Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(98)

“No one is going anywhere, of course,” said Trina. “Sorry. Not Sorry.”

Bruce came up and stood in front of Hannah and Cricket, while Mako stayed weeping on the floor, still with Liza’s head in his lap. When he looked up and saw her, his whole face went slack with shock.

“You?”

“Yes, me, Mako,” she said coolly. “It’s going to take more than a payoff to get rid of your problems this time.”

“You did this?” Mickey said, his voice taut with anger. “You did this to her?”

“No, brother,” said Trina easily. “You did.”





41


Bracken

He watched from the cab of his truck as Bob made short work of the tree, pushing it to the side of the road with the plow. Bracken observed the rain, the wild dance of the leaves, the night lightening and going dark again.

The other man pulled up beside him and Bracken rolled down his window. Rain tapped at his face, the interior of the car.

“Follow you up? Make sure you don’t run into any more obstacles?” asked Old Bob.

The other man’s skin was darkly tanned; he had fine lines around his eyes. Tonight, his long gray hair was pulled back. It wasn’t like him to offer more than had been asked; but Bracken was grateful for the help. There was some kind of electricity in the air and not just the storm.

“No,” he said. “I’ve got it from here. I’ll pay you out, no matter whether the guest makes good on his offer.”

Bob offered the rare smile, one that Bracken couldn’t quite read, as if the guy had a secret. “Just happy to help.”

Bracken engaged the engine and made his way slowly up the twisting road, careful to watch the sides of the road for deer which might leap out to their death without warning. The road was swamped, and great plumes of water washed up as he made his way. There were branches and other debris in the road, but the wheels of his truck rolled right over. In a couple of hours if there was much more rain, the roads would be impassable until the water receded.

Usually, he’d see the glow of Overlook up ahead, the loft window, the landscape lighting. But tonight there was nothing. He’d checked his app; some of the cameras were hardwired—the one in the living room, in the guest cabin—the rest battery operated. But, of course, the router was down so none of the cameras, even if they were still working, could broadcast their signal to the router.

That generator was brand-new and he’d inspected it himself. There was no reason for it not to have come on. Unless. Unless someone had messed with it.

What was going on up there? Something. Anything.

In his years watching, he’d seen the whole rainbow of humanity.

He’d watched a man abuse his wife; a mother slap her daughter. He’d heard people say ugly, terrible things to each other—I never loved you; I wish you were dead. Likewise, he’d witnessed great tenderness, affection, listened to belly laughs, and people in the throes of passion. A great mosaic of human experience playing out before him on his smart phone or computer screen. Life, relationships, how people were entwined, enmeshed, how they loved each other, hurt each other, needed or discarded each other. His own inner life was isolated and still. No family, few friends. He’d always felt alone, even as a child, apart. Watching was his way of connecting with the world. Even with May, for whom he felt a great deal of tenderness, he observed her, his feelings for her, for her daughter Leilani.

The phone rang and he pressed the button on the wheel to answer.

“Hey,” said May. “Why’d you run off?”

“Problems at the Overlook,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Couldn’t wait until tomorrow? The weather’s bad.”

“Power’s out, generator’s down. The guests are in distress.”

“Did you check the cameras?” she asked. The question shocked him a bit. She knew about the cameras. He didn’t say anything.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Bracken, it’s okay. I know why you do it.”

He couldn’t find words, washed in shame.

“There’s a place for you here, with us,” she said after a moment of silence. “I want you to know that. You don’t have to stay on the outside, looking in. You can be home with us. Leilani and I—we care about you.”

“That’s—nice, May. Thank you.”

“Nice?” she said. He heard a smile in her voice. She was a person who didn’t judge; you could just be you with May. She was beautiful and smart, hardworking, slow to anger, a great cook, a passionate, thoughtful lover. She was real.

“It’s—um—good,” he said, throat constricted. He thought about hanging up, he felt so awkward, so tense. But he surprised himself by answering honestly. “I want that. I do.”

“Okay,” she said easily. “So when you’re done up there, come home to me.”

He made a noise, a kind of assenting grunt. Thankfully she hung up so that he didn’t have to answer further. In the dark of the cab, his heart raced, shame heated his face. He thought that the cameras were his secret, his only way of connecting to, of understanding the confounding world of people. But she knew. She knew and she hadn’t judged him.

Something that had been constricted inside him loosened. His mother had died young. His dad was a hardworking man who didn’t have much time or patience for a kid. He’d been there, though—at school, at games. A silent, stoic presence that Bracken could never quite figure out. Even now, his dad was an old man living in a memory care facility the next town over. Bracken went to see him twice a week, spent an hour or two telling him things about the houses, about the people he saw on the cameras. His dad just stared, blank, empty, whatever he felt or thought about how his life had passed, about Bracken, locked up tight. Who are you? Bracken often wound up thinking in the inevitable silence that fell when Bracken stopped talking. Did you get what you wanted out of life? But he never asked that, and his dad couldn’t have answered anyway.