[2015] Just the Essentials

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “We’ll have to buy some traps.”

  “Absolutely not.” I juggle jagged ceramic shards in my hands. “You can’t just kill it.”

  Jack rolls his eyes and follows me into the kitchen. “You can’t live with it—they’re not pets. They carry diseases.”

  I dump the pieces in the trash under the sink. “Still.”

  There must be a broom around here somewhere.

  As I look for one, Jack follows me, arguing about why we must kill the cute and fuzzy woodland creature. I find a broom and dustpan next to the ancient washer and dryer.

  “Well, diseases aside,” Jack says. “Imagine it running along your countertops, sharing your bed.”

  I shudder, and Jack smiles, knowing he’s just won.

  “Can we trap it alive?” I ask.

  He takes the broom from me and sighs. “We’ll see what we can find.”

  Jack sweeps up the ceramic shards, and thoughts of rodents are forgotten. It’s the perfect juxtaposition of male hotness and domestic proficiency. If this very scene were captured on video, many a broom would be bought by housewives across the country.

  I hold out the wastebasket so he can dump the dustpan.

  “You’re in the wrong profession,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah?” He grins. When he steps forward, the sunlight glints off his dark hair. “You think I should be cleaning cabins?”

  Dust motes float in the light, reminding me I have things to do.

  I take the broom from him and lean it against the couch. “Definitely housekeeping.”

  He nods toward the discarded vacuum, which somehow fell over in the chaos. “Not sure it’s a great profession for you.” He cocks his head and studies me. “Exactly what is it you do?”

  “I live off Mommy and Daddy’s money, of course,” I say lightly and turn away.

  Before he can answer, a strange chime sounds from the kitchen.

  Startled, I look at him. “Is that a phone?”

  “I believe that’s what they call it, yes.”

  He looks completely serious, but his eyes give him away. I swat his arm and walk into the kitchen.

  I haven’t used one of these in years. Before I pick it up, I dust the handset. Gingerly, I hold it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Good morning,” Mom chirps. “I see the phone line has been turned on.”

  “It seems to be.”

  “Did you have a better night with Sandy and Allen?”

  I called her before bed, filling her in on everything except my run-in with Hudson. Well, and almost everything about Jack.

  “Jack’s fixing a few things,” I tell her after I assure her I’m fine. “And I’m cleaning.”

  “Is it in that bad of shape?”

  “No. Once I find everything under the dust, I think it will be great.” I glance at the afghans on the back of the couch. “But if you’re going to sell it, I think it might be a good idea to pack up some of Grandma’s stuff.”

  “That’s your tactful way of saying everything is outdated.”

  Jack wanders the kitchen while I talk. Seeing the faucet is loose, he pulls a wrench from his tool belt, opens the door under the kitchen sink, and crawls under. His shirt pulls up, exposing the tiniest sliver of his toned, tanned, and well-muscled abdomen.

  I will never imagine plumbers the same way again.

  “Why don’t you drive down to Junction,” Mom says. “Visit with Aunt Diane. She would love to see you. While you’re there, you can buy some packing boxes.”

  Though it was my idea to take down some of Grandma’s things, my stomach twists a little at the thought of doing it. But it will need to be done eventually.

  I agree, and we’re just saying our goodbyes when Mom says, “Oh, Kinsley, we set you up a post office box in Silverton. I’ve forwarded a few things to you.”

  My spirits fall. The only mail I get are rejection letters and credit card applications.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Jack’s done by the time I hang up. He frowns. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I fake a smile, hoping it will turn into a real one if I hold it long enough. “Are you still driving down to Junction in a few weeks?”

  He slides the wrench back into his tool belt. “You want to come?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  His lips quirk in a crooked smile. “We’ll have to drive over the scary mountain.”

  The thought of the pass makes me queasy. I push the sensation away. It’s not like we’re going tomorrow.

  “I think I can handle it.”

