“What happened?”
“House caught on fire four years ago, night of the big storm. Only Sarge made it out alive. He lost everything. Carrie. The kids. Had no insurance either. The man was so sick with grief after that, he wouldn’t even level the house.”
“What’d he do?”
“Left it standing—what’s left of it. Ed said he won’t let no one near it, or on his property. That Sarge… he’s just not the same. Can’t imagine what it must feel like, not being able to save the ones you love.”
Sadie shuddered. “I can.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so terribly sorry. Your husband?”
“My son.” Sadie turned away, heading back to the car. “I can’t talk about it. Sorry.”
“People tell me I’m a good listener, dear.”
“Thanks, Irma. But I’m here to forget.”
Praying she hadn’t offended the woman, she grabbed the remaining bags from the car and lugged them down the path until she reached the steps. She navigated them carefully, then enjoyed the short walk along the riverside. At the cabin, she juggled the bags and unlocked the door. After she put away the canned goods and stored the fruit and veggies in the cooler, she made a quick tuna salad sandwich, bundled herself in a wool blanket and settled into one of the wooden chairs on the veranda. She nibbled on the sandwich and stared out over the river, watching the sleepy sun begin its leisurely descent.
She thought of Sam, of how much he loved the outdoors.
“You would’ve loved it here, Sam.”
She didn’t know how long she sat there watching the peaceful ripples on the water and thinking of Sam. He was never far from her thoughts. Sometimes she felt almost smothered by malignant, cancerous guilt.
She shook off the shadows. “I miss you, Sam.”
A few water birds scrabbled on the shore, occasionally calling out to each other. The chill air caressed her face, making her feel alive and free as she inhaled the fresh aroma of pine and spruce, and listened to the resonance of Mother Nature. All around her was pure peace. Heaven.
She shut her eyes… just for a moment.
“Cawwww!”
Sadie’s eyes flew open. She gasped.
A crow perched on the wood rail of the veranda, its beady eyes no more than three feet from hers. It stared at her, unmoving.
“Go away!”
It cocked its head to one side, giving her an inquisitive look.
“Stupid bird, shoo!”
She waved her hand, but the bird just hopped up and down. Bizarre behavior for a crow, she thought.
The crow emitted another raspy shriek.
“Just so you know, I hate birds,” she said. “Except when they’re Shake ’n Baked.” She grinned stupidly.
“Squacckkk!”
She stood up, expecting her movements to dislodge the annoying pest. It didn’t. She was tempted to approach the bird, but then common sense took over. Why would she want to?
Maybe it’s diseased. Maybe it has the bird flu.
Ignoring the crow, she stretched. Then she frowned. The fading light made her take a second look out over the water.
It was late. She must have been asleep for a while.
“Must be the country air.”
She strolled toward the sliding door, mindful of the crow. It watched her every move, and that was unnerving, so she released a pent-up breath and stepped inside. She lit an oil lamp and checked the clock on the wall. 8:55.
With a sigh, she glanced around the room, then set to work building a fire. There was no TV to watch and nothing much to do except sleep. But she was wide awake now and somber thoughts were creeping into her mind.
What she needed was a drink.
She reached into a cupboard, her hand hovering over the three bottles of red wine. “No. I’m saving you.”
She moved toward the cooler and pulled out the bottle of Jamaican rum that she’d bought in town. She opened it and poured a healthy shot into a beefy silver travel mug, topping it up with a can of cola. Then she curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace.
The rum went down fast. Maybe too fast. Its smooth undertone made her warm, tingly. She enjoyed its mind-numbing effect, a welcome reprieve from the constant torment and grief that followed her everywhere.
She got up, poured another drink. “I’m in control this time.”
Philip’s condemning voice came to mind. ‘Don’t delude yourself, Sadie. You’re an alcoholic. One drink is never enough.’
“I can stop whenever I want, Philip. I just don’t want to.” She chuckled. “Is talking to yourself a sign of insanity?”
Only if you answer back.
That’s what her mother always said.
Sadie finished her second mug of rum and poured another.
The glow from the lamp and the simmering fireplace radiated over the wood walls, enveloping them in a golden sheen. Yet the room lacked something tangible, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“What’s missing here?”
The answer came to her, clear as glacier water.
She awkwardly made her way to the bedroom. When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, she had three framed photographs in hand. A small one of Sam found a place on the coffee table, and one of Leah decorated the oval table by the armchair.
Sadie gave her friend a sad smile. “I’m sorry, sistah friend.”
Leah would hate her when this was all over.
Gripping the portrait of Sam in her hands, she swallowed hard. “You need a special place, little man.” Her gaze was drawn to the empty space above the crackling fire. “Perfect.”
She slid a chair over to the fireplace, then hung the portrait above the mantle. Sam’s sweet smiling face stared down at her, full of life. She kissed the tips of two fingers, pressing them against Sam’s lips.
“I love you,” she said softly.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
She flicked a look over her shoulder and almost toppled from the chair. Crossing the room, she listened. Nothing. She looked at the bedroom door. It was closed. Had she left it that way?
She let out a huff. “Talk about paranoid, Sadie.”
She pushed the door open, stepped inside and set the lamp on the dresser. Dropping to her knees on the hardwood floor, she lifted the bedspread and peeked underneath.
The cedar box was still there.
As she stood, her head swam and she hit her hip on the corner of the dresser, almost knocking over the lamp.
She giggled. “Just a bit tipsy, are you?”
A faint childish laugh echoed nearby.
Sadie jumped. “Hello?”
Another soft laugh.
She flew out of the bedroom, holding the lamp high above her head. She spun on one heel in the middle of the cabin. “Sam?”
No one was there.
Half a dozen uneven steps brought her to the picture window in the kitchen. All she saw outside was a pea soup fog hugging sturdy tree trunks and a sliver of moon winking between menacing clouds.
Thud!
She turned. A distorted shadow moved on the other side of the draped sliding door. Darting across the room, she yanked back the drapes. “Who’s out there?”
It was so black outside that she could only make out the shape of the table and two chairs. Other than that, the veranda was unoccupied.
She slid the door open and stepped outside.
Right into a fresh mound of dirt.
She immediately spotted the culprit. The dwarf cedar lay on its side, clumps of loose soil spilling from the terracotta pot.
A shiver snaked up her spine.
Someone or something had knocked it over.
Uneasy, she peered into the shadows, but nothing moved except the river. The air was nippy, but still. No wind. Near the woods, a semi-sheer curtain of fog hung suspended a foot off the ground.