“Your car doesn’t have four-wheel drive, city boy. The road to your cabin is steep and half-frozen. You’ll end up in a ditch, and I’m too old to haul you out.” She settled into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. “Now get in before I freeze my ass off.”
I got in.
The interior of the Miata suddenly felt tiny with Gladys in it. She smelled like wood smoke and something piney—the forest itself, maybe—and radiated a no-nonsense energy that made me want to sit up straighter and stop mumbling.
“Turn left out of the lot,” she instructed. “Then follow the road up the hill.”
I did as I was told, the Miata’s engine whining in protest as we climbed. The road was less “road” and more “suggestion,” winding up through the trees in a series of switchbacks that made my California driving experience feel woefully inadequate.
“So,” Gladys said after a moment of silence. “Running from something or running to something?”
“Excuse me?”
“People don’t rent cabins in the middle of nowhere in December unless they’re running or hiding. Which is it?”
I kept my eyes on the road, navigating around an enormous pothole. “Maybe I just wanted a quiet vacation.”
“Uh-huh.” She made a sound that might have been a laugh. “You Hollywood types are all the same. Think you can come up here and ‘find yourself’ or whatever nonsense you call it.”
“I’m not—” I stopped, because she wasn’t entirely wrong. “I just needed a break.”
“From playing a doctor on TV?”
“From playing anything.”
She glanced at me, and I felt the weight of her assessment. “Fair enough. Left at the fork.”
We drove in silence for another few minutes, climbing higher into the mountains. Through the trees, I caught glimpses of other cabins—small, isolated, exactly what I’d been hoping for.
“Your cabin’s the last one,” Gladys said. “Most private of the bunch. No neighbors to bother you except for the one next door, but he just checked in yesterday and seems like the type who keeps to himself.”
“Perfect.”
“There’s a general store about twenty minutes down the mountain. Shifflett’s. They’ve got everything you’ll need—food, firewood, emergency supplies. Cell service is spotty up here, but there’s a landline in the cabin if you need it.”
“That’s actually ideal.”
She frowned, then chuckled and shook her head. “You one of those meditation types? Gonna sit on a rock and contemplate your chakras or whatever?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe. Is that a problem?”
“Not my business what you do, long as you don’t burn the place down or attract bears.” She pointed ahead. “That’s yours. The one with the green shutters.”
The cabin appeared through the trees like something from a postcard I’d seen but never quite believed was real. It was largerthan I’d expected from the photos—two stories of weathered logs with a stone chimney, wide front porch, and those promised green shutters that looked hand-painted. Smoke rose from the chimney, which meant someone had already started a fire.
“I had my grandson get the place warmed up for you,” Gladys said, reading my mind. “Stocked the firewood, too. You know how to maintain a fire?”
“I... watched a YouTube video?”
She sighed the sigh of someone who’d been suffering fools for seventy years and hadn’t gotten used to it yet. “There are instructions on the mantel. Don’t let it go out overnight or you’ll freeze. And for God’s sake, open the flue before you add more wood.”
I parked in front of the cabin, and we both got out. The cold was even sharper up here, crisp and clean in a way that made my lungs work harder. But the view—God, the view. Mountains stretched out in every direction, and the silence was so complete it felt like a physical presence.
Gladys produced a key from her vest pocket and unlocked the front door. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
The interior was exactly what the photos had promised, if slightly more rustic. Exposed log walls, wide-plank wooden floors, a massive stone fireplace with a fire crackling away. The furniture was mismatched but comfortable-looking—overstuffed couch, worn armchairs, a dining table that could seat six. The kitchen was small but functional, with appliances that looked like they’d been installed in the nineties.
“Bedroom’s upstairs,” Gladys said, already moving toward the stairs. “Bathroom’s through there. Hot water takes a minute to get going, so don’t panic. Thermostat’s on the wall, but the fireplace is your primary heat source. Keep it fed.”
