland and moving here, but we’re happy to have him. I was never much of a bread or pastry man, but he’s just about changed my mind.”

  Sarah was hardly listening, so intent was she on her croissant that was disappearing bit by bit into her mouth, alternating with sips of the coffee. If her first breakfast was any indication, she needn’t have worried about the food in this town.

  She worked her way through the fruit in her bowl as Duane read his newspaper. She had never seen anyone take the news so seriously, or read it so carefully. For Sarah the news was a stream of headlines in her feed reader, or a few pages that she would swipe through in the New York Times app on her iPad. Mostly she just skimmed the headlines to make sure that she got the broad picture of what was happening in the world. Duane, though, consumed the news. He attacked it. And, judging by the sounds he made in the process, he got very little joy out of the experience.

  “You don’t think much of reporters, do you?” she asked as he finished the final section and tossed it with a sigh onto the pile to his right.

  “I love reporters. I used to be one myself. I grew up dreaming of nothing but working for a newspaper. But that was journalism, while this…” He gestured to the pile. “This is…”

  “What?”

  “Shlock. Sensationalism. Scare tactics. Two-thirds of their articles are recycled from the Associated Press, while the rest is a mixture of sports, celebrity gossip, soft-hearted human interest stories, and gruesome highway fatalities. In my day, newspapers aspired to so much more.”

  “Times are hard for papers.”

  “I know they are. You don’t need to tell me – I publish this town’s paper. I know all too well how hard it is. It used to be we could pay for most of our operations just from the classified ads, then along came that guy with his list—“

  “You mean Craigslist?”

  “Yes! Along came Craigslist, and the classified ads didn’t make much sense anymore, not when you could do it for free online. And that may have been a fine business for Craig, but it left the rest of us high and dry. Used to be, the paper in town had a regular staff of five people. I was editor and publisher, I had a guy to follow the crime beat – not that there was much crime to follow, just vandalism and a little drunk and disorderly here and there. I had a kid to cover high school sports, and a gal – great writer – who would take the national news and rewrite it around a hook for the local audience. Bobby would handle the printing,
and Greg delivered the papers to people’s homes. Now it’s just me. I had to let them all go. I do the writing, I lay it out on the computer, and I do the printing myself, too. It’s a weekly now, of course – there’s no way I could do all that for a daily. And then, when it’s ready to go, I leave it in boxes around town. No more home delivery. That was hard for some of my senior customers, but what could I do? There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  Sarah gave him a sympathetic smile. “It sounds rough.”

  “It is. It’s been rough for a while now. And you know the crazy thing? I don’t make a dime off it. Some months I break even, but usually I come up a little short.”

  “Is he boring you, honey?” Bessie said, slipping into the stool to the other side of Duane and draping her arm around his shoulders in a way that took the sting out of her words. Sarah guessed that these two knew each other well, and for all their banter cared about each other very much.

  “Duane could never bore me,” she said with a smile, and drained off the last of her coffee.

  Bessie placed a Tupperware container next to Duane’s plate. “I made a salad for you. Promise me this time that you’ll eat it.”

  Duane scowled at the container. “I’m not a rabbit, Bessie.”

  “No, you’re not, and you’re also not a kid who can eat anything you want. I don’t want you to have another dinner of coffee and stale donuts. Eat your salad, and tomorrow if you’re nice I might make you another one.”

  Duane grumbled, but he didn’t refuse the salad. From the protective look in Bessie’s eyes, half motherly and half something else entirely, Sarah was beginning to guess that these two might be more than friends. “Thank you, Bessie, for a wonderful breakfast, and thank you, Duane, for an interesting conversation. Bessie, how much do I owe you?” Bessie produced her tab from a pocket in her apron, and Sarah fished the money out of her pocket and headed for the door. This place, she thought – this was nice. She could see herself coming back to eat her many times in the days to come.