She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew the lulling, paved back roads and undulating hills gave way to a gravelly drive worn by time and weathered with deep ruts.
“We’re here.” Sam heard the exhaustion in Braydon’s voice.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven-thirty. My mom will be waiting for us, but everyone else is probably asleep by now.”
Sam reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her Chap Stick. After rubbing some on her lips she ran her fingers through her hair. Her belly flip-flopped with anxiety and she laced her fingers together over her lap so not to give away her nervousness.
Everything was black. If she squinted she could vaguely make out a canopy of evergreens trimming the drive. Stars winked in and out of the dark feathery green covering. She looked ahead, but there was only blackness. They followed a bend in the path and she gasped. They were at a higher altitude, but good grief she never saw so many stars before in her life. It was as though she could catch one if she only stood on her tiptoes. And there were so many, surely the gods wouldn’t mind if she slipped one into her pocket.
Her fanciful thoughts were distracted when a large house came into view. The structure was impressive even when its size was partially cloaked by shadows. Only a few windows glowed here and there and there was a porch light burning, illuminating a wide set of wooden steps.
Evenly spaced pillars portioned out a long wraparound porch encased in a spindled railing. She suddenly remembered a dollhouse she and her sister used to play with as children, but quickly pushed the thought away. This was not a time to think about her childhood. She needed to stay focused and in charge of her emotions.
Braydon parked behind a Jeep Cherokee that appeared to be in surprisingly good shape considering the model was over twenty years old. He plucked the keys from the ignition and let out a groaning stretch. “Why don’t we head in and say hi then I’ll come back and grab our bags?”
Sam nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt. They’d been in the car for hours and her legs were screaming for her to stand up and stretch. Braydon opened his door and Sam followed suit. She climbed out and extended her arms far over her head and followed Braydon toward the house.
There was almost a deafening hum of wildlife filling the air. The combination of crickets chirping and locusts trilling in such a symphony-like roar told her how expansive the dark woods behind them were.
She wished it were daylight so she could see more of her surroundings. Subconsciously, her mind had already decided the McCullough home was beautiful. The moment she realized it was a traditional log cabin she admitted it was love at first sight. When had she become such a slut for architecture? She supposed it was the novelty of a real life log cabin that tapped into some nostalgic memory of Lincoln Logs and Little House on the Prairie and in turn released a secreted, unrequited longing for country living. Suddenly excited to be there, she wanted to thank Braydon for bringing her.
The heavy wood door at the top of the steps opened and a woman with fiery copper hair stood smiling with her hands clasped tightly at her heart. “You’re here!”
Braydon smiled.
“Hi, Mum. Sorry we’re so late. We couldn’t leave until almost eight o’clock.”
She waved away his excuses and pulled him into an affectionate embrace. She was no small woman, yet the sigh she emitted when hugging her son told Sam she was soft and loving despite her aggressive handling of others. When she had her fill she stepped back and held Braydon at arm’s length, her wide fingers holding him in place.
“You’re in need of a haircut, you are,” she rebuked, her sternness bellied by her cheery expression and the glassy sheen of merriment dancing in her eyes.
“Do you not like my hair, Mum?”
The sudden change in Braydon’s speech caused Sam to do a double take. The cadence of his words picked up a clipped lilt and sounded almost Gaelic. Mrs. McCullough laughed and smacked an affectionate kiss on her son’s cheek.
“Don’t you go getting too cheeky now. Kelly will get jealous. You know how he likes to pretend he’s the rogue of the clan.”
“How is Kelly?”
Mrs. McCullough smirked and rolled her eyes as if she were laughing over a well-known secret. “There’s enough time to talk about your brother and his reprobate ways later. For now why don’t you introduce me to this lovely lassie?”
They turned and faced Sam as Braydon said, “Mum, this is Samantha Dougherty.”
“Dougherty.” Mrs. McCullough pronounced her name the proper Irish way sounding like Doe-hearty, lacking the hard G most American’s used when speaking the name. “Well, that’s a good strong Irish name. I believe you’ll fit in nicely around here.”
Before Sam had a chance to answer, she was smothered in the woman’s arms and being hugged near the point of suffocation. When Sam was released she quickly grasped the railing behind her to prevent her body from stumbling down the steps.
“Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. McCullough.”
“Oh pish, you call me Maureen, love. Let’s head on inside; it’s hot out tonight.”
“Why’s it so warm here? I was expecting it to be at least twenty degrees cooler than the city.” Braydon commented as they followed Mrs. McCullough, no, Maureen, into the house.
“We haven’t had a bit of rain in over two weeks. The woods are growing dryer than a nun’s tits. We won’t be having any bonfires this side of the forest any time soon, that’s for sure.”
Braydon’s mother’s language jerked Sam’s attention away from her inspection of the house. She couldn’t remember ever hearing her own mother say tits. Her mother could barely say breasts and that included discussing a cut of chicken for dinner.
Sam kept up with the two, keeping an ear open for comments pertaining to her, as she eyed her surroundings with covert curiosity. A grin flourished across her face when she realized the log home was authentic inside and out. The perfectly stacked logs matched the wooden tongue and groove planks covering the floor and ceiling.
Following the others into a kitchen, she was impressed by the wooden cabinetry. Sam could tell immediately, even with no architectural background, that the woodwork was all custom made. The designer, whoever he was, clearly took a lot of care in carving out every detail down to the mortise and tenon joints that interlocked the sturdy framework.
She took a seat next to Braydon at the large farm table filling the enormous kitchen while Maureen informed her son of the family’s current events, speaking with agreeable frankness.
“Kate’s here, but she couldn’t wait up. Her sciatica’s been bothering her something fierce this time around. Not that I minded her making her excuses early. I’ll warn you now, Bray. Your sister’s been leaving air biscuits in every room. You know, with Frankie it was her ankles, with Skylar it was the heartburn, with Hannah it was her sciatica, with this one it seems it’s her arse. She’s all those ails and now farts too! She’s makin’ my house smell like a pile of cabbage shite, that’s what she’s doing.”
“Mum!”
“Well, she is. But don’t tell her I told you so. She’s weepier than a willow tree this pregnancy. There’s no wonder why Anthony decided to wait until tomorrow to get here.”