  “I think you can too.” He flashes me a wicked look as he steps out the back door. “Besides, I very rarely drive off the road.”

  Chapter Eight

  I’m exhausted. Who knew cleaning could be so much work? The dust is gone, and I’ve sanitized every surface in the kitchen and bathroom, even the awful toilet paper holder. The cabin is still in desperate need of a little updating, but at least it’s cleaner.

  Allen helps himself to seconds of potato salad. “What did you get done today?”

  “I started on the deck,” Jack answers. “And Kinsley worked on straightening things up.”

  I take a sip of iced tea. “There are a few little things I need to do, but it will definitely be livable after I get the sheets and towels washed tomorrow.”

  Jack’s family’s balcony is a great place for a barbecue. The sun is setting, and it’s starting to get cold. I remembered a jacket this time, and I pull it on. As we finish our meal, night falls and the landscape fades in the dimming light.

  Sandy scoops up plates and bowls, filling her arms. “Let’s clear this up while Jack and Allen start a fire.”

  Not as talented as she is, my tower isn’t quite as high. Shannon and Agnes talk more than help, but eventually we transfer everything into the kitchen.

  The girls sit at the counter, watching their mother load the dishwasher.

  Shannon turns to me, looking amused. “How was your date with Jack?”

  Surprised, Sandy looks over.

  Before she can say anything, I jump in. “It wasn’t a date.”

  Agnes nods, but her eyes betray she’s just humoring me. “Of course it wasn’t.” She turns to Shannon. “Edna must have been mistaken.”

  Shannon grins and leans forward, her face the picture of innocence. “She said you two were very cozy in the booth last night.”

  Agnes titters, and then the two both lose it.

  “Girls, enough.” Sandy wipes her hands on a dishcloth. “I’ve told you before I don’t want you interfering with Jack’s dating life.”

  I hold up a finger. “We weren’t on a—”

  “Or lack of dating life,” Agnes interrupts.

  That sends them into another giggling fit.

  While drumming my fingers on the counter, I try to think of a way to set them straight. Anything I say will make it worse, so I stay quiet.

  Once we’re finished in the kitchen, we join Jack and Allen out back. The fire is already crackling away, and the men are talking about fishing. I choose a seat across from Jack—I’m certainly not going to sit next to him after the twins’ teasing—and listen with half an ear.

  I stay fairly quiet as the family plans a four-wheeling trip.

  It’s awkward. I’m here, but I’m not really a part of them. Of course, they invite me, but I don’t think I’m up for it. There’s a little too much cliff and way too little control for my tastes.

  Still, the family’s friendly, and I enjoy being with them a lot more than I enjoy dinners with Hudson’s parents.

  Oddly, in this group, no one has asked me what I’m planning to do with my life. Usually, that comes up within moments of the introduction. I can relax around them, for once not feeling like I’m being judged on my future aspirations.

  The twins wander away first, off to have a video chat with their cousin in Florida.

  Why can’t my cabin have Wi-Fi?

  Sandy and Allen retire soon after
. Before they go, they remind Jack to douse the fire before we come in.

  “But there’s no hurry,” Sandy says. “You just stay out as long as you like.”

  Apparently she took the girls’ words to heart. The way she looks at me makes me think she’s decided Jack and I are a couple despite the fact that we met only two days ago.

  Not only is it too soon for that, but it's also too soon after Hudson. Still, I wouldn’t mind if Jack came over to my bench, maybe scooted just close enough that our legs brushed. Then he could turn to me—

  “That’s quite the pensive look you’ve got going,” Jack says.

  I meet his eyes. The campfire crackles between us, occasionally sending sparks into the night sky. Resting his elbows on his legs, Jack leans forward.

  He only wears a T-shirt and jeans. Isn’t he cold? Even with the campfire and my jacket, I’m chilled.

  “I was just thinking about everything I still have to do,” I finally answer.

  It’s not a complete lie. There’s so much I need to take care of. Plus, I plan to use this summer vacation to get some good writing in.

