“Yes?”
He extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Give it to me.” When I put my phone in his palm, he briskly entered the coordinates of my cabin and dropped a pin. “You’re lucky the mountain has cell coverage,” he said sternly, “the owner put in a cell tower so none of the residents would have to risk being without WIFI for a single second.”
“Why Mr. Rogers, you almost sound like you’re capable of sarcasm, this is an exciting development.” I knew the second it was out of my mouth that my relationship with the handyman had not progressed to the stage where lighthearted quips would be appropriate. Actually, I could not picture a time in this weird relationship where this would be welcome.
Steve slapped the phone back into my hand. “Go.”
So, I did.
Steve…
One week ago…
“Aura’s very sweet, you’ll love her. She’s shy because she’s a writer but…” the woman I was staring at on my Zoom call had a wide, false smile that was fading fast.
“Just how helpless are we talking here?” I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. “I don’t have time to hand-hold her through every little crisis.”
“No! It’s not like that, Steve. Just show her around the cabin, and maybe some of those safety features we talked about?”
Yeah,I thought,that big, fake smile of hers is definitely turning into desperate and anxious.
“James is very appreciative of your extra time and effort?”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned forward to end the Zoom call. “Fine. Tell him I will do just as much as I can tolerate for her. Which will be next to nothing if she’s as irritating as I expect she’ll be.”
The assistant - Molly? Mary? Whatever, sent me a picture of Aura with the rest of James’ requirements for her stay. She was pretty, even though the picture they used for the back of her book covers is terrible. Chestnut brown hair, shoulder length. Shoulders hunched in the photo like she’s bracing for someone to slap her. But her eyes … brown with a golden ring around the pupil and steely. Those eyes told me that she’d been through hell and she’d just kept going.
Aura…
I paced in one direction and then the other, staring at my laptop, then plopped down with the intention of genius flying out of the tips of my fingers and onto the monitor, and then … didn’t.
“This is it,” I moaned, “I’m screwed. I’m never going to write again and I’m going to die alone, homeless, and in a dumpster and my parents will be right!” Of all these nightmare scenarios, my parents being right was the worst, and I sat down again, determined to write something. Anything. My phone rang. “Oh, thank god,” I mumbled and seized it eagerly. “Hello?”
“Well, you sound cheerful,” my agent said warmly, “that’s great. Settling in already?”
“Oh, hey,” I struggled to keep the smile on my face because I just knew the next words out of his mouth would be….
“Have you been writing? Even some practice paragraphs?”
“No,Dad,” I snarled, “I’ve been busy unpacking and getting lost in the middle of the forest and-”
“What?” his voice sharpened, “You got lost?”
“Well,” I shrugged, “that’s what the irascible handyman says, but-”
“Do I hear a hint of interest here?” James teased you, “My assistant did say he looked like a lumberjack model when she video conferenced him last week to set up the lease. Maybe a little inspiration for your new book?”
“What, seriously?” I cried, aghast, “The man is a total dick!”
“Fine.”
I could hear his long-suffering sigh, which of course made me immediately feel guilty. Even if James was unbearably pushy, he’d handled the whole mess, the police, and security when the letters started. “Have there been any more of… you know. The letters and stuff? Pictures?”
He was silent for a moment and I wished we were Facetiming so I could see his expression. “We don’t have to go there. Look, you’re safe and no one on this planet - aside from me well, and my assistant - knows where you are. You don’t even need to think about that psycho. You can concentrate on your writing and do what makes you happy. Are you still running?”
“Yes.” God, I knew I sounded sulky and childish.
“Good! Good,” he said cheerfully, “tell you what. Just send me, I don’t know, a couple of chapters about living in the woods. Like Thoreau in Walden, right?”
