Page 15 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
I jog around the car to grab the two remaining bags. As I slam the hatchback closed, the black pickup truck bounces into view. The driver parks parallel, across the mouth of the driveway, blocking Tristan in, which is fine, I guess.
A broad-shouldered woman with close-cropped flaming red hair, several shades darker and brighter than mine, hops out of the cab. She’s a few inches shorter than I am, but muscular. It’s obvious even though she’s wearing a heavy field jacket and jeans. As if to prove the point, she reaches into the truck’s bed and hefts out a large bundle of firewood one-handed. She carries it past me, nodding a greeting, and drops it into a holder near the cabin’s front door. Then she smacks her gloved hands together, knocking up a small cloud of wood dust.
“You must be Emily and Tristan. Have any trouble finding us?”
“Nope,” Tristan says cheerfully. “Alex’s directions were spot on.”
“Glad to hear it.” She fishes a key out of her jacket pocket and extends it toward me. “Let’s get you settled. I’ll give you the VIP tour.”
“Do you work for Alex? I thought he was going to meet us,” Tristan asks as I shift the grocery bag to my other hand and take the key.
She laughs. “I am Alex.”
Tristan does a double take. I guess he assumed Alex Liu was an Asian man, not a White woman. I know I did.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I didn’t–”
Alex waves off the apology. “No worries. I don’t have a profile picture on the rental site. You’re not the first person to make that mistake, and believe me, you won’t be the last.”
I frown. Why doesn’t she just put up a photo, then, and avoid the issue? Instantly, I chide myself. She might live here alone. A single woman residing in an extremely remote location might not want to advertise the fact to the entire Internet.
I unlock the door and push it open. Alex gestures for me to go inside first. I walk through the living room to the galley kitchen and dump the insulated grocery bags on the small butcher block island.
“The bedrooms are upstairs, right?” Tristan asks.
“Right. The stairs are behind the kitchen. I only made up the bigger of the two rooms. But there’s extra bedding in the trunk by the foot of the bed if you want to use the other bedroom for some reason.”
“I’m sure the big one’s fine,” I tell her as Tristan trades me my laptop bag for the toiletries case and heads upstairs.
I swivel my head around. “Where are the outlets?”
“Your best bet is the little table between the two windows in the living room. There’s an outlet under the table. But, you do know you won’t get cell coverage up here, right?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I just need to keep my laptop charged.”
I walk into the living room and check out the burled wood table. It’s actually a small writing desk. I take it as another sign that this is the place where I’m meant to write The Tower, my version of Maid Maleen. I run my hand over the smooth surface, feeling the decades of stories pulsing up from the furniture’s memory.
I feel Alex’s eyes on my back. I turn and smile at her. “I’m here to write.”
“That’s right. Your husband mentioned you’re a writer. Have you written anything I’ve read?”
I will never understand this question. How could I possibly know? But people ask it all the time. They must mean something else by it. But I don’t know how to answer it. So I give her my stock response.
“Maybe?”
She chuckles. “That’s a dumb question, I guess. I did look you up after I got the booking inquiry. I didn’t recognize any of your covers, but I read a lot. Like, a lot. Sometimes I get three-quarters of the way through a book and suddenly realize I’ve read it before.”
“That’s the lot of the voracious reader, I think.” I smile. “Have you read anything good lately?”
I’m always happy to bond with strangers over book recommendations, and this question is usually a winner. Not with Alex.
Her mouth thins. “A biography.” She says it flatly and without elaboration—no details, no title, no enthusiastic explanation of why I should read it.
I twitch my lips to the side and search for a different topic of conversation, silently urging Tristan to hurry up and come back downstairs already.
“So, have you always lived up here, in the mountains?”
“No. My husband’s in the military. I used to move around with him, but a few years ago we bought this place as a home base for when he retires. It suits me, so I stay here now.”
