[2015] Just the Essentials

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Now I have no excuses. It’s time to get this place spruced up.

  I pull the sheets off my grandparent’s bed and stuff them in the washer. Luckily, there’s some old laundry soap in the cupboard. It’s just one more thing I didn’t think to pack.

  The powder is clumped together, and I beat the box against the side of the washer to break it apart. The faint fragrance fills me with memories of growing up, and it makes me pause. I miss my grandparents.

  Shaking my head to clear the memories, I return to my task. I’m just turning the dial when I hear a tiny squeak.

  Instantly, I freeze. Where did it come from? Not back here, I don’t think. The hall?

  I set the washer to start and then creep from the laundry cupboard. With the water running, I can’t hear anything, but it must be close.

  Maybe it’s in my trap?

  Despite his many protests, I talked Jack into setting a live one. Technically, it’s designed for mice, but it’s fairly roomy, so we think it will work. The idea is that the mouse (chipmunk) goes in, has a snack, and then waits for me to release him in the woods. Jack scoffed, but I think it’s a wonderful invention.

  We set the trap in the kitchen where we figured the chipmunk would probably nose around for food. I was going to bait it with peanut butter, but Jack swore they can’t resist sunflower seeds.

  I tiptoe into the kitchen—I’m not sure why, it just seems the thing to do. My black plastic trap sits in the corner. It doesn’t look like it’s moved. How will I know if something is in it? Listening for another squeak, I watch it.

  If I pick it up, I’ll be able to tell by the weight, won’t I? I lift it, but I’m not sure how much it weighed to begin with. I could give it a little shake, but that just seems cruel.

  There’s no helping it; I’ll have to take a peek. With a trembling hand, I pry the sliding cover open just a crack. It’s empty.

  I let out a disappointed sigh. Should I check the bait? Maybe it somehow escaped?

  As I’m sliding the cover off, something moves inside, and the little box shifts in my hand. A furry object comes propelling out of the opening, jumping through the air like a Kamikaze rodent.

  Both trap and chipmunk go flying to the ground, and I run out of the room, looking over my shoulder just as the little beast darts under the stove. In my head, I hear Jack telling me I should have bought a regular trap.

  Once I’m sure the chipmunk won’t dart out at my feet, I venture back and pick up the trap. He ate the sunflower seeds, all right. I add more seeds and wash my hands. Then I wash them again, just to make sure the rodenty germs are gone.

  With nothing left to do, I go back to my cleaning.

  In a few hours, Jacks knocks on the door.

  “It looks good in here,” he says, admiring the stained glass window.

  “There’s still a lot to do.”

  “Any luck with the chipmunk? You want me to check the trap?”

  I tell him about the rodent’s daring escape, omitting the part where I ran from the room like a little girl.

  “It’s probably wise to us now,” I say. “We’ll have a horrible time getting it to crawl in a second time.”

  “Just be patient,” Jack says. “If he gets hungry enough, this little snack will be hard to resist.”

  I give him a halfhearted nod.

  “I’m going to get to work.” He steps out the door. “Think of anything else you need me to add to the list?”

  “No.”

  Jack disappears out the front, and I take a break from cleaning to get started on some writing. It’s hard to focus while he’s working, but eventually I find a rhythm. Before I know it, it’s early evening.

  Jack knocks on the door as he opens it. “I’m finished for the day. There are a couple of boards still missing. Be careful if you go out the front. I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”

  I thank him and try to think of an excuse to get him to stay longer. I have nothing.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pauses at the door. “There are a few things I need to take care of in the morning, but I’ll be here about the same time.”

  Jack leaves, and I settle back on the couch, disappointed. I need to scrounge something up for dinner, but I’ll squeeze a little more writing in first. I’m startled by a knock at the door.

  When I swing it open, I find Jack on the other side.

  “You should have checked to see who it was first.” His mouth twists into a wry smile. “You live in the middle of nowhere.”

  Very serious, I say, “Noted.”

  “It’s going to be cold tonight. I brought some wood from around back for you.” He shifts the load in his arms. “I’ll start your fire if you want.”

  Oh, if he only knew.

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  Obviously, I am more than capable of lugging my own wood inside, but it’s nice that I don’t have to.

  He stacks the logs on the hearth, making a nice pile. “Most of what’s back there needs to be split. I don’t mind taking care of that for you.”

  I kneel next to him as he strategically places the wood in the fireplace. “What do you need to split it?”

  His eyes stay on his project. “Just an ax.”

  “Oh…like a lumberjack.” I grin at the amused look on his face. “I knew you were considering it.”

  He shakes his head, laughing quietly.

  Soon, a little fire crackles in the hearth. It’s amazing how cozy it makes the room.

  “You’re all set for the night.” Jack stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I clasp my hands in front of me and nod.

  “Do you have my number in case you need anything?” he asks.

  We’re exchanging numbers. That must be significant. Of course, it’s probably not that unusual to have your handyman’s number.

  He writes it down on a piece of scratch paper next to the ancient phone in the kitchen.

  “Call if you need anything at all.” His face lights with humor. “Don’t go sleeping in your car again.”

