Cabin Fever

by Elle Casey

  “Three … set up studio.” I look over at the corner of the room, already picturing how awesome it will be. The sun has risen, and the spot is already filling with light.

  “Four … build three canvases.” No pressure. Three is enough to last me for more than a week, maybe ten days. I can commit to ten days out here, right? Sure I can. If I have to survive on crackers, I can do that. I’ve been known to stop eating for days as I paint.

  I haven’t gotten that lost in my work since I was in my early twenties, though. Maybe I can’t do it anymore. Maybe I’ve lost that touch, that connection with my muse. I bite my lip as I worry about my ability to tap into my inner self again. Inner-Me’s been gone a long time…

  “Five,” I say, rededicating myself to powering forward, “get car-unstuck and grocery shop.” As I shiver with the cold, I consider adding something else to the list. Above my last item, I write 5-A: find rock or board to get car unstuck. 5-B: gather firewood.

  I hold up my list and smile at it. If I get everything done today, I will proclaim myself the champion of this cabin. Already, the place is looking better. I can actually see the nice wood counters and small tables interspersed around the other furniture now that the bottles are gone. Next I’ll have their surfaces gleaming with the furniture polish I found under the sink.

  I set the list and the pen down on the counter and move off to finish number one on my list.

  Chapter Eight

  I MIGHT BE COVERED IN slushy mud, and my hair may look like an actual rat’s nest, but my car is free from its pit and I’m rolling into town. I am the official champion of the cabin. Now all I need is some food, access to a garbage bin, another box of trash bags, and enough wine to drown my sorrows, and I’ll be all set for the winter.

  Calling the place I roll into a town is being generous. I think I’ll refer to it as a village. Maybe a hamlet. Is anyone even here? I sit in my car and stare at the grocery store in front of me. It’s more a mini-mart, being that it’s about the size of my cabin. Posters in the window advertising beer and cigarettes are faded and curled at the corners.

  A skinny, scrubby terrier-type dog is walking down the sidewalk in my direction with his head hanging low, the only sign of life that I’ve seen so far. My heart instantly goes out to him. He has to be freezing his little buns off out here. Where’s his owner? And how long has it been since he’s had a bath? His fur is matted in several spots, exposing skin to the elements.

  I look around but see no one else. The diner across the street appears to be open with its neon sign glowing, but as far as I can tell there aren’t any customers inside it. The few other stops nearby are closed, their lights off and shades drawn. This place is a ghost town — a terrible situation for a homeless or lost dog, for sure. It’s not so great for me either, but at least I have the cabin and my painting supplies.

  I dig around under the maps splayed out on my passenger seat and find some beef jerky I didn’t finish eating on the road trip part of my adventure. Bracing myself against the cold, I open the door. My breath is stolen from my lungs as the freezing air rushes in and destroys what little body heat I was able to store up on the trip over here.

  “Here, puppy, puppy, puppy…” I walk slowly towards the dog, my hand and beef jerky outstretched. I’ve seen this method on all the Hope For Paws videos I’ve watched. It totally works, even on mange-covered pit bulls.

  He slows and eyes me warily, his body pressing against the front of the building.

  “Do you want some beef jerky?”

  He stops, hunches his back up a little, and growls.

  I stop too, not sure where to go from here. I guess I was expecting him to be grateful for the attention, but he definitely looks like he’s not that interested. Maybe I should have started with a hamburger like they always do in those videos. I never thought I’d rue the day there wasn’t a McDonald’s in town, but here I am doing it. My life really is turning into an adventure.

  The door to the mini-mart opens and an old man walks out with a bag hanging from his fingers. As he crosses the street, he gives out some free advice, not bothering to look at me. “I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you. He’s a mean one.”

  “Thanks!” I say automatically. Then I frown, looking first at the man and then the dog. Lowering my voice, I address the canine. “Mean? You’re not mean, are you?”

  The dog lifts his upper lip and growls at me, showing some teeth.

