“I think I’m losing service.”
I thought I heard him tell me to call him later, but I couldn’t be sure before the call completely failed. I frowned, typing out a quick text to let him know I’d call him later. Placing my phone face-down on the kitchen counter, I let out a long breath through flat lips and looked around.
I’d propped the front door open, but felt a little stupid now that I’d changed into my sleep romper. It was a smooth and soft cotton garnished with beautiful lace detail, the admiral blue fabric breezy and light. It was perfect for sleeping in the city, but now I wished I had something warmer.
I also wished I knew what to do with myself.
I could watch TV, I thought. Or light a fire. I sniffed, wiping at my nose as the cold nipped at it, and that small sound seemed to make such a loud noise.
The silence was deafening.
I raided the cabinets for a glass and poured water from the tap, which seemed too loud amidst the utter and complete quietness of the cabin. I was alone. Really alone. I wondered how far away the neighbors were. And then I wondered if there were any crazy mountain men running loose.
Which was probably why I screamed like the last survivor of a horror movie at the sound of a croaky meow behind me.
My sock-covered feet slipped on the wood, and I struggled to catch my balance while not dropping the glass now bobbling between my hands. I finally caught my grip and steadied myself, heart racing and hair wild, and looked down to find the culprit behind the terror attack simply gazing up at me. He flicked his tail on the hardwood floor.
And the bastard meowed again.
I closed my eyes, hand still pressed against my racing heart as I let out a shaky laugh.
“Well hello there, little guy.” Wait. “Girl?”
The cat meowed again, lifting himself from the floor to do a little turn before plopping down again— just long enough for me to see that he was, indeed, a he, and to come to the conclusion that he hadn’t eaten in a while. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t stopped unpacking to eat.
“You hungry?” I asked, eying him over my shoulder as I searched through the cabinets and fridge.
He was pewter gray, with bright green eyes that looked back at me lazily as he simply licked a paw in answer
There was plenty of cookware and dishes but not a single thing to eat, which I guess was to be expected. It wasn’t like the cabin would come fully stocked with Veneto merlot and brie, although I would have used a genie wish to make it so at that moment. I sighed when I found a tiny can of tuna in the last cabinet.
“Gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose, but the cat popped up at the sight of the can. I lifted a brow, reaching into the drawer near the sink for the can opener I’d spotted. “Yeah, I guess you probably aren’t as picky as me right about now, are you?”
He seemed wary of me, still staying a few feet away as I opened the can and set it down on the floor. He didn’t move for it immediately, eyes darting to where I stood and back to the can again. When I moved to pick up my glass of water and took a seat at the stool on the other side of the kitchen counter, he slowly sauntered over, sniffing at the can for only a second before graciously chowing down.
“There you go, boy. Eat up.”
I smiled, but when my stomach growled again, I realized I was still in a predicament.
I pulled up the notes section on my phone and started a list of groceries and supplies, including leggings, which I hadn’t worn since Tim Gunn had deemed them appropriate for the gym or bedroom only. My beautiful romper would have cried out in rage if it had a mouth, but my prickly legs would have sighed in relief. It was too damn cold for fashionable sleepwear. Thinking back on all the clothes and shoes I’d just unpacked upstairs, I wondered if I’d brought much of anything that was actually practical. I’d used my little trip as an excuse to buy adorable Hunter boots, but other than that, I had a feeling I was screwed.
From the drive in and what Abdiel had told me, I’d have to make a little drive into the nearest town in the morning to stock up. It seemed like the perfect way to start my first full day at the cabin.
I left the door open until my new friend had finished eating, just in case he wanted to escape for the night. But when he licked the last bit of fish from his jowls, he simply flopped down again and croaked out another rough meow as thanks. I chuckled, poured him a small bowl of water, and shut the door for the night.
It was surreal, climbing back up the stairs and into a strange bed with sheets I’d never felt before. I at least had my favorite blanket—goose down, covered in a bright mint duvet cover that I’d sewn in college—and I pulled it up to my chin, smelling the familiar yet distant scent of home.
As the quietness settled in around me, I stared into the darkness. A pang of loneliness hit my stomach while I tried to fall asleep in a home that wasn’t mine. My lids were heavy, but so were my thoughts, and I’d spent enough sleepless nights at Adrian’s to know which one would win out if I didn’t succumb to sleep soon.
These were the moments I felt my loss the most. When there was nothing to do, no one to talk to, not a single distraction from my thoughts, my memories. I wasn’t allowed to miss the warmth of my old bed or the man who slept in it with me for years, but I did anyway, my curse as the one who left. I was the bad guy, and the bad guy wasn’t allowed to hurt.
But I did.
There was a pat of pressure near my feet, and the stray cat announced his arrival with a soft mewl and a purr that sounded like a broken motorboat. I stretched my hand out toward him—I could barely see him in the moonlit room, but he seemed to appraise me, as if wondering if he could trust me. Maybe it was the tuna, or maybe it was an animal sense, but he nudged my fingers, granting me permission to rub his coarse fur before he curled into a ball near the back of my knees.
“That’s some purr you got there, bud,” I said, scratching him behind the ears.
He rolled, offering me his belly, and I rubbed it gently only a few times before he changed his mind and steered me toward his head again.
“I think I’ll call you Rev, like the engine.”
He meowed, and I took that as approval.
I didn’t have words to tell that little ball of fur how thankful I was for him in that moment, for dulling my loneliness on that first night. With one last grin and a few more rubs behind his ear, I laid back again, and the little engine purred me right to sleep.
LACONIC
la·con·ic
Adjective
Using or involving the use of a minimum of words: concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious