They’re stone.
Oldstones, piled like bricks with cracking mortar around them. I touch the mortar where it’s falling away, looking for loose stones that could hide something behind them, but I don’t find any loose.
I walk into three different cobwebs and handle it in silence.
Every once in a while, I catch Davis watching me.
“Did you already do this?” I ask him.
“Not as thoroughly.”
I don’t believe him.
I don’t think there’s anything the man doesn’t do thoroughly.
He kissed me thoroughly a few times, didn’t he?
He ate my pussy thoroughly, didn’t he?
He went diving in to protect me multiple times in the past two days, also thoroughly, didn’t he?
And now he’s thoroughly pretending none of it happened while he thoroughly sweeps the dirt floor with his metal detector.
Twice.
He even tests that it’s working by tossing a coin on the ground.
I watch him, fascinated not by the test, but by how he’s able to do it. “You still carry change?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Need it sometimes.”
See?
He’s even thorough in his preparations for what he might need in case of who knows what?
“Were you a Boy Scout?” I ask him.
“No.”
“But you’re always prepared now.”
“Life lessons.”
“Who cleared out your great-grandfather’s things?” It makes zero sense that this basement would be here but empty. If I died all alone—whenI die alone—someone will have to go through my things and sell my house.
Not that I’ll bealonealone.
I’ll be single.
But not alone.
I’ll have friends who will take care of arrangements.
Everything I heard about the last owner of this cabin though—he was alone.
