Page 20 of Joy
“Can’t use yours.”
“Well, no….”
“Then drive safe—it’s dark out,” he finished, handing me the car keys.
I was at a loss. I’d never experienced so much generosity in my life. Sure, my reason for being stranded in New Hampshire kind of sucked—but holy shit, how it seemed to be turning around. Even the B&B oopsie was still met with the same sort of small-town,don’t worry, we’ve got your backmentality.
A total stranger was letting me stay with him. Because George had vouched for me.
“This is really nice of you,” I said. “Thanks. That sounds cheap, but I mean it.”
George just smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
I said good night to him, Nancy, the dishwasher, and the other bus boy before taking my leave. The drive took me on the same one road that was my usual route to the bridge, but this time I took the left turn and continued on toward Dalton. The radio murmured quietly as I drove. There was nothing out here but trees, moose-crossing signs, and the occasional lone house. So isolated and silent, so fucking different from the world I grew up in, and still I was fighting the most unusual feeling… like I had come home.
The road ran along the river I still hadn’t looked up the name of, dipping dangerously close at times, with only a feeble guardrail to keep drivers on the asphalt and not taking a swim instead. Eventually I reached another fork, with a road sign to the left indicating Whitefield and Dalton straight ahead. An old railroad bridge spanned the river, reaching into Vermont on the opposite bank.
There were a few more scatterings of houses. I drove by a tiny firehouse, a small building advertising itself as the town hall, one church, and… that seemed to be it. I glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the buildings disappear as I made a turn down the winding road.
“That was it?” I asked. “Thatwas Dalton?”
There wasn’t even a traffic light.
Hell, there wasn’t even acaution light.
I put the paper on the steering wheel and glanced between the address and the road. George had written a few directions underneath.
Past firehouse.
About a mile or so past the Shop on the Hill.
Union Road on your left.
I laughed. I mean, I should have expected those kinds of directions after being toldjust drive and you’ll find the bridge, but yeah.
About a mile or so.
I did pass a little store. And it was on top of a hill, so aptly named, I guess. There was also a lone gas station already closed for the night. I kept going, and just when I feared I was totally fucking lost, I saw a green sign advertising Union Road. It was dark as I made my way down, the only illumination coming from the few houses along the road. I finally spotted a mailbox with the house number I was looking for.
I pulled up behind a truck in front of an actual log-cabin home. These were still a thing? It was nice. Rustic and probably worth a small fortune, if the amount of untouched land surrounding it was any indication.
I shut the car off, grabbed my bag, and climbed out. I moved to the walkway and the front door opened as a big dog ran outside. It barked and ran around me excitedly, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. It was a husky with bright eyes.
“He’s friendly.”
Wait a second.
I whipped my head up, and sure fucking enough, there was Silas standing on the threshold. “What are you—you’reGeorge’s brother?”
Silas nodded, leaning against the doorway.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Well, fuck!”
“Is it a problem?”
