We opened wine and poured two large glasses. Huck put more wood on the fire. I noticed that he’d brought in another load of logs from outside and thanked him for doing so.

  “It’s no problem. I’m glad to do it. The stack on the patio should last us another day, but I’m going to have to figure out how to get to the shed for more.” He sank into one of the armchairs and sipped from his wine. “What should we eat for dinner? A frozen pizza?”

  I nodded but didn’t answer, too busy savoring the wine. “This is good. I hope it’s not too expensive.” I was already worried about how I was going to pay for half of everything we were consuming from our unsuspecting hosts.

  “Don’t worry about it. I got you covered, either way.”

  “How did you know I was thinking about money?” I asked.

  “It hasn’t been that long ago that I worried about money,” he said. “When I first got out of college and took my first reporter job, things were tight.”

  Somehow I hadn’t imagined him ever worried about money. However, it was his parents who were wealthy, not him. “Did it clean you out to buy the newspaper?” I’d always wondered about that but had never felt as if I could ask.

  “Nah, the former editor couldn’t wait to get rid of it. I’d lived cheap when I was overseas, so I had a little nest egg I could use.”

  “Do you ever miss it?”

  “Miss what?” He took another drink of his wine. “Oh, you mean my former job?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I’ve been curious about that and what brought you home in the first place.” I knew I was in dangerous territory. Asking him about his past was risky. Anytime I’d done it before, he’d bitten my head off. That said, we seemed to be at a different level of friendship after nearly dying together.

  “I was done with that kind of work. A few things happened that last year I was there that convinced me life was too short.”

  “Was it hard to give up on your dream?”

  He shrugged. “By that point, I’d figured out it was not a dream anyone should have. I just wanted to get home and forget all about what I’d seen during the years I covered the war.”

  “That’s what brought me out here, too. In a way. My war was with my mother.” I touched my forehead, then brushed my bangs over my forehead.

  “Why Emerson Pass?” Huck asked. “Of all the places in the country to move, why there?”

  “I read an article about great winter wedding destinations in this travel magazine when I was a kid. I cut out the article and stuck it in a book. Every once in a while I’d take it out and look at the photo of the church with the red door and think about what it would be like to live in a place like that. When I finished school and had had enough of the city, I sold everything that wouldn’t fit into my old Honda and came west.” What a trip that had been. It had felt as if the whole world were at my fingertips. My real life starting at last. “I can remember the first time I drove into town like it was yesterday. Have you ever felt in your gut that something was right even though there wasn’t much evidence to back it up?”

  “Sure,” Huck said, noncommittally. “Where’s your mother now?”

  “As far as I know, she’s still living in upstate New York where I grew up. I haven’t talked to her in years. I was thinking about her earlier, wondering how long it would take her to find out I was dead. And would she even care?”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “I don’t think so. One time I heard her say to one of the boyfriends that she’d never wanted to be a mother and couldn’t wait for me to leave.”

  His eyes softened with obvious sympathy. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine now. But I’ll never forgive her or let her back into my life. There are some grievances you can’t let go. Some actions that cannot be forgiven.”

  He clicked his tongue, clearly understanding.

  “You don’t think we’ll be stuck here longer than we have food, do you?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “No, I’ve seen a lot of blizzards. They eventually stop. There’s a lot of food in there. I did a good search while you were sleeping. We have enough for at least a week. Plus, there were muffin mixes as well as flour and sugar and whatever else it is you use to make pancakes or biscuits.”

  “A biscuit sounds really good.” My mouth watered.

  “Doesn’t it? I saw a cookbook in the kitchen if you want to give them a try. I wouldn’t argue with you if you decided to take up cooking while we’re stuck here.”

  I laughed. “I was wondering what we were going to do here. Besides read, that is. There are some good reads on that shelf.” I held up the book to show him. “A few of your dad’s books, too.”

  “Figures.”

  I studied him for a moment. What was it exactly that bothered him about his father’s success?

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

  “I am trying to figure you out,” I said. “Why don’t you read your dad’s books?”

  He took a long time to answer. “I don’t know exactly. I guess I don’t want to be inside my father’s head. It’s hard to explain.”

  That made sense. Sort of. However, he wrote characters, so it wasn’t completely like getting into his father’s head. I decided to change the subject. “Tell me about Tiffany’s manuscript. Are you almost done?”

  He looked into the fire. “Yes, it’s off to an editor friend of mine. It felt good to work on something like that. Something important. It sickens me every time I think about what she went through—what those men did to the girls.”

  I nodded, feeling that familiar pang every time I thought about sweet Tiffany growing up in a cult.

  “She’s thankful for your help, I know that,” I said. Tiffany had truly blossomed of late, thanks to Breck’s love and support. In addition, she’d mentioned recently that telling her story to Huck had lessened the hold the past had on her. Maybe I should do the same?

  We were quiet for a few minutes, sipping our wine. Despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t, Huck intrigued me. He was quiet most of the time, other than when he was growling at me. However, I had a feeling that his mind was never quiet.