  We say our goodbyes for a second time, and now I’m really alone for the night. I make up Grandma and Grandpa’s old bed, finally take on the task of unpacking, and heat a can of soup for dinner.

  Unlike the first night I stayed here, the cabin stays warm.

  After I get a little more writing in, I crawl into bed. As cozy as it all is, it’s still a little lonely. I’ve never been anywhere by myself before, and it’s hard to get used to.

  Finally, I drift off to sleep, and luckily this time, I don’t wake to any other-worldly noises in the night.

  Chapter Ten

  I attempt to flip a pancake. It sticks and rips in half. I growl, toss the ruined pancake in the trash, and then move on to the next. I found the griddle while cleaning out the cupboards yesterday, but I’ve never used one.

  Jack’s supposed to be here early this morning. He’s trying to sneak in some work before he drives into Silverton to help a couple who had severe water damage when their water heater went out.

  Though I don’t like it, I have to share Jack. He’s not the only handyman in the area, but he’s certainly a favorite.

  I growl when I hear a truck rumble down the road. There is no way I’ll have these ready. I’m not even sure the ones that come off in one piece will be edible. Liv, Mom, and Dad are the cooks in the family. Ginger and I limp by the best we can. I wish I’d tried to pick up a few more things.

  Jack gives the door two sound knocks and then walks in, saying, “That should have been locked.”

  I don’t even look at him; I just scowl at the pancakes. “I unlocked it because I was expecting you.”

  He checks the trap, and it’s empty, as always. After setting it back, he stands over my shoulder. The smell of his soap wafts to me, but I try to concentrate on my project.

  “What are those?” he asks. “Crepes?”

  “They’re supposed to be pancakes,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. When his only resp
onse is a raised eyebrow, I turn back to my project. “I guess the batter is a little thin.”

  “They’ll taste fine.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Hopefully he came straight here and didn’t have time to stop by his parents’ place.

  Jack shifts away and leans against the counter, facing me. “I need to get started. I don’t have a lot of time this morning.”

  I want to pout that I never see him anymore, but that would be ridiculous. We’re not dating; we’re not anything.

  “How’s the clean-up coming along?” I ask.

  He takes the spatula from me and edges it around a pancake. “I’ll finish it today, but I need to do a bid for a deck after that.” With a flick of his wrist, the pancake flips perfectly. “If I don’t get to it, I might lose the job to someone else.”

  Irritated with his pancake-flipping finesse, I snatch the spatula back. “Well, like Dad told you, there’s no rush to finish up here.”

  “The roses look better.”

  I hold up my arm so he can see the long scratch on the inside of my elbow. “They’re nasty things.”

  He takes my wrist, angling it so he can see my wound better. Butterflies erupt at his touch, but I stomp them down.

  Jack obviously doesn’t share my summer romance fantasies. I’ve been here for two weeks, and we’ve seen each other almost every day. If he were interested, he would have acted by now.

  Oh sure, we’ve had moments—just enough moments to turn me into a puddle of mush when he’s around. But nothing’s come of it.

  “It’s not that bad,” he says.

  I pull my arm away and frown. “It still stings.”

  Jack graces me with his wicked grin—the one that undoes me every time. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  It sounds like a date. I wish it were a date. Sadly, it’s not.

  “Yes. What time will you be here?”

  “About eight. If we drive straight there, we’ll be in Junction by eleven.”

  His phone buzzes.

  It irritates me he gets cell reception when I have none.

  Jack looks at the screen and then pushes away from the counter. “Sorry, Kinsley. I gotta go.”

  I bite back a scowl.

  He watches me, his mouth quirking up. “What?”

  Trying and failing to turn another pancake, I keep my face carefully blank. “Nothing.”

  Taking a step toward me, he asks, “Are you feeling neglected?”

  I laugh because this is the routine we’ve settled into. We play and tease, but—darn it—he has not dragged me into the rain and kissed me senseless yet. And that’s how it’s supposed to happen. I know; I read romance novels.

  Jack takes another step, this one infringing on my personal space. My back is to the stove, and there’s nowhere for me to go.

  “Thanks for making me breakfast,” he says and then reaches over my shoulder and plucks the pancake he flipped from the griddle. It must be hot, but he rolls it up like he doesn’t notice.

  He’s close enough I can smell the mint scent of his toothpaste, close enough my heart picks up its pace.

  I swallow. “I didn’t make it for you. You just happened to get here at the right time.”

  He leans just a fraction closer. “Timing is everything, isn’t it? By the way, you’re flipping your pancakes too soon. You have to know when to make your move.”

  Unsure what to say, I stare at him.

  Raising his eyebrows, he takes a bite of his pancake roll and steps away. “See you tomorrow.”

  New flowers have been planted amongst the roses, and the cabin is squeaky clean. I should be writing; instead, I’m walking around the lake.

  Not for the first time, I wish I had Schnitzel. If he were with me, I’d be the girl taking my dog for a walk. Alone, I’m just the loser who doesn’t have any friends or family with her.

  I try not to think about it as I follow the winding dirt path. Though I pass families and couples, it’s a weekday, so there aren’t as many people camping.