  The solitude may have been thrust upon me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make use of it.

  “We’ll get it all done.” Jack stretches and looks up. “The stars are bright again tonight. It would be easier to see them if we didn’t have the campfire going.”

  “That’s true,” I agree. “But then I would freeze.”

  “Are you cold? Do you want to go in?”

  “Yes. And not yet.”

  He sits back in his chair. “What would it be like in Denver right now? Would it be cold?”

  Shaking my head, I answer, “If there were a storm, it might get a little chilly, but it’s not like here in the mountains.”

  “Did your family do much camping while you were growing up? After you quit coming to the cabin, that is.”

  I pick up a stick and poke it in the fire, waiting for it to light. “We went to Estes Park quite a bit, but we usually stayed in a cabin. I’ve never camped in a camper—or a tent, for that matter.”

  He stands and tosses another log on the fire. “That’s not really camping.”

  “Sure it is,” I argue. “We roasted hot dogs, made s’mores—drank hot chocolate. How much more authentic can you get?”

  “Sleeping under the stars, four-wheeling back someplace no one knows about…”

  To my surprise, Jack doesn’t go back to his seat but sits next to me. He’s not exactly close. There’s still a nice, friendly distance between us, but at least he’s not across the fire.

  “That sounds awful.”

  His flicks my braid. “You are a city girl.”

  “I never pretended to be anything else.”

  He angles toward me. “Tell me about Hudson.”

  I’m so started, I sit back. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Yes, you do. I mean…no one wants to, but it’s all part of getting over it.”

  “I’ve pegged you for a lot of things; a wannabe psychiatrist was not one of them.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He leans a little closer. “Like what things?”

  I smirk, entertained by my own private joke. “Lumberjack.”

  He nods. “Yes, I believe we covered that last night. But you said ‘a lot’ of things. What else?”

  “Well, we both know you’d make a great maid.” I smirk. “But you also look an awful lot like one of those pretty boys who model for men’s cologne ads in wild, untamed places. You know the type—the ones who’ve never actually seen a tree.”

  Jack angles toward me. “Let me assure you, I’m authentic.”

  It doesn’t look like he’s purposely trying to flirt at the moment, but I still go a little breathless.

  “You changed the subject.” He shifts the log he just added so it will burn better.

  I shrug and then meet his eyes. “Maybe.”

  He sits back, settling in. Obviously, he doesn’t plan to move until I tell him about Hudson.

  “We started dating when I was seventeen,” I say, giving in. “Ginger, my older sister, began dating his brother a year later. He’s just about to finish up college. He’s been interning in his father’s marketing firm with his brother and, as of this last week, Ginger.”

  “And breaking up with him has caused problems with your sister?”

  I shake my head. “No. Ginger’s on my side.”

  It startles me a little when I say it. She’s a pain, but she’s stood behind me. It would have been easier for her if I’d just stayed with Hudson. How awkward things must be between her and his parents right now.

  Of course, the Petersons might be relieved to be rid of me.

  “So he broke up with you because you wouldn’t have sex with him?”

  “That was blunt.” I twirl my stick in the fire. “But, yes, that’s basically why. He wanted to get back together—he even kind of apologized—but then he decided I needed to go work for his mother’s law firm, and we got into another fight.”

  “You don’t want to work with his mother?”

  I give the coals a good poke. “No. I already know what I want to do with my life, and it’s not that.”

  Jack watches me stab the fire, an amused smile on his face. “What is it?”

  Turning from the flames, I meet his eyes. He’ll laugh at me if I tell him. Or give me that look. I hate that look.

  “Oh, come on.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “I’m a writer,” I confess.

  His eyebrows rise as if he’s waiting for the bad part. When I don’t say anything else, he asks, “What’s wrong with that?”

  I clasp my hands. “I haven’t sold anything.”

  “What do you write? Articles? Books?” He grins. “Self-help columns?”

