Page 1 of Daddy Bear Picnic

1. MALCOLM

I hadn’t been back in Pineberry Falls since I was a teenager. Always the summer before college, my family would always gather for the Fourth at the summer house. I had many fond memories about the way the air smelled when it was just the right amount of warmth, almost like jam, but not as cloying on the lungs or in the nose.

Twelve years since the last time I was here, and I wasn’t here for the same reasons as I had been when I was younger. I was here because the summer house on Plum Lane was mine. According to my grandmother’s will, it was left for me, to do with as I pleased. Although she stipulated in the will that I should spend at least one more summer there.

The only issue was, nobody had been to the house in nearly a decade, and even if I wanted to sell it, a lot of work would have to go into it first. And now that I was here, I could see the extent of work required.

I sat in the barely visibly drive, staring from a photograph of the family on the porch to the thing in front of me. All the paint was either bleached or stripped away from years of being left. I’d arrived with a U-Haul truck on the back of my old red Honda. It had been a trek to get here, and now that I was, I didn’t know if I’d even be able to stay the night.

“Gran, you should’ve had someone come up here and make sure it was taken care of,” I grumbled, pressing the photo to my chest. “It’s ok. I’ll fix it right back up. I promise.” I thought the house had been sold when she was put into a retirement home, but apparently she’d been saving this place for me the entire time. A reward, or a punishment, she wasn’t a mean person, so a reward it was.

In a large box on the passenger seat, all of my stuffies. Half of them were gifts from her, she’d seen the little in me even when I hadn’t. Every birthday, Christmas, and graduation, it was a stuffed bear with an embroidered message on the stomach. I’d always wondered if she’d embroidered them herself because I’d never been le to find them plain.

“I guess it’s just us,” I said, dipping my hand into the box to feel the soft furs against my fingertips. “I’ll go scope the place out then. I’ll be right back. Adult mode, activated.” I sighed, forcing myself out of the car.

Weeds and tall grasses occupied the drive, the walkway, and even where the fencing had been. The house was set further back than the other houses, and maybe they just thought if they didn’t bother themselves with it, the mess of the house about to crumble would be eaten by the grass.

Stepping carefully through the grass, I was quickly conscious of mice. They could’ve hiding anywhere in here, and I wouldn’t even know. The house itself could be overrun with them. It was nearly enough to force me back into my car. But armed with my keys, I continued forward, wading through to the porch.

This was a splinter trap waiting to happen. I didn’t want to put my hand on the wooden rail or any of the fencing. Up close, everything looked so sharp and ready to prick at my skin.

“Gran, if you’re out there, watching over me, please, please don’t let me get a splinter.” The last time I got one I cried while someone tried to tweeze it out of me. If they’d drawn any serious amount of blood, I might’ve passed out.

Up the creaky porch steps, I did not feel comfortable. The wood beneath me was not stable. But I’d come all of this way now. The wraparound porch still had the same bench with the plaque. The bench itself was still in good condition. Mygrandfather had made that, and there was even a small golden plaque on it to say just as much.

As I took another step, a crunch gave way, splitting the wood in two. One leg went all the way down to the ground beneath while my other leg seemed to snap into a split. I screamed, my physical response to shock, and followed by the pain.

“Hey,” a deep rough voice called out to me.

“Oh my god, thank you.”

“What are you doing over there?” A man appeared by my car, tall with a black baseball cap on backwards, and dressed in a red checkered shirt, and as he walked, I caught the axe in his hand. The man was some type of lumberjack.Maybe he could chop this entire place into kindling.

“Hi, I need help,” I said, trying not to whine, but it was impossible when I was in pain. “Please can you help me.”

He waded through the grass, chopping away at it with his axe. “You can’t be here.”

“Yes, I can,” I said through the searing pain. “I own the place.”

“Oh,” he grumbled, reaching the house. He pressed his thick boots against the porch. “It’s an old house. You know, it’s not really a place fit for living in just yet.”

“I’m beginning to think that,” I said, sucking back on my teeth in pain.

The man rested his axe by the porch stairs. “I’m Elijah Ashwood,” he said, unable to avoid stomping as he walked with his heavy boots. The porch unable to stop its whining and creaking from under him. “This might be more than someone can take on alone. You have help on the way?”

He took my hand and helped me out of the hole. The pain had only been coming from the compromising stretched position I was in. “Malcolm Haynes,” I introduced myself once Iwas upright and dusting myself off. A thin layer of dust covered me. “This place was my gran’s, and it was left to me in her will.”

Elijah nodded. “You probably don’t want to be standing around until you can get someone to look at this place for structural integrity.”

“You know someone who can?”

He smiled. “I can,” he said. “But now I feel weird offering it because I suggested it.”

“Ok, can we get of the porch before I fall again?” I looked into the ditch where only the shortest patch of grass had grown, and was considerably much lighter. “You wouldn’t also know the nearest hotel or bed and breakfast, would you?”

He laughed harder this time. “Again, I run one with my brother, but I—I don’t want to be trying to get all your business.”

As we walked off the porch out into the grass, I didn’t know where I felt safer. “It’s fine, it’s been a while since I’ve been here, so my hopes aren’t high about all the amenities.”

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