  “Okay, so you do a convincing job of looking mean, I’ll give you that.” I take a step closer. “But aren’t you cold? Don’t you want to eat and get warm?” I don’t know what I’m offering this guy. It’s not like I can take in a stray right now; I’m a stray myself. Lucky for me, I had Leah.

  The thought makes my heart lurch. This situation is way too familiar to ignore. I was out in the cold — figuratively, but whatever — alone, scared, with nowhere to go… and Leah rescued me. She had a heart big enough to let me in, even though I was a shit friend to her.

  I am this dog. This dog is me.

  This is probably one of those karmic tests where the universe gives you the chance to make the right decision, and the choice you make determines your future happiness. And even if it’s not, what kind of human being would I be if I left this smallish beast out here in the cold? I don’t even have to think about it. No kind of human I want to be, that’s what kind.

  I throw the beef jerky at his feet and stand up straight. “You wait right here, little guy. I’ll be right back.” I notice as I grab my purse out of my car and shut the door that he’s ignoring me and sniffing at my offering. It gives me hope that I can help him somehow. I have no real plan. I figure one will come to me when the time is right. Like Leah always says: the Universe will provide.

  I ignore him now, not wanting to pressure him into running away, and push the door to the mini-mart open. I smile in greeting at the girl behind the counter. She looks to be in her mid-twenties and very pregnant. Much more pregnant than Leah for sure.

  “Hi,” she says, not very enthusiastically, glancing up for only a second.

  “Hello.” I pause, not sure which of the four aisles I should start with.

  “Can I help you find something particular?” She turns the page of a magazine as she hunches over on her stool, one hand resting on her round belly.

  “Ummm, sure.” I pull out the list I made earlier from my pocket. “Garbage bags, some meat, potatoes, onions, garlic powder, bread, peanut butter, jelly, and cereal. Oh, and some milk. And some wine. Oh, and some dog food, too.”

  She doesn’t even look up. “You’ll find most of it over there.” She lifts a finger and waves it to her left. “All the meat’s frozen back in that last cooler on the right.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Great. Frozen meat. As if my life isn’t frozen enough as it is. Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosey, right?

  I glance out the door and don’t see the dog, so I hurry as fast as I can to get my things into my little hand basket that I find at the end of one of the aisles, before he has a chance to wander off. Hopefully that beef jerky will keep him occupied for a few minutes or at least make him curious enough to see what else I might have for him. It sure kept me occupied. I started chewing on it in Manhattan, and I still had some of it in my mouth when I started heading up the first of the foothills.

  It takes two hands to lift my groceries up to the counter when I’m done.

  “You renting a cabin around here?” the girl asks, sliding her magazine over to make room.

  “Yes, kind of.”

  She glances up at me with a weird look in her eye so I rush to amend my response.

  “I’m staying at a friend’s place for free, actually. So I’m not renting it technically, but I’m not a squatter.”

  “Gotcha,” she says, using a gun-thing to beep all the prices. “Hope you’ve got a lot of wood.”

  Wood. Snow. Holy crap, I’m going to freeze. Why was wood not on the top of my list?!

  “Actually, I have none
,” I admit. “Do you know where I can buy some?”

  She points with her gun at the door. “Got some out front there. You can buy a bundle or two. It’s seasoned pretty good. But if you’re going to be here for the winter, I suggest you get a cord or two delivered, ‘cuz those won’t last more than a day.”

  “The wood people deliver?” I’m thrilled to the bone, imagining myself wearing only a single layer of clothing when I paint. It’s amazing how excited I can get over something I never before would have thought that much about. Warmth! It will be mine tonight!

  “Sure do. But you need to call ‘em right away, cuz they’re lazy. You don’t reach ‘em before noon, they’ll be too drunk to drive. Not that it stops ‘em much, but they don’t like working after noon, know what I’m saying?”

  I laugh, but then stop when I realize she’s not joking.

  “Do you have their number? And maybe I could use your phone? I have almost no cell signal up here.”