  My cheeks flame hot. “Novels. Urban fantasy, mostly.”

  A smile plays on his lips. “I have no idea what that is.”

  “It’s fantasy, but it’s usually set in our modern world. Mine’s romance stuff.”

  His smile grows. “Like vampires?”

  “It doesn’t have to be, but some of it is.”

  “And what’s yours?”

  He can’t truly be interested. Besides Liv, who is my biggest (and only) fan, no one is. Even my parents glaze over when I talk plots and characters.

  “The one I’ve been querying is a fairy tale retelling.”

  It must be late because conversations and laughter from the nearby campers has quieted down. My view is blocked by the lodge, but I imagine most of their fires are low.

  “What is this?” He cocks his head and waves toward me. “Why do you close up when you talk about it?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do.”

  I toss my stick into the fire and stand up. “It’s late. I think I better get some sleep, or I’ll be a zombie tomorrow.”

  Jack joins me. “You could write about that: Beautiful zombie terrorizes remote, Colorado campground. Eventually, campers ply her with coffee, and she wanders off peacefully.”

  I laugh before I can help myself. “That would be different.”

  He gives me a solemn nod. “I should be a writer myself.”

  “What would you name your story?”

  “Attack of the Caffeine Deprived Zombie.”

  We’re standing an acceptable distance apart, facing each other, but I feel closer to him than I have since we met.

  “They’d probably make a B-movie out of it,” I say.

  Jack shakes his head as he grabs a jug of water sitting nearby. “Nah—it’d be a blockbuster hit.”

  Steam and smoke rise from the campfire as Jack douses it. Without the warm flames, the air goes cold. I wrap my arms around myself, waiting for him to finish so we can walk back together.

  The hiss of the dying fire subsides, replaced by the sound of the lake lapping against the shore. Coyotes call to each other, but with Jack, the sounds don't seem so ominous.

&n
bsp; “Can you see okay?” Jack asks.

  In the dark, I can just make out his silhouette.

  He steps next to me. “Take my arm.”

  I do as I’m told—and gladly at that. He leads me to the lodge, sure in his steps because he’s walked it a dozen times.

  “I can’t believe how dark it is,” I say, trusting him to avoid any obstacles because I can’t see a thing. “It’s never this dark at home.”

  “There are lights everywhere in the city. Here, there are only stars.” We’re almost at the door when he turns me toward him and abruptly changes the subject. “Did you know Hudson was—”

  “That he was cheating?” I let out a humorless laugh. “No, he managed to sneak that by me.”

  “I meant what I said. He’s a jerk.”

  “Thanks, Jack.”

  He gives my arm a squeeze, and then we go into the lodge.

  Chapter Nine

  A little songbird hops along the deck railing, chirping to his friends in the trees. I need to buy a feeder. I’ll hang it outside the front window and watch the birds while I write.

  The man from the utility company waves from his truck. I call out another thanks, and he drives off.

  Here I am again, alone in the cabin. Today, after I get a load of sheets in the washer, my first task will be cleaning Aunt Diane’s window. Dirty and rain-stained, it just looks sad.

  But first, I have something important to take care of.

  I walk around the deck to the back door. The artificial turf rug lies there, all weathered and worn. Gingerly, I roll it up, terrified I’m going to find spiders underneath.

  All I discover are a few old leaves and a roly-poly. Trying not to think of the dirt clinging to it, I heft it over my shoulder and toss it in the front. I’ll ask Jack to haul it away when he gets here.

  He had some work to do this morning, but he said he’d be by later to start on the deck. In a way, it’s almost a relief to have some time to myself. With everything that’s happened with Hudson, it’s too soon to be quite so infatuated with someone else. And let’s face it; I’m infatuated with Jack.

  When I go inside, I check the water in the kitchen faucet, just to make sure it’s really working. It gurgles and bubbles and makes all kinds of noise, but finally it spits out a stream of water.