  I’m just pondering exactly what Jack meant this morning when a giggle brings me back to reality. A couple sits on a bench just in front of me…a man and his perfectly groomed pocket pet.

  “Hudson, stop,” the voice breathes through giggles. Obviously the way the “stop” is voiced shows it’s code for “more, please.”

  I turn on my heel, but it’s too late.

  “Kelsey?” Amber calls. “Is that you?”

  Slowly, already trying to think of an excuse as to why I must immediately leave, I turn back.

  “It’s Kinsley,” I say.

  Amber hops up and out of Hudson’s arms. He has that nervous look about him again, as if he’s worried I’m going to snap. Which I might. It’s too soon to tell what’s going to come out of his mouth to know.

  Amber comes to me, all pursed lips and apologetic eyes. “Listen, honey, Hudson explained to me what happened. I would have never been so forward if I had known you two had just broken up.”

  I try to smile—because what can I say? That it’s all right? Well, it’s not all right. But what’s done is done.

  “You must hate me.” She twirls her hair in her fingers. It shines with red highlights in the sun. She’s not only blond, but she’s a strawberry blond with a southern accent. There’s no competing with that.

  “I don’t hate you,” I say.

  Amber loops her arm through mine, taking me by surprise. “Well, if I were you, I’d hate me. I just want you to know how sorry I am.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She smiles up at me (yes, she’s short enough she has to look up). “And it looks like you’re doin’ just fine, anyway. Where is that handsome man I’ve seen droolin’ all over you? I swear he’s head over heels.”

  There’s no reason to correct her, especially not in front of Hudson.

  Accidentally slipping into her drawl, I answer, “He’s workin’.”

  “Well.” She squeezes my arm. “I think we all need to get together for dinner here soon, clear the air between us.” She turns to Hudson, who hasn’t said a word this whole time. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Hudson visibly gulps and nods, his tan skin growing pale.

  Feeling a little vindictive, I smile at my ex.

  “That’d just be a hoot, wouldn’t it?” I lay on the accent on purpose this time, but only just thick enough I know Hudson will catch it.

  He narrows his eyes, still thinking he can reprimand me. I just smile back, daring him to try.

  Amber gives my arm a light smack before she releases me. “Oh, good! I don’t know about you, but I feel a whole lot better.”

  And that’s what matters.

  I finally pry myself away from Amber and try not to think of what they’re doing now that I’m gone. Halfway around the lake, I break down and call Liv. The phone rings several times, and I hang up before it goes to voice mail. I glare at the screen as I hit my next preset.

  Ginger answers on the second ring. “Kinsley?”

  “Hey, Ginger.”

  “Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you? The cabin’s still standing?” She pauses. “You didn’t drive into a ditch, did you?”

  “Apparently, I don’t call you enough if you automatically assume something is wrong.”

  “Something is wrong or you wouldn’t have called me. So what is it?”

  “Hudson’s here.”

  She waits a few beats. “I know.”

  Of course she does. Ginger has the inside scoop on all things Peterson.

  “I told him you weren’t interested and that he should just leave you alone,” she says. “Is he giving you a rough time?”

  “What do you know about Amber from your office? She’s an intern and shares a secretary with Hudson.”

  “Amber? Oh, well, she seems nice,” Ginger answers, and then she stops. “Why?”

  “She’s here. Sharing a room with Hudson at the lodge.”

  “No! Why that—”

>   I smile at a couple and their young son as they walk by, glad they can’t hear Ginger.

  “It’s all right,” I cut her off. “Honestly. I’m more offended than hurt.”

  “Liv’s right,” Ginger says. “Go find yourself a big, burly lumberjack and parade him in front of Hudson’s nose.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, not sure if I want to tell Ginger about Jack.

  “Kinsley?”

  “There is this guy…”

  She demands information, so I spill.

  “Why are you waiting for him to make the move?” Ginger demands. “You’re on a limited time schedule. Summer won’t last forever. Kiss him like you mean it and see if he kisses you back.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then you did it wrong.”

  That’s easy for Ginger to say. I grunt into the phone.

  “Hey, Kinsley,” she says, her voice softer, a little bit hesitant.

  I’m not used to this tone, and I peer at my phone screen as if it will explain the difference. “Yes?”

  “There’s something we need to talk about, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. Are you coming back anytime? Just for the weekend, maybe?”

  “Are you pregnant? Because if you are, Mom’s going to kill you, and I want to be there to watch you tell her.”

  “Of course I’m not.”

  Ginger sounds disgusted, and I smirk, happy to have ruffled her feathers.

  “But there’s something else,” she continues. “Something important.”

  Suddenly my heart splutters. “Is this about Schnitzel?”

  My dog is nearly ten years old. He seems spry, but what if something happened while I was gone? What if he missed me so much, he just couldn’t go on?

  “Good grief,” she says. “This isn’t about your dog.”

  “So he’s okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me then?”

  She lets out a dramatic sigh. “No, it will just have to wait until I see you.”

  Since she won’t budge, I let her go.

  “Don’t get eaten by a bear, okay?” she says before she hangs up.

  “I’ll try not to, but I can’t make any promises.”