He was pewter gray, with bright green eyes that looked back at me lazily as he simply licked a paw in answer
There was plenty of cookware and dishes but not a single thing to eat, which I guess was to be expected. It wasn’t like the cabin would come fully stocked with Veneto merlot and brie, although I would have used a genie wish to make it so at that moment. I sighed when I found a tiny can of tuna in the last cabinet.
“Gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose, but the cat popped up at the sight of the can. I lifted a brow, reaching into the drawer near the sink for the can opener I’d spotted. “Yeah, I guess you probably aren’t as picky as me right about now, are you?”
He seemed wary of me, still staying a few feet away as I opened the can and set it down on the floor. He didn’t move for it immediately, eyes darting to where I stood and back to the can again. When I moved to pick up my glass of water and took a seat at the stool on the other side of the kitchen counter, he slowly sauntered over, sniffing at the can for only a second before graciously chowing down.
“There you go, boy. Eat up.”
I smiled, but when my stomach growled again, I realized I was still in a predicament.
I pulled up the notes section on my phone and started a list of groceries and supplies, including leggings, which I hadn’t worn since Tim Gunn had deemed them appropriate for the gym or bedroom only. My beautiful romper would have cried out in rage if it had a mouth, but my prickly legs would have sighed in relief. It was too damn cold for fashionable sleepwear. Thinking back on all the clothes and shoes I’d just unpacked upstairs, I wondered if I’d brought much of anything that was actually practical. I’d used my little trip as an excuse to buy adorable Hunter boots, but other than that, I had a feeling I was screwed.
From the drive in and what Abdiel had told me, I’d have to make a little drive into the nearest town in the morning to stock up. It seemed like the perfect way to start my first full day at the cabin.
I left the door open until my new friend had finished eating, just in case he wanted to escape for the night. But when he licked the last bit of fish from his jowls, he simply flopped down again and croaked out another rough meow as thanks. I chuckled, poured him a small bowl of water, and shut the door for the night.
It was surreal, climbing back up the stairs and into a strange bed with sheets I’d never felt before. I at least had my favorite blanket—goose down, covered in a bright mint duvet cover that I’d sewn in college—and I pulled it up to my chin, smelling the familiar yet distant scent of home.
As the quietness settled in around me, I stared into the darkness. A pang of loneliness hit my stomach while I tried to fall asleep in a home that wasn’t mine. My lids were heavy, but so were my thoughts, and I’d spent enough sleepless nights at Adrian’s to know which one would win out if I didn’t succumb to sleep soon.
These were the moments I felt my loss the most. When there was nothing to do, no one to talk to, not a single distraction from my thoughts, my memories. I wasn’t allowed to miss the warmth of my old bed or the man who slept in it with me for years, but I did anyway, my curse as the one who left. I was the bad guy, and the bad guy wasn’t allowed to hurt.
But I did.
There was a pat of pressure near my feet, and the stray cat announced his arrival with a soft mewl and a purr that sounded like a broken motorboat. I stretched my hand out toward him—I could barely see him in the moonlit room, but he seemed to appraise me, as if wondering if he could trust me. Maybe it was the tuna, or maybe it was an animal sense, but he nudged my fingers, granting me permission to rub his coarse fur before he curled into a ball near the back of my knees.
“That’s some purr you got there, bud,” I said, scratching him behind the ears.
He rolled, offering me his belly, and I rubbed it gently only a few times before he changed his mind and steered me toward his head again.
“I think I’ll call you Rev, like the engine.”
He meowed, and I took that as approval.
I didn’t have words to tell that little ball of fur how thankful I was for him in that moment, for dulling my loneliness on that first night. With one last grin and a few more rubs behind his ear, I laid back again, and the little engine purred me right to sleep.
LACONIC
la·con·ic
Adjective
Using or involving the use of a minimum of words: concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious
Every day was the same.
I woke up every morning, as soon as the sun started to break the sky behind the mountains. I didn’t need an alarm clock, my body was hardwired now, and I went straight from my bed into the shower. The water was always too hot, my skin always red when I emerged, and I’d wipe my hand across the steam on my small mirror just enough to reveal my eyes.
They’d been dead for six years now.
At least, that’s what the calendar said. It could have been six days for all I knew. My measurement of time was skewed, the days blending together, the nights one long, continuous stream of darkness.
Today was no different from yesterday, or from last Saturday, and it would be the same tomorrow.
I dressed without a second thought to what I was putting on, reaching blindly into my closet and dresser drawers until I had on jeans and a thermal. I tugged my boots on next, and they made the same sound they always did as I thumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Coffee was already made, set on a timer for the same time every morning, and I poured a full Thermos of the dark brew and took a swig before tucking it in my toolbox.
This was the hardest part of the day.
Getting out of bed was difficult, talking on the phone with my aunt who tried to pretend she cared anymore always stung, living my life like it mattered wasn’t easy, but nothing hurt as bad as when I looked at her picture.
It sat right by the front door, my favorite photo of my cousin, Danielle. She sat on the front porch of our old cabin, thick-framed glasses on her face, dark hair piled on top of her head, giant sweater hanging off her shoulders and pulled over her knee caps. Her book sat open beside her, one hand holding the pages in place as she stuck out her tongue up at the camera. I remembered that day like it was yesterday. I remembered what it felt like to wake up to a noisy house, to her and my aunt laughing loudly. I remembered her books and her words of the day and her college dreams and her unwavering faith in me.
But none of that mattered anymore, because she was dead.
And it was all my fault.
Every time I looked at her picture, and I never missed a day, I felt a rusted knife right between the bones of my ribcage. This morning was no different, and I choked on the last breath I took with my eyes on the photo before grabbing my hat and pushing through the front door out into the cool morning air.
The days were slowly getting longer, and I knew there was no outrunning summer now. I hated the summer, hated the memories it brought. I much preferred the dark days of winter, gray skies and snow on the ground. Then again, it didn’t matter what season it was, because in my life, every day was the same.
I didn’t want to lose the guilt I felt, the weight or the pain of it. I stared at that river every morning and remembered. I guess most people would do the opposite, they’d want to bury the hurt and find a new life, find a new purpose. But my purpose died along with Dani, and I didn’t care to find a new life where she didn’t exist.