I remember climbing over Emily’s woodpile to get to the window when I rescued her. She had barely any wood left. Maybe four or five pieces. Not enough for a long night, especially after the day she just lived. She needs to be safe and warm until she can deal with what happened.
I grab my axe from its hook, the familiar weight reminding me that I’m about to have a good upper body workout. I give it a little swing, enjoying the way it feels in my hand. I take my truck and drive out to the clearing where we keep the logs we cut for winter.
I haul several rounds to the chopping block and set the first one upright. The blade sinks cleanly into the oak with the first swing, splitting the log into two heavy halves. The impact vibrates up my arms, helping to release some of the frustration. I fall into a rhythm of swinging and splitting. The sound of wood cracking open echoes through the clearing. Sweat gathers at the back of my neck despite the cold.
When I finish splitting the last round, I load the pieces into the truck bed, stacking them in an even row. Resting my palms on the tailgate for a moment, I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the cool winter air, then I drive off.
When I pull up at her cabin, the outside light is glowing softly. I always liked her grandfather’s small cabin. It’s rough and cozy.
I park beneath the pines and kill the engine, then step into the cold air. I take an armful of firewood from the truck to her back porch. The boards creak lightly under my boots, like they always did. I stack the logs neatly where she keeps them, careful not to make more noise than necessary. I don’t want to scare her, but I couldn’t call in advance seeing as that asshole broke her phone. Neither do I want to knock on her door and freak her out.
Fuck.
Maybe I should have thought this through?
I straighten after laying down the last load and look towards the door. I can see her moving around inside, so she’s still awake. I could leave now. She would find the wood in the morning, know exactly who put it there, and probably shake her head at me like she always does on those rare occasions when she notices I did something nice for her. But the thought of walking away without hearing her voice or seeing her face again bothers me. Maybe it’s like my mom says, and I really am a decent man with empathy and all that shit.
I stand there for a long moment with the cold sinking into my jacket and the scent of fresh-cut oak lingering in the air. I try to convince myself that leaving is the respectful choice, that she needs rest. But the truth is simple. I want to make sure she’s okay. So, I lift my hand and knock.
“It’s me,” I call out.
I barely lower my hand again when the door opens. Emily is standing there wrapped in a thick blanket that drapes around her shoulders and falls almost to her knees. Her hair is gathered loosely like she ran her fingers through it instead of brushing it, and there is a worn edge to her expression that wasn’t there when I left earlier.
“Wow, two visits in one day. This must be what hitting the lottery feels like.”
I chuckle at her lackluster attempt at humor because maybe it is all she can muster on a day like this.
Her attention shifts to the stack of firewood on the porch. She takes in the neat row of freshly split pieces, and her expression softens into gratitude. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her voice steadier than I expected. “Thanks.”
I nod. “Saw you were running short earlier, thought I’d bring some wood down for you.” She pulls the blanket a little tighter, then steps back from the doorway with a motion that feels more like an invitation than anything else.
“I was about to make coffee, do you want to come in?” she asks.
“Are you sure I’m not intruding?”
Emily steps back another inch, the blanket brushing her arms, and I think that maybe she needs someone to talk to right now. “Not at all.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’d love some coffee. It’s colder than a fuckin’ iceberg out here.”
Her shoulders relax a bit. She turns and walks into the kitchen, the blanket trailing behind her in soft folds. I close the door gently and throw the latch because I’m a safety-first kind of man.
The warmth inside the cabin is a sharp contrast to the winter air outside. She’s cleaned up after earlier. The only evidence of what happened are a couple of trash bags sitting in the corner of the room.
Grabbing a seat at her kitchen table, I try to be unobtrusive, as she fills her kettle at the sink.
The drop light glowing softly over the kitchen table illuminates the curve of her shoulders beneath the blanket that’s already slipping off one shoulder. There’s a small silence that stretches out between us, as we try to work through this curve ball that life threw at us.
She glances over at me with a tired smile. “It feels strange visiting with you twice in one day. But I guess it’s no stranger than what happened with the intruder.”
“Yeah, that asshole was seriously unhinged,” I tell her. “I think shit like that merits a double check. Don’t you think?”
Her eyes meet mine again, and she gives me a shaky nod. “Most definitely. Hopefully that’s the last we’ll see of him.” Then she turns back to the kettle as it begins to warm on the stove.
When we both have a cup of coffee in our hands and are sitting across the table from each other, I ask, “So, how are you really holding up?”
“To be honest, I’m still rattled,” she says, her voice softer than before. “I feel like my hands are still shaking, even when they look steady.”
I lean closer. “I thought you might still be shaken up a bit. It’s what made leaving earlier so hard for me. I kept second-guessing whether you would be okay alone or whether you needed me.”
