The Best Things in Life

by Kate Sweeney

“I brought suitable clothes. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, you can throw those in the wash if you need to.”

  Cara was dumbfounded. “The wash? I…these are dry clean only.”

  “Really? You have to take them to a cleaner?”

  “Yes.” Cara looked down at her designer pantsuit. “Sorry it’s not flannel. What’s wrong with it?” This was an odd conversation with someone she just met.

  “Not a thing. Just a little out of place up here. You’ll freeze your…you’ll freeze at night. I just thought you’d like to be comfy and not in your work clothes. It’s going to get a little chilly, and if you didn’t have anything, I have something you could wear. You look to be the same size as Jean.”

  “Wouldn’t she mind?”

  “Not Jean. She doesn’t care. She leaves clothes here all the time.”

  Cara’s curiosity was about to get the better of her, but she decided against it.

  Morgan laughed. “I can see your reporter instincts are on point.”

  Cara knew she blushed, but she did laugh. “Sorry.”

  “Not at all. Whenever Jean can’t get to one of her patients by car, she calls me. Sometimes, we get caught in the rain or snow. It’s easier for her to keep a change of clothes here. There are times I do more laundry for her than I do for myself.” She finished her beer, tossing the bottle in the basket. “So, dinner.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll go change from my work clothes.”

  Morgan laughed, leading the way to the spare room. Betty had put her luggage on the bed, which looked inviting with a plush patchwork quilt and huge pillows. A little nightstand had a rustic-looking lamp that dimly lit the room, which had a comfortable feel to it and was much bigger than she expected.

  “It’s not a fancy hotel, but it’s not too bad,” Morgan said.

  “Of course not. It’s very nice, thank you.”

  For a moment, Cara looked into Morgan’s eyes; she didn’t know why, but she had a hard time looking away. It was probably the vivid blue.

  “Well, I’ll, um, let you get to whatever you’re…” Morgan stepped back. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Cara didn’t like the shy, awkward tone in her voice. Get a grip!

  The shower and deep bathtub looked inviting, but she was too hungry; she envisioned a hot bath later. She quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a lightweight sweater.

  Morgan had a fire going; she was just dusting off her hands when Cara walked in.

  “Hey.” Morgan smiled. “Now you look comfy. You must be starving.”

  “I am. You said something about stew? Won’t that take a long time to cook?”

  Morgan grinned. “No. Come, I’ll show you.”

  Cara cautiously followed her out of the kitchen to a small room that led to the back door. Cara figured it was the laundry room when she saw the washer, dryer, and washtub; she was a great reporter, after all. It had a huge water heater and on the opposite wall an enormous freezer, which now Morgan had the upper half of her body nearly falling into.

  “This is where most of my electric bill goes.” She pulled out two freezer bags. “I usually take a weekend and make dinners like this. It helps when I get really busy and don’t want to cook. So, ready-made stew. Just heat and eat.”

  “Very clever.” Cara peered into the full freezer. “Holy cow.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You hunt?”

  “Oh, God, no. I could never shoot anything. I’ll eat it. I’m a hypocrite that way.”

  “So, this is beef?”

  “No, don’t worry.” Morgan laughed. “Not from Fred. Don’t look so horrified. There is some beef but mostly venison. And walleye, bass, vegetables, and fruit. It’s how I get paid.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Morgan laughed. Cara followed her back to the kitchen.

  “Have a seat.”

  “So you use the barter system up here?”

  “Something like that. Can I get you another beer?”

  “Oh, no thanks.”

  “Wine?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “This might be fun,” Morgan said. “I don’t get many visitors. Red or white?”

  “Red is fine.”

  Morgan opened a narrow door under the counter. It was a stocked wine rack. “It stays cool all year-round.”

  “That’s nifty,” Cara said.

  “Mom’s idea. She’s an alcoholic.” She stopped and looked at Cara. “She’s not. It was a joke.”

  Her serious tone had Cara laughing. “I figured.”

  “Do the honors?” She handed Cara the bottle and the opener.

