I hear Bradley’s footsteps on the stairs before I see him. He shakes his head as he comes into view.
“No luck. I checked her desk, her cupboard, everywhere I could think of.”
“Can’t you just ask her?”
“She’s not here,” he says. “She left a note saying she went to New York to meet with her publishers. Apparently, she needs to sweet-talk them into another extension.”
“Call her?”
“She’s not really into phones, as you gathered.”
“When will she be back?”
“A few days at least.” He runs a hand through his damp hair. “Listen, if you’re set on leaving, I can give you a ride.”
I glance outside. The drizzle has already intensified to a steady downpour.
“The place looks amazing,” I say, gesturing around. “Did you clean up after we left?”
“God, no. We have a cleaner who comes early. She’s a saint.” He trails off, his expression darkening. “Not that we can afford her, with the tenure decision?—”
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure what else to offer. I find it hard to have much sympathy for Bradley’s situation, given the size of his house and the massive amount of land it sits on. I’d do anything to live in a place like this.
“I don’t believe it’s your fault,” he replies with a forced smile. “Unless you were secretly lobbying the tenure committee.”
“I need to grab a few things from the cottage.”
“Right.” He checks his watch. “Be quick, OK? This storm is no joke. I heard on the radio they’re concerned about flooding on some of the lower roads.”
Outside, the rain soaks through my clothes within seconds. I try to sprint, but the path has already become treacherous with mud, forcing me to slow down. By the time I reach the cottage, I’m drenched.
I get changed and pack my bag. Afterwards, I take a final look around, feeling a strange connection to the place. It’s odd to admit, but this is my first time living alone. There was Mom, then my roommates briefly during college, then Neil.
This is the first place that’s reallymine.
When I go out the front door, I see a figure in a black coat running through the mud.
“Bad news,” Bradley says, shaking his umbrella and climbing the stairs. “I got a call from Don.”
“The hermit?”
“The very same. He says a massive tree has fallen across the main road, blocking access in and out. It could be hours before they clear it.”
“What about the other way?”
“That route floods easily. It’s probably already underwater.”
“Damn it.” I feel immediately claustrophobic at the thought of being stuck here all weekend.
“We’ll have to find a way to pass the time.” He reaches into a black bag and holds up a bottle of red wine. “Hair of the dog?”
I hesitate. I’m still tired from last night. But mostly, I’m terrified by what I felt for Bradley when I lay on his bed.
“Go on. Don’t make me go back to the house. I’m in mourning, remember?”
“Mourning?”
“For my deceased career. Don’t make me drink alone.”