  “I was thinking about her book earlier,” Huck said. “Not at the moment, obviously, but when I realized we weren’t dead, I thought about what mattered to me and what I was proud of. You might be surprised to know how few things are on that list. Her story might be the best work I’ve ever done.”

  Given his career as a war correspondent, it surprised me to hear him say that a book told to him by someone else was his most important work. Again, still waters ran deep.

  “Do you ever think about writing the story of your time in Afghanistan?” I braced myself for a harsh retort to mind my own business.

  Instead, he shook his head. “I don’t think I ever could. Reliving it would be too hard. I’ve repressed some, too. And then I wonder, does anyone really need to know what I saw over there? It’s not like anyone can do anything. I couldn’t. Not one thing that would change anything over there for the better. And now, well, you know what’s happened recently. When I think of all the good people I met over there.” He closed his eyes, and his face twitched as if he were in physical pain. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your new job at the gallery.”

  I did as he asked, describing the work we’d done to get the gallery up and running. “I’ve mostly worked with Jennie on it. Crystal’s just funding the project for her mom.” Jennie, Crystal’s mother, was a successful potter and knew a lot of respected artists. Her idea was to feature several new artists every quarter. “She’s hoping to sell some pieces for her artist friends. We have a lot of people with money that come through Emerson Pass during ski season.”

  “It’s a good idea. I’ll be sure to do a piece for the paper.”

  Just then, we heard a tremendous crash that sounded like it was right next to the patio. “What was that?” I jumped up, hands and feet tingling with fear. Loud noises brought me right back to my childhood. I went to the window, sure I would see a man with a gun. It wasn’t a man. A bear was making himself at home on the patio, rooting around. Was he looking for food?

  “It’s a bear,” I said, voice shaking. “He’s hungry. It’s spring and he probably just woke up.”

  “You’re right about that.” Huck got up to join me, sounding amused. “But he can’t get in here.”

  “What about the broken window?” Could a bear reach inside and unlock a door?

  “He won’t come in. He’s more afraid of us than we are him.”

  “I don’t think so.” I eyed the bear warily. He wasn’t a large bear. I didn’t think, anyway. In fact, he was kind of cute, all brown and furry. Not that I wanted him to come any closer.

  Instinctively, I moved toward Huck. The man might be grumpy, but he knew his way around these woods. “I’m glad you’re here. Or I’d probably already have been eaten by a bear.”

  “I don’t know that he’d choose you for his supper—too scrawny.”

  “Not if he hasn’t eaten all winter,” I said. “Even a skinny chicken wing is better than none.”

  Huck laughed. “Give it a minute. He’ll see there’s no food out there and scuttle off. The trash cans are in the shed there, so he can’t get in there. You have to do that out here or you’d have a bear in the trash every day.”

  I thought longingly of my apartment above the newspaper offices. The second story was much more unlikely to be inhabited by a bear or any other creature. Although one morning I’d woken to a raccoon’s face staring at me from the tree outside my bedroom windows.

  We stood side by side and watched as the bear got bored and ambled away, through the snow and down toward the riverbank.

  “I feel bad for him,” I said. “How’s he supposed to find anything to eat with all this snow?”

  “He’ll find some fish.” Huck chuckled. “But I bet he’s super irritated with the weather. He’s wondering why he didn’t stay hibernating.”

  I went to stand in front of the fire, feeling suddenly chilled. The heat felt good on the back of my legs.

  “That reminds me,” Huck said. “Your clothes are clean and dry.”

  He disappeared for a few seconds and came back with my jeans and sweater folded into a neat square. He cleared his throat. “Your underthings are in the folds of the jeans.”

  “Are you blushing?” I asked, laughing.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not thirteen.”

  My observations had led me to believe that most men were thirteen in their minds. I didn’t say so, though. We were getting along so well. I didn’t want to mess anything up by shooting off my mouth.

  I went to the bedroom to change out of the baggy jeans and sweatshirt into my own clothes. Doing something so normal made me feel more like myself. If I could just put my friends out of my mind, I could enjoy myself a little. That’s when it hit me. My camera was in Huck’s car. How had I not thought of it until now? I let out a wail.

  “What’s wrong?” Huck’s voice came from behind the closed bedroom door.

  I yanked it open. “My camera and lenses. My laptop. They were in the car. I can’t believe I just thought of it.”

  His face fell. “I’m sorry. My computer was in there. Thank God I religiously back things up.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling sick to my stomach. “I can’t afford new equipment.”

  “Do you have insurance?”

  I brightened, remembering that I’d taken out a policy when I started renting from Huck. “I do. Renters’ insurance. In case I burned down the building.”

  “Don’t even say that.” He smiled in a way that was surprisingly reassuring. “But good idea. Your policy will probably cover your equipment.”

  I certainly hoped so. Without my camera, the entire wedding season would be a bust. Just when things were picking up. I buried my face in my hands, suddenly overwhelmed.