  Morgan had a huge pot of water on the stove and put both frozen bags in the boiling water.

  Cara looked around the kitchen. “You don’t have a microwave?”

  “What? Oh, no. Never got around to it.”

  “You realize how much quicker you’d have dinner.”

  “Sure. But I’m never in that much of a hurry.” She retrieved a loaf of French bread and a bottle of olive oil from the counter, and some Parmesan cheese from the fridge.

  Suddenly, Cara’s stomach growled.

  “Something to tide you over. You must be starved. I am sorry I didn’t feed you today.”

  “That’s all right.” Cara uncorked the wine. “I’m not your responsibility.”

  Morgan handed her two glasses, which were not wineglasses. Cara nearly laughed out loud. They were glasses with colorful pheasants in flight etched into them, along with a hunter at the bottom and geese flying along the top.

  “My grandmother had glasses like these.”

  Morgan laughed, setting the makeshift appetizers on the table. “These were my grandma’s glasses. Sorry, never got around to proper wineglasses.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Cara said, though it seemed so strange to drink a good bottle of wine out of drinking glasses from the fifties.

  Again, Morgan laughed. “You don’t sound so sure.” She sliced the crusty bread, poured the olive oil on the plate, and added the grated cheese on that. “I learned this from Jean. She went to some fancy restaurant in Montreal.”

  Cara tried to hide her grin at the excited tone. Morgan really needed company. She hoped she would survive Chicago. Cara poured two glasses, then she tried the bread. She didn’t know if it was that good or if she was that hungry.

  “There’s a hint of garlic.”

  Morgan dipped the bread into the oil and cheese. “It’s in the olive oil. It’s good, eh?”

  “It is. And this bread is delicious.”

  “That’s my mother. She’s the baker in the family. Her bread is the best. It’s my grandma’s recipe.” Morgan held up her pheasant glass. “To an adventure.”

  “An adventure.” Cara smiled and did the same. “But we won’t have any cows in Chicago. The stockyards are long gone.”

  “And you’re a good sport.”

  “Thank you.” Cara sipped her wine, feeling it warm her all the way down to her wool-socked feet. She sat back and relaxed. “So, explain your barter system.”

  “Hmm, right,” Morgan mumbled with a mouthful; she took a long drink of wine. “My neighbors around the lake need my help from time to time. I deliver the mail every other week in good weather, once a month in the winter when I take the snowmobile. I deliver their groceries when needed, packages, things like that. So, Mike’s a hunter, and I get venison. When he fishes, I get walleye. Halley and Don have chickens, and she has several blue and blackberry bushes, so I get eggs and fruit. It works for me,” she said, dipping another piece of bread. “They don’t have ready cash anyway. They’d never be able to pay, and besides, I get paid from the county for delivering the mail. I usually do that by boat, but sometimes, I use the plane. I own this place, and the money I get from the county goes for taxes, gas, upkeep on the plane. But to tell the truth, Andy—he’s a mechanic—I fly him and his buddies out to the island a few times a month to fish. In turn, he handles any
thing minor with the plane. So it works out fine for everyone. My dad and his brother started Gavin Tours, so we have some income during the summer.”

  Cara watched Morgan while she talked about her neighbors. She seemed centered and grounded; she knew who she was and enjoyed her life.

  “I met Susan and Bud at the doctor’s office this morning. Your mother was getting your meds.”

  “Oh, yeah. He fell off a ladder, broke his ankle. She should have given Bud those pain meds. I don’t use them. They just moved here a few years ago. Susan’s parents own the resort, and they’re taking over for them. He’s done some carpentry work for me here. I helped him move some lumber. That was a project.”

  “Did you build this house?”

  “No. My grandfather, my dad, and Uncle Jerry. Way before I was born. They built it back in the fifties. We’ve had the land in our family for generations.”

  “How much land?”

  Morgan sat forward and refilled their glasses. “I really don’t know. Mom and Pop have all the records. My family moved here from Canada back in the forties after the war. I think we have about sixty acres. Mostly woods, all on the lake.” Morgan looked at her and laughed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you have any idea how much the property is worth?”

