Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(20)

Bracken closed the app and waited until the car had been gone for a bit before he headed to the door to introduce himself, orient the guest, and let her know that he was close by if they needed anything during their stay.

He wanted to warn them about the hurricane that was moving up the coast and looked like it would make its way ashore around St. Simons Island. It should greatly diminish by the time it reached them. But still, a storm in this area could be dangerous, trees falling, roads washing out, rivers overflowing their banks and making roads impassable for a time. It was one of the reasons real estate was so cheap around here. The infrastructure just barely defied its natural surroundings.

But that was one of the things which drew Bracken there. He enjoyed the raw power and unpredictability of a natural environment. In a city, made by man, elaborate systems were needed to keep nature at bay. In New York City, pumps worked around the clock to keep water from swamping the whole island, swallowing it. What did they say? Just forty-eight hours without those pumps running and the entire subway system would be flooded, another twenty-four and the streets would be rivers. Here the streets were rivers in just hours, one lightning strike could cause a raging forest fire. Nature was always waiting to take itself back by any means necessary. There was something he liked about that, the violence of it, the truth.

But this afternoon, the sun was shining and the sky was clear. Birdsong was rich and melodious—the sweet whistle of the chickadee, the wildly cheerful chirp of the brown thrasher, the caw of the common crow. A pileated woodpecker knocked rhythmically somewhere above; Bracken looked up and saw the bobbing red head between the branches of a spruce.

He walked up the steps of the porch he’d restored with his own hands, and knocked at the thick-paned glass of the door he’d hung himself—what a bitch that had been. It had taken him and three of his crew to get it right.

When Liza came into view, he could tell immediately that she’d been crying, her eyes rimmed slightly red, her cheeks flushed. What had happened since her husband left? It had just been minutes.

In the glass, he saw his own reflection—the bulk of his frame, the thick beard, the worn jeans and Henley work shirt. He looked like a lumberjack, rough-and-ready. Maybe a bit unwashed, threatening? May said he scowled at people, made them uncomfortable with his heavy silences. He could see that the yoga girl was hesitant to open the door.

“Can I help you?” she said through the door.

“I’m Bracken, the host,” he said. “Are you Liza? We spoke on the phone.”

“Oh!” she said, brightening. She unlatched the door and opened it, stepping back. He walked inside.

“How’s the house?” he asked. There was a scent in the air. Sage.

She put a hand to her heart. “Oh my goodness, it’s just stunning. And thank you for letting the grocery delivery in, putting everything away. That was so kind, so helpful. And I know way above and beyond.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “Big crew this weekend?”

“Six of us,” she said. She rubbed at her temples, like maybe she had a headache. “Should be fun.”

He glanced around, expensive luggage at the bottom of the stairs leading to the upstairs master suite.

“Can I take that up for you?”

“Would you mind?” she asked. “My husband took off on some errands. And, as usual, we way overpacked.”

He looked around for the other couple but they were not in sight.

“Of course.”

People, almost without fail, overpacked. They thought they needed to cart all their stuff with them, everywhere they went. And they had so much stuff. Bracken counted himself as a minimalist. His own cabin, which he had also built, was half the size of this one. He limited himself to exactly fifty possessions and he was always looking to be rid of anything that could go.

She followed him up, taking the lighter bags.

He carried them to the master bedroom and left them inside the door. Through the closed door on the other side of the hall, he heard the voices of the other guests. The woman—Hannah—laughed delightedly.

“Oh, this is so lovely. Just stunning,” Liza said to him.

He was proud of this room—the oak floors and picture windows, the fireplace. There was a large king bed, a desk looking out onto the stunning view of the mountains.

“It said on your website that you built all these homes yourself.”

“With a crew,” he said. “But yes, I was the general contractor and did a lot of the work myself—everything from laying foundations to painting walls.”

She nodded, eyes searching his face for what he didn’t know.

“That must be so satisfying,” she said finally. She walked into the bathroom to put a small bag there. Her body looked strong and lithe; she moved with grace.

“It is,” he said.

It was satisfying to build something solid, to put in real effort and have a tangible result. So much effort in life yielded nothing.

Downstairs, he showed her around the kitchen, though he knew they had a chef coming in, where the vacuum was, showed her how to use the hot tub.

When he was done, they stood in the foyer.

“I guess the only other thing is just to be aware of the storm headed our way.”

“I heard,” she said with a frown.

“We do tend to lose phone service and power out here. There’s a generator that will kick on. Should that happen, I’ll swing by if I can. The roads get swamped and can be impassable for a time until the water recedes. What kind of car do you have?”