I make my way around to the side, taking a moment to admire the bravery of whoever decided to build this little outpost in the middle of nowhere. The building has been hewn from austere grey stone, probably gathered from its surroundings, nothing like the log cabin we rented on Lake Michigan a couple of years ago. The boys run through my head: Nate’s skinny legs in his faded red cargo shorts, Leo taller by a head and quieter by a mile. Joyful as they clambered from the car to pelt full speed towards the lake, shafts of sunlight illuminating their blond heads. Freewheeling with them down shaded forest trails, Susie calling after us to slow down. And now I’m here alone, closing the door on those memories.
Concentrate on the now. Find a way in.
The heavy clouds overhead have just burst their seams, sharp rain in the wind. I hurry from window to window, but they’re all securely closed, unresponsive to my rattles. I sigh, the beginnings of a plan already formulating in my head. My backpack for a pillow, the corner of the porch out front will give the most shelter from the elements. The back door is locked too. Wait, there’s a back door. And there it is – a glint of silver beneath a stone snail just to the left of the door. I kick it aside and almost laugh out loud with relief. I was looking by the wrong door, that was all. All thoughts of roughing it slide from my shoulders as I slip the key into the lock and feel a satisfying click as it turns. I’m in.
I don’t know what I expected; I haven’t looked at any photos online and Barney didn’t send through any specifics. For me, Otter Lodge is a place to eat, sleep and work. Somewhere to get my head together. But as I swing the door wide and step inside, I find myself pleasantly surprised. It’s one of those all-in-one-room-type places – kitchenette in one corner, a deep sofa in front of an open slate fireplace taking up most of the space. There’s an old brass bed frame at the back, the fur throws and plaid blankets lending it a homey touch.
I shuck out of my wet jacket and duck through the only interior door to find a small but decent bathroom – no shower, but a deep copper tub with my name on it. First, though, something to eat. Susie always liked to say I’m a man who needs a plan in order to function. There’s probably some truth behind her wry assessment of my character, and my plan right now is food, bath, early bed. Maybe a beer in there somewhere, I think, rolling my aching shoulders as I head out of the bathroom. The back door swings on its hinges, reminding me to grab my stuff from the porch and batten down the hatches for the stormy night ahead.
There’s a loud scream and I stand still, rendered momentarily stupid by surprise. There’s a woman in my lodge.
‘Sorry, you made me jump,’ the woman says, her hand over her heart. Then, when I don’t manage to form any words, ‘Umm … hi.’
‘Where did you come from?’ Because I’ve seen this woman before.
She pulls off her damp, red wool hat and stares at me. ‘London.’
‘No, I mean …’
‘Wait,’ she says, cutting across me as she narrows her eyes. ‘Weren’t you on the boat earlier? If you’re gonna hurl, aim over the side?’
She switches from her own accent to a terrible, fake American one.
‘Ah. And you’re the sweet girl who offered to throw up in my face.’ I fake a smile.
She sighs. ‘I’m not in the mood to be patronized by –’ she waves her hand towards my headlamp, a sharp slash of air – ‘a cyclops.’
And I’m not in the mood for company, I think, pulling the elastic from around my skull. Why is she even here? Is she lost?
She looks at me for a few moments and then unzips her unsuitably thin jacket. ‘Look, I’m grateful for you coming to check on things, but I’m all set. I’ve dragged my own suitcase over the mountain, I’m perfectly capable of lighting a fire and I can find my way around the electrics. I don’t need the welcome tour.’
‘You think I’m your bellhop?’
She smiles determinedly, clearly stuck between trying to be polite and wanting to tell me to fuck off. ‘Caretaker? Friend of Brianne?’
‘Lady, I was on the same boat as you. Ask me where I’ve come from.’
‘I don’t need to know.’
Jeez, she’s obtuse. ‘Boston.’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘Well, now you know anyway, which means we both know I’ve travelled much farther than you to be here, and you’ll be relieved to hear I don’t need the welcome tour either.’ I watch understanding begin to seep into the edges of her exasperation.