  We agreed to fix dinner and not dwell on this thing we had no control over anyway.

  Wasn’t that always true in life? We wasted so much energy on that which we couldn’t fix. It was better to focus on what you could change. Right now it was my attitude.

  Huck poured us more wine while I surveyed the contents of the pantry. “I know how to make pasta and heat up sauce.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “No meatballs, though,” I said, teasing. “By the end of this storm, I’ll have you eating vegetarian.”

  “As long as someone else makes it, I’m happy.”

  Was that true? Was he easygoing about such things? I contemplated this as we moved around the small kitchen, careful not to touch each other. Why was that? Did we think we might explode if we brushed hands?

  “How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I asked, before thinking it through. Should I have kept that one to myself? By the immediate scowl that transformed him from handsome to grumpy, the answer would be yes. “Never mind,” I added hastily and with a note of apology in my voice.

  “No, it’s all right. I’m not used to talking about things like this. The reason I don’t have a girlfriend? Let’s see. How long have you got?”

  “Well, apparently, at least a few more days.” I pointed toward the windows.

  “I dated a few women when I was overseas. Other reporters. But nothing serious. More like two lonely souls in the loneliest of places taking comfort from each other. Since then, I haven’t been interested in bringing an unsuspecting woman into my messiness. I mean, you know. You work with me almost every day. Am I a man who should have a girlfriend?”

  “Well…” I smiled, hoping to take the edge off what I was about to say. “You’re not the easiest person to get along with.”

  “Right. And I come with enough baggage to plow over any good woman before too long.”

  “Maybe a girlfriend would help? You might feel less grumpy if you were having sex on a regular basis.”

  “Perhaps. But it wouldn’t be just sex, would it? That’s not how women work.”

  “What does that mean?” I bristled. Here it was. The whole: women want commitment and because they do, I’m suffocating speech. God, I hated that.

  “Before you get all mad, I mean that at our age, women want to date seriously, not sleep around. I’m not in any position to offer anyone a partnership. You of all people should know that.”

  “It’s good that you know that,” I said. “So you don’t break someone’s heart unnecessarily.”

  “Exactly.” He looked somewhat satisfied by my response. “It’s actually more responsible to simply stay away from women.”

  “Is there anyone you like, though?” I asked. “Anyone you wish they’d agree to just sex with no attachments?”

  His eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn’t read. There might be a woman, but he wasn’t about to tell me. “What about you, Collins?”

  As we’d talked, I’d filled a pot with water and set it on the burner. “There’s no one in my life worth going to the trouble. I’m too old for games, and men don’t like women like me for a relationship.”

  “Why do you say that?” He poured more wine into my glass and then leaned against the counter with his arms folded. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked this without inflection, as if he were truly interested in what I had to say.

  “I’m not like Tiffany or Brandi. They’re sweet and nurturing. Great mothers. Great looking on some man’s arm.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Well, look at me.” I ran a hand down the front of my jeans.

  “I’m looking. What I see is a rare beauty.”

  I laughed. “Rare? What’s that?”

  “I mean you’re exceptionally pretty. Different looking than a lot of women with their long hair and pink sweaters but pretty nonetheless.”

  “Pink sweaters,” I said, laughing. “Instead of combat boots and tattoos?” I moved my collar to show him the dragonfly just above my left breast.

  “Why a dragonfly?” Huck asked.

  “I love them. They’re so colorful and optimistic.”

  “Optimistic? How can you tell?”

  “I mean, flying around like that all day with those delicate wings? How can they be anything but optimistic? Don’t they know how vulnerable they are?”

  “I never thought of it that way, but you have a point.” He picked up his wineglass and took a slug. “Aren’t we all like the dragonflies, though? Running around with our delicate wings or hearts, as the case may be, expecting we’ll be fine when the truth is we’re a second away from complete disaster?”

  “Like today?” I asked. “Except we’re still here.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Did it make you think about things you wish you’d already done?” I asked, flushing as I realized I’d just revealed my own thoughts.

  “Yeah, if you want to know the truth. I should be a better person. Unfortunately, that may not be possible.”

  “What would make you a better person? Like what would you have to do? Rescue some cats or orphans?”

  “I could start with my family. They’re all so nice, and I’m sarcastic and caustic. All the ‘tics.’ They all love me, even though I don’t deserve it. I can see my mom struggling all the time to find a way to connect with me. But I’m shut down. I can’t seem to figure a way out—a way to fly around like a dragonfly with this innate sense that all will be well. I know it isn’t and never will be. We might have moments of respite, but eventually, everything goes wrong again.”

  “But we can’t live that way,” I said. “We have to find a way to believe the future will be better than the present.”

  “What about those of us who, even during moments of peace, we’re waiting for something bad to happen?”

  “Maybe get a tattoo? One that reminds you that life is hard, yes, but also beautiful. We have to have faith that everything will work for good in the end.”

  He stared at me with his head tilted to one side. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Most of the time, yes.”

  “Even after everything you went through?” Huck asked.

 

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