  “Mom does.”

  “Don’t you want to know?”

  “Not really. It’s not important.” Morgan walked over to the stove to check on the stew. “I’d love it no matter what it was worth.”

  Amazing, Cara thought. The woman is probably living on a goldmine.

  “Did you ever think of doing anything with it?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s real estate. You could sell some of it, and if the fishing and hunting are as good as you’re telling me, a resort or rentals, or…”

  Morgan sat once again. “There’s enough of them around the lakes up here. We like to keep the boundary waters clean and as primitive as possible.”

  “Primitive?” Cara ate another piece of bread.

  “Unspoiled and untouched.” Morgan sat forward. “If you cut down the forests and put beaches and housing in, you erode the landscape. Think of all the wildlife you’d displace.” Morgan shook her head. “No way. Not as long as we own it. It’s family.”

  Cara shrugged and drank her wine.

  Morgan chuckled. “It’s not always about money.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting it was.”

  Morgan tilted her head. “Okay. I apologize.”

  “Quit apologizing.”

  “I’m…Okay.” Morgan sipped her wine.

  Cara was keenly aware Morgan was watching her.

  “Our first fight?” Morgan said with a grin.

  Cara glared for a moment, then laughed. “And we survived.”

  “But you’re not going to write about it.” Morgan cocked her head. “Are you?”

  “I’m not sure. It depends on how many more arguments we have.”

  When Morgan laughed, it transformed her completely. She looked years younger, just from a laugh. Cara found herself chuckling, as well.

  “I can see us having a few. You might be writing a book. Either way, you’re a good sport. Enough play, I’m starving. Dinner’s ready.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Yes. Bowls are in the cabinet on the left. Spoons in the drawer under it. Napkins on the table. Let’s eat in the living room by the fire.”

  While Morgan prepared two bowls of stew, Cara grabbed everything else.

  “Don’t forget the wine.”

  Morgan threw a few logs on the fire, which started it blazing. Cara sat on the couch looking at the steaming bowl of stew. It looked delicious.

  “I hope you like venison.” Morgan sat next to her. She had the loaf of bread. “Forgot a knife.”

  “I’ll get one.”

  “No, sit still.” She then ripped off a small chunk.

  Cara tried not to show her surprise, then cautiously took the mangled loaf.

  “I’ve had venison before, but in steaks,” Cara said, ripping a small piece of bread. “I enjoyed it.”

  “Great. Then I think you’ll like this.”

  It was delicious; she nearly inhaled it. Morgan seemed to be just as hungry. They barely spoke while eating.

  “Boy, that hit the spot.” Morgan dipped the last of the bread into her bowl, sopping up the last of the gravy. She then sat back. “How was it?”

  “Don’t bother me, I’m licking the spoon.”

  Morgan laughed. “I have more. It’s no problem.”

  “No, no. I’m pleasantly full. Thank you.” Cara wanted to sit back against the cushions but felt awkward.

  As if understanding, Morgan moved to the overstuffed chair by the fire, putting her feet up on the ottoman. “Give ya some room to stretch out. This was a busy first day. Make yourself at home.”

  Morgan’s heartfelt invitation washed away any awkwardness. Cara lay down, hugging a throw pillow.

  “That is a huge fireplace.”

  “My dad said they needed it for the main source of heat back in the dark ages. I put in central heating about five years ago. Before that? This fireplace was going nonstop in the winter. And it was hot as Hades on some days in the summer. But ya know, even now, I rarely use the air conditioning in the summer. Mom thinks I’m nuts.”

  “Listen to your mother.”

  Morgan laughed, looking at the crackling fire. “Nothing beats a fire on a cold night.”

  Cara watched the flickering flames. “I love the smell.”

  “It’s the oak and the balsam.” Morgan yawned. “Balsam burns too quick, but it smells the best.”

  Cara felt her eyelids grow heavy. She looked at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly seven thirty. She smiled, cuddling the pillow.

  “What are you thinking?” Morgan asked softly.

