“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because you don’t have anything better to do.”
Pete laughed.
Mr. Harlan studied me for a few seconds longer before nodding. “I guess I’ll see you at seven,” he said, then turned and walked back to his house without another word.
When he disappeared across the property, Pete looked at me, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline. “You’re collecting strays, kid.”
I picked up the axe. “He seems lonely.”
Pete studied my face while I brought the axe down. The log split cleanly in half, and I stacked the pieces beside the shed, one at a time.
“You been doing a lot of thinking today,” he said.
“Yes.”
“That usually means trouble.”
I adjusted the pile of wood. “Maybe.”
Pete nodded slowly. “Blue hair.”
I rolled my eyes and let my silence answer for me.
Dinner started quietly,which suited both of us.
Mr. Harlan sat at my small kitchen table with the bowl cradled in both hands while the stew cooled. He leaned over it slightly, studying the contents with the careful attention of someone encountering an unfamiliar object. The seriousness of his inspection made me pause at the counter longer than necessary while I wiped down a surface that was already clean.
“You cook often?” he asked.
“Not really. This stew is the only thing I’m mildly successful with, and that’s only because it’s so simple.”
He tasted the stew with obvious caution, as though the bowl might contain something unpredictable. A second bite followed almost immediately. I watched the tension in his shoulders ease a little as he continued eating.
“Well,…it’s good,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
For several minutes, we ate without conversation. The cabin filled with the quiet sounds that come with a simple meal: spoons touching ceramic, chairs shifting slightly against the floorboards, the low creak of the wood stove settling. The wind outside made the tree branches slap against the windows every now and then.
Mr. Harlan eventually leaned back and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “You live out here alone?”
“Yes.”
He nodded as if confirming a fact he had already suspected. “Darlene wouldn’t have allowed that.”
I looked up from my bowl.
“She liked people,” he continued, glancing around the cabin again. “Neighbors. Guests. Hell, anyone who wandered through town long enough to sit down at the table.”
His gaze moved slowly across the room. “This place would’ve been full if it were hers.”
The cabin was orderly. Every surface served a purpose. The furniture sat where it needed to sit, the shelves were organized, and the stove warmed the room efficiently when it was cold.
It was also very quiet.
“She dragged me everywhere,” he said. “To the lake, up hiking trails. Farmers’ markets. Church picnics.” His mouth curved faintly. “I complained the whole time.” The small smile lingered for a moment before settling. “I liked it. She knew I liked it.”
