The days between Wednesday and Saturday crawled past like wounded animals dragging themselves toward water. Time, which usually flowed past me on the mountain in a steady, unmarked current, now moved at a glacial pace.
I split firewood with restless manic energy until my arms burned and my shoulders ached. I checked the hives three times in two days while my mind wandered miles away. Sarah would chatter about her day at dinner, about what she hoped theymight read at tutoring, and I'd nod along, only half-hearing, my thoughts constantly circling back to warm hazel eyes and a sad smile.
I thought of her constantly. The way she knelt to talk to children, putting herself at their level. The trace of sorrow in her expression that mirrored my own, a silent understanding between us. The easy, natural way she connected with Sarah, drawing out smiles and laughter with a magic I couldn't begin to replicate. And the way she said my name,Cole, like it was just a word, not an accusation or a preamble to a demand.
By Friday night, I was a complete disaster. Saturday morning was considerably worse.
I woke before dawn, unable to sleep any longer. Made pancakes for Sarah because it felt like a special occasion. Burned the first batch completely because I couldn't focus on anything.
"These taste like charcoal," Sarah observed, poking at the blackened disc on her plate with deep suspicion.
"They're crispy."
"They're black, Uncle C. Really black."
"That's a style choice. Cajun-style pancakes."
She gave me the look, one that said she was humoring her ridiculous guardian but wanted it officially noted for the record that she knew better. I scraped the burned batch into the trash and made another. These were acceptable, if not exactly fluffy.
Then came the impossible clothes situation.
I put on my gray flannel shirt. Looked in the small bathroom mirror. Too boring, too everyday. Switched to the blue flannel. Studied my reflection. The blue one practically screamedI'm trying to impress someone.Obvious. Embarrassing. Desperate. Switched back to the gray immediately.
"Uncle C." Sarah stood in the bathroom doorway, already dressed in her green corduroy dress and white tights, watchingme with undisguised fascination. "You changed your shirt again."
"The blue one had a spot on it."
"No, it didn't."
I stared at her. She stared back, utterly unimpressed by my weak excuse.
"There's no shirt in existence that just says 'functional adult,' is there?" I muttered to my reflection.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing important. Go brush your teeth, please."
"I already brushed them."
"Then brush them again. Dental hygiene is important."
She sighed the world-weary sigh of a child burdened with a completely ridiculous guardian and wandered off down the hallway, shaking her head.
We were ready a full hour early. I couldn't sit still in the cabin. I paced the small living room, straightening objects on shelves that didn't need straightening, adjusting picture frames that were already perfectly level.
"Can we go now, Uncle C?" Sarah finally asked from the couch, where she'd been watching my nervous circuit with growing concern. "You're making me really nervous." She stated. "You've picked that pinecone decoration three times."
I looked down. The pinecone was indeed in my hand again. I set it down carefully.
"Fine. Let's go."
The winding drive to Emma's cabin felt simultaneously endless and instantaneous. My palms were embarrassingly damp on the steering wheel. When I finally pulled up to her place, one sensible sedan was already parked in the small clearing. A minute later, an SUV pulled in behind us. Other parents. Other children. This was really, truly just a tutoring session.
Good. Fine. Completely normal. Exactly what I'd expected.
A man climbed out of the sedan, a girl Sarah's age bouncing excitedly beside him. He spotted me and nodded in friendly acknowledgment. "Cole, right? Sarah's uncle?"
"That's right."