  “I’m just thinking I ate too much, which rarely happens.”

  “You’re a grilled chicken and kale kinda gal?”

  “No…” But it was mostly true. While she loved to go out for dinner, she always watched her carb intake. Morgan’s laugh signaled she didn’t believe Cara. “Must be the rarified air up here in the boundary waters. Back home right now, I’d be…” She stopped. Her eyes flew open, and she jumped up. “Oh, my God. Kim.”

  “Uh. It’s Morgan.”

  “No! Kim, my girlfriend.”

  Morgan smiled. “Your girlfriend? You’re gay?”

  “Of course I’m gay.” Cara looked at her. “Does that bother you?”

  Morgan frowned but still smiled. “It shouldn’t. So am I.”

  “I know.”

  “Is it obvious?” Morgan’s gaze darted around the room. “Never mind. My mother, right? Well, we have something in common, after all.”

  Cara saw the grin and tried to avoid it. “I can’t discuss this. I’ve got to call her. Where’s my phone?”

  “Probably in your purse. On the table.”

  “I can’t believe it. I was supposed to call when I got here.” She ran to get her phone to see several missed calls. “Oh, shit!” She looked at Morgan, who was smiling. She turned her back to her when Kim answered.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m sorry. Things got away from me here. I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you at the hotel?”

  “No. I’m at Miss Gavin’s.”

  “Oh. Who is that? His relative?”

  “Whose relative?”

  “Morgan Gavin’s. You said you were at Miss Gavin’s.”

  “Oh…” Cara winced. “Um, you’re going to find this very funny.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes.” Cara cleared her throat. “Morgan Gavin is a woman. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Hysterical. And of course, you didn’t know this when you took the assignment.”

  Cara glanced at Morgan, who drank her wine while staring at the fire.

  “What is that supposed to mean? Of course I didn’t know. It wa
s a logical assumption. Morgan is her mother’s maiden name, if that’s any of your business.”

  “Never mind. At least give me the number of the hotel.”

  “I’m not staying at a hotel. I-I’ll be staying here.”

  “What? You’re staying at her home? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Cara pulled the phone away from her ear from the screech. “Yes. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Why didn’t you call me sooner? I’m sitting here like a jackass with everyone waiting on your call.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I-I got caught up in everything.”

  “Like what?”

  Cara winced. “Well, keep in mind we’re in the, um…”

  “Boundary waters,” Morgan offered.

  Cara glared at her.

  “I know where you are, Cara. What the fuck is going on?”

  “See, Morgan had to take Jean, she’s the vet—”

  “She’s a veteran?”

  Cara sighed. “Not a vet, the vet. She’s a veterinarian. Anyway, we had to take her to Fred’s farm. His cow was having a baby cow—”

  “Calf,” Morgan threw in again.

  “Calf,” Cara said, closing her eyes. “And Morgan had to take her there in her plane.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, you could just say so.”

  “You think I’m making this up?” Cara’s voice grew louder. “If I didn’t want to tell you, I would’ve said that.” She stopped, then continued calmly. “Of all the excuses I could make…a cow? Really, Kim? A fricking cow! And a plane?” She yelled into the phone.

  “Why are you getting mad at me?” Kim asked. “You’re the one who forgot to call.”

  “Yes, I did. And I apologized.”

  “I’m sitting here at the bar like a jackass.”

  “You said that.” Cara stopped and breathed through her nose. “Okay, why don’t you do this? Have a shot of tequila. That should kill that wild bug that crawled up your ass!”

  Cara could hear Kim’s breathing on the line. She glanced at Morgan, whose jaw dropped in amazement. Now she felt stupid; she hated when her anger got the better of her.

  “Look, I have a week or so to get Morgan—”

  “It’s Morgan, huh?”

  Cara clenched her jaw to bite off a retort. “There isn’t a hotel within thirty miles. I’d have to rent a car and drive back and forth. It was extremely nice of Morgan to offer her spare room. Look, I’ll call you in a few days. Don’t make derisive snorts like that, it’s childish. I’ve apologized, and I won’t again.”