But under his breath, Costa starts humming “Born to Run,” and I giggle despite myself.
The drive is smooth with little traffic midweek, and we get to the town of Willow in good time. Sam has slept nearly the entire drive, and he only awoke moments ago. He says that he has enough energy to come into the local market with us. We really have gone from one small town to another, but the upscale grocery store has a very nice selection, and we load up two shopping carts with fresh produce, meat, and pantry items. Also, we pick up enough liquor to get the three of us through the next few weeks. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.
“Hey, remember that guy who sold seafood from that stand on the side of the road? We should stop there, too,” Costa says enthusiastically. “Are you getting hungry, Sammy?”
I’m happy that Sam nods.
“A little.” He coughs hard. “Good crab.”
“Totally. I could be up for a crab and shrimp boil.” Costa gathers a few more ingredients that we’ll need.
“Firewood,” Sam says. “Cold at night.”
He’s still so pale, and I can see that this walk through the store is exhausting. I want to get him to the cabin as soon as possible, so I hurry us along until Costa stops. He’s staring at a shelf. Sam and I move to stand on either side of him.
Costa shoves his hands in his pockets. “Guys, it’s okay. I just…I don’t know if I should bother buying diapers and wipes and Cheerios and stuff. A sippy cup. I shouldn’t…I mean, that’s dumb. I don’t even know how old he might be, if he’s aged. You know, if he’s even still down there.”
Sam takes a package from the shelf in front of us and puts it in his cart. “He used to like these.”
Costa brightens. “Applesauce. I forgot.”
“And yogurt.” Sam is starting to labor hard.
“Blueberry.” Costa puts an arm around Sam and helps him stand.
“And peach.”
I promised Sam’s mother that I would take care of him, so I’m officially calling time on this shopping trip. “I’ll get the yogurt and some of these other things. You help Sam to the car. Right now, please. Maybe we’ll run out later to get the seafood?”
“You got it. I’ll go after we get settled,” Costa says.
The drive from the market to the cabin is about twenty minutes, and Sam is passed out cold for the short ride. Costa signals me to make a right at a small red sign, and we drive through evergreen trees that form a tent of foliage over us. The dirt road ends, and I park the car.
This cannot be right.
“Costa?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s the cabin?”
“What do you mean? It’s right here.” He squints at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What the hell is wrong with all of you for calling this acabin?”
I blink at the log—I don’t know…logmansionin front of us. Apparently, they all think that just because it’s made from wood that it’s considered a cabin. It’s not. Cabins are small rustic vacation homes. Unless the inside differs radically from the outside, I don’t expect to walk in and find a vintage stove and dishes from the sixties.
Sam rouses from the back. “It’s not that big.”
“How many square feet?”
“I dunno.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“A few.”
“You’re delirious,” Costa says. “There are six along with a library and a hot tub and—”
“She gets the idea.” Sam pulls himself up. “I need some water.” Before we can help him out though, he opens the door and retches out the side. “Now, I really need some water.”
Costa gives Sam a hand with getting to the house while I punch in the alarm code that Felicia gave me. I unlock the big front door, and I take a step inside. My mother has money for sure, but her house became a cold, sterile pretentious prison after my father left. This house? This is ahome.
I wander in awe through the main living area, an open-concept wood wonderland connecting the kitchen, living room, and dining area that invites warmth and comfort. Above me are high ceilings with rafters crossing the width of the house and lights hanging from long spindles. Cushy couches and floor pillows are positioned by the grand fireplace, and a picture window and sliding door overlook the lake.
Of all places to detox one death tripper and strategize to save the son of another, this one ain’t too shabby.
Costa practically carries Sam into the house and across the room toward the staircase. He slows, however, by the big window, and both he and Sam eye the lake with trepidation. As glorious and posh as our surroundings are, this is not a vacation. It’s where Toby died, and I’m quite sure that despite Costa’s singing the praises of this house moments ago, he and Sam are consumed with painful memories.
I help Costa get Sam to the foot of the stairs. “I know the past is everywhere,” I say. “But the future is everywhere, too.”