  “No one does. We’re still in the dark ages. You can use the phone over there.” She points to the other part of her counter. “Phone number’s on the bulletin board right next to it. Ben Carver, wood delivery. Ironic, huh? Carver.” She snorts.

  “Thanks.” As she finishes tallying my bill, I move over to the phone and pick it up off the cradle. It’s an old-school model with an actual rotary dial thingy. It would be totally charming if it weren’t so dirty. I’m afraid to put the handset too close to my face, so I let it hang in the air next to my ear.

  The wood-man answers with a gruff voice on the fourth ring, just as I was about to give up. “Ben here.” I can literally picture him sitting on a bar stool somewhere, a cigarette in his free hand, and a twenty-year-old baseball cap on his head.

  “Hello, Ben, this is Sarah Booker. I’m new in town and I need a cord of wood delivered. Right now I’m at the mini-mart, and the girl here said you deliver wood.”

  “That’ll be two hundred bucks, delivery included.”

  I’ve never bought a cord of wood in my life, being a central heating kind of gal in the past. He could have told me it would be five hundred bucks and I wouldn’t have argued. “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I live …” I have to think about that for a second. Do I know the address? I just followed directions that included a lot of landmarks. “Umm, on Squirrel’s Heath Road? Near the top?”

  “You asking me or telling me?”

  His question catches me off guard. “What?”

  “You’re saying it like you don’t really know. I’ve got four-wheel drive and all, but I don’t want to be drivin’ all over hell and back trying to find your place. So is it up on Squirrel’s Heath or not?”

  “Yes.” Hopefully I’m not sending him on a wild goose chase. I do remember that name featuring prominently on the map. “It’s the Oliver family cabin? Do you know them?”

  “Oliver? You mean like Jeremy Oliver?”

  “Yes. That’s one of them.”

  “That old, raggedy-ass drunk?” He laughs, all full of good humor now. “Well, okay, then. You’ve got yourself a cord a wood, Miz Oliver. Cash only. Have it ready for me when I come, because I have other deliveries today.”

  “And when will you be there?” I don’t bother correcting his misunderstanding about my name. This is a cash-only transaction so I’m probably not going to get a receipt.

  “Sometime today.”

  “Great.” I guess that means I’ll be hanging around all afternoon waiting on him to show up. Not that I had anything else planned, but it’s kind of rude not to give someone an idea of when you’re coming, right? Even if you’re a wood guy? At least the cable man gives me a two-hour window.

  “What’s the road like up there?” he asks. “I haven’t been there in a while.”

  “It’s very muddy.”

  “Gotcha. Okay. See you later.”

  “Okay, thanks. Bye.”

  He hangs up without another word and so do I. I rub my hand on my pants, dreaming I can remove the three billion germs now living on my fingers.

  “You all set?” the cashier asks.

  “I think so.” I take my wallet out of my purse, wondering how many of those three billion germs I’m now transferring to my personal belongings. I fight the urge to use sanitizer on everything right here in front of this girl.

  “Need any cigarettes?” she asks.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Rolling papers?”

  I pause, in the middle of pulling out my credit card. “Rolling papers?” I smile. “No. I haven’t used rolling papers since college.”

  She shrugs. “Pretty good sellers around here.” She glances at her register. “That’ll be seventy-two dollars even.”

  My eyes bulge out as I take in my three bags of groceries. “Wow. Pricey.”

  She shrugs again. “You want better prices, gotta go into town.”

  “I thought I was in town.”

  She smiles and shakes her head. “Nope. You’re still in the middle of nowhere.”

  I hand her my credit card and sigh. “That’s what I get for not shopping earlier.” I’d been so anxious to get here, I told myself I’d shop after I settled in. Little did I know how out in the boonies I’d end up. I look out the front doors, hoping to catch a glimpse of that dog. He’s the one bright side to this rinky-dink town. Maybe I can be a dog rescuer, at least. Surely the nearby town has an animal rescue…

  “Our machine’s broke.”

  I turn back to the girl at the register. “Excuse me?”

  She holds out my card. “Our credit card machine’s broke. Cash or check.”

  “You guys take checks?” I haven’t used a check at the grocery store in years. Maybe ever.

  “Yep.”

  I hand her four twenties and wait for my change. It’s becoming clearer every minute that I’m going to need to find the closest large town and take a big trip there. If I keep buying food at the mini-mart I’ll burn through my savings in three months, and I don’t have that much cash on me to start with. At this point I’d be willing to bet there’s no ATM in this middle-of-nowhere hamlet.

  “Supposed to be a big storm coming through this week,” she says as I wrangle my stuffed bags off the countertop and head for the door. “Hope you have lots of candles and flashlight batteries.”

  I pause with my hand about to push the door open and look back at her over my shoulder. “Do you guys lose electricity often?”

  “Aaaalll the time.” She smiles, but it doesn’t get all the way to her eyes.

  I deflate like a sorry balloon. I didn’t buy candles or batteries on this trip; looks like I need to do a little more shopping. “I’ll just go put these out in my car, and then I’ll come back in for the things I forgot.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” She sits down on her stool and picks up her magazine, chewing on a lock of hair as she stares at it.

  Chapter Nine

  THE MANGEY MUTT IS RIGHT where I left him, but the jerky is gone. He watches my every move as I pack my groceries into the passenger seat. I take out a can of wet dog food that I just bought and open it with the flip top. Holding it out, I walk towards him. “You want some of this?”

  He growls again. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but it seems less ferocious this time around.

  “Mmmm, delicious dog foooood, just for youuuu.” I take several steps forward, bent over with the can out in front of me. If he bites me, he’s going to get a mouthful of glove and metal, so I’m not too worried about getting hurt. Besides, he can’t weigh more than twenty pounds.

  His growl gets louder and his lip comes up again, revealing a yellow fang.

  “I’m going to call you Jaws. How many rows of those teeth do you have in there, anyway?” I’m just a foot away now, the can held out as far from my body as possible. “See? It’s just food, Jaws. Smells good, right?”

  His nose comes up as he sniffs the air. He stops growling for a few seconds before
starting up again.

  I stop and wait. “Listen, buddy, I’m not going to beg. Either come eat this food or I’m leaving. I have a wood delivery coming, and if I’m not there when the guy shows up, he’ll probably refuse to come back again, and knowing my luck he’s the only one in a hundred miles who has chopped wood for sale.”

  I stop talking, not because I’ve run out of things to say, but because I realize I’m having a one-sided conversation with a dog who probably hates me.

  He growls again.

  Yeah. He definitely hates me.

  I put the can down on the ground just inches from his nose. His growl gets louder.

  Standing, I back away with my hands up. “Fine. I’m going. You keep the food. And don’t worry … there aren’t any sharp edges on that can, I checked. But if you get your head stuck in it, I won’t be here to help you since you’re growling at me. I can take a hint.”

  He looks back and forth between the can and me.

  I don’t have time to discuss this with him anymore. I’m seriously worried about my wood delivery. It’s only lunchtime, but the temperature has already dropped, and the warning of that incoming storm has me imagining the worst. And I still don’t have my candles and batteries.

  I rush back into the store and grab two armloads of emergency supplies and pay for them with cash. I don’t even get a hello this time from Miss Sunshine behind the counter. She’s too busy filling out a questionnaire in her magazine about the perfect mate. I can see the title of the accompanying article from where I’m standing as I pay for my supplies. I could save her the trouble and tell her the perfect mate doesn’t knock a girl up and leave her to work in a convenience store alone, but I don’t bother. I’m no one to judge; my last boyfriend stole my couch before he left for good.

  Jaws the mutt has finished his food, or as much of it as he can get to. He’s pushing the can around with his paw, but when the opening spins my way, I can see that most of the contents are gone.

  “I’ll come back in a couple days to see you again, Jaws, okay?” I open my passenger door and put the bag in. “Unless you want to come with me?” I leave the door open and gesture to him to go into the car.