Thaw

As the first snowflake settled, it whispered secrets of a winter tale waiting to unfold. I clung desperately to the hope that this would be a tale of rebirth. I was hoping that this retreat would clarify my foggy memories, however painful that might be. They all told me I was crazy for moving out here, especially at this time of year. But I knew that it was the best option for me, at least, that’s what I told myself. But as I see the blankets of white fall one on top of the other, I’m starting to question my logic.

I sit right in front of the window, watching my breath on the glass, spreading then receding, covering then revealing the frozen lake of my childhood. I can still hear my mother, warning me not to move into the vacation cabin. “It’s so run down, Lila. There’s no way you’ll be comfortable there. And there’s no heating! How will you even survive?” “I just will,” I replied, then hung up on her. Sometimes it was easier to just hang up, turn off the phone, and get some time away. Most people just go out for a drive to get some peace, but I, as the fool I am, moved to an isolated cabin in the woods. But I had to get away. It wasn’t working anymore. It wasn’t safe. I pull my blanket tighter around my shoulders. I knew things would get lonely, and that was the point, really. But now it’s starting to crowd in on me. It’s amazing how smothering silence can be.

A shattering crash rings through my ears. I whip my neck around to see broken glass scattered on the rough wood floor. Marmalade sits on the top of the counter, completely unfazed, not a whisker out of place. But of course, as an orange cat he’s an agent of chaos, and an unapologetic one at that. He switches his tail slightly.

“Marmy, what did you do?” I groan as I rise from the recliner.

In my socked feet, I step tentatively towards the corner of the cabin’s small kitchen and grab the broom and dustpan.

“Did you really need attention that bad?”

He gives out a small mew.

“Just tell me next time. No need to resort to property damage.”

As I sweep up the glass, Marmalade saunters over to the window and lounges on the back of the couch. Ah, yes, rest from all your hard work. I continue to sweep, scanning the floor for glass shards. I lean forward, trying to get a better angle to see the light sparkle off the glass. I put my hand down to steady myself. Ouch! Well, I found one. I yank back my hand and see blood pooling on my palm. I carefully pluck out the small piece of glass nestled in my skin. Oh, it was a bigger piece than I thought. The blood spreads, and starts to run down my hand. Where did I put that first aid kit?

I clasp my other hand tight over the wound and jump up and over to the bathroom. Where is that darn thing? I open the medicine cabinet. No. I crouch down and swing open the sink cabinet. Ah, thank God. I unzip it, grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol, the tube of Neosporin, and a bundle of gauze which unrolls onto the bathroom floor. I unclamp my hand. Red everywhere. My ears start to ring and my strength begins to wobble under me. Get it together! It’s just blood. You’re alone. You can’t pass out! I wad some gauze and press it into my bloody palm as I scoot my back up against the wall. I hold it, I breathe. Don’t pass out, I repeat in my mind, over and over.

I stare at the opposite wall of the small bathroom. I remember when Dad painted it. Why in God’s name did he land on the color Sunset Orange? I was ten at the time, watching in awe as he rolled the paint on. That was back when things were bright, you know. There was a light in the world and everyday was filled with adventure. Even watching your dad do a chore was a thing of excitement. When did that change?

A small meow wakes me from my memories. Marmalade rubs up against the doorway.

“Are you here to apologize?”

He slowly sashays toward me, and bumps his head against my knee, rubbing his cheek slowly. I can feel his purr reverberate through my leg.

“I’d pet you, you know. If I wasn’t so preoccupied.”

He looks up at me and meows plaintively.

“Well, too bad, mister. This is your fault,” I say, raising my hand wrapped in bloody gauze.

He stares at me. Then turns away. He stretches, raising his butt in the air.

“Oh lovely,” I groan, then replace my bandage. The blood seems to be slowing down.

“We’ve got to be careful, you know. We can be breaking glass all willy-nilly. Even a small injury can be deadly out here.”

He sits down, looking away from me, but still within petting distance. I can tell he’s listening, though, because his ears turn slightly whenever I speak.

“Our closest neighbor is ten miles away. And ambulance response time isn’t great out here.”

His tail swishes across the slightly askew gray tiles on the floor.

“No, I know you don’t care. But I do. I don’t have nine lives, you know. I’d like to keep this one for a little while longer.”

Marmy gets up, stretches again, and slowly walks away out of view.

“Yeah, maybe thirty is plenty old to you. But in human years, I’m still young,” I say, now to myself. “I’ve still got time.”

When I regain my composure, I clean up the cut with rubbing alcohol, apply some Neosporin, and slap a large bandaid on it. It’s not exactly up to Mom’s standards, but it should do. Not everyone can be a trauma nurse. After slipping on some shoes, I finish cleaning up the glass. I look over the whole floor, inch by inch. It’s clear.

A loud buzz makes me jump. My cellphone sits on the counter, violently vibrating. My heart begins to race. Okay, it could be nothing. I take a deep breath. I hover over to the counter and take a peek at the name on the screen. Mom. I take a deep sigh of relief.

“Hey Mom.”

“How’s it going?” She asks, her voice peaking.

“Fine,” I say, putting my bandaged hand behind me, as if she could somehow see it hundreds of miles away.

“Are you ready to come home yet?” She asks.

“No. I thought I was clear. There’s no way I’m moving back home.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s plenty of room. You’re going to freeze your butt off out there.”

“No I won’t. I’ve got tons of firewood, enough to last me all winter, even longer,” I say as I glance at my large stack in the corner of the room. I spin to see the wall of cut logs outside, stretching a few yards long and several feet high underneath the awning. Yeah, I’ll be fine.

“But you need more than fire to survive, Lila. Geoff says he could clear out your old room in no time.”

“I don’t care what Geoff says. I can’t stay there,” I say, my voice choking. “There’s too many memories,” I whisper.

Silence. A few seconds pass.

“And there aren’t too many memories there?” She asks in a nervous whisper.

“I’m not coming back. Let it go,” I say quickly, “I’m fine on my own, you’ll see.”

“Oh please. You’ve made your point. You’re Miss Independent. I get it. I went through the same thing when I broke up with my first boyfriend.”

“No, you don’t get it. I’m not trying to make a point. This is what I need to do.”

A long silence.

“Whatever you say, dear. I just want you to be safe.”

“I know,” I say softly.

I look over at Marmalade, sitting like a loaf on the couch back, sleeping soundly without a care in the world.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to run. The cat just threw up on the rug.”

“Oh dear! Yes, clean it up before it sets.”

“I will.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” She asks.

“You don’t have to call me everyday,” I say as gently as I can.

“Well, who else are you going to talk to? Your cat? I didn’t raise you to be a crazy cat lady.”

“Alright mom, I’ll talk to you soon,” I say quickly.

“Tomorrow, then,” she chimes in before I can hang up.

I leave my phone on the counter and plop down on the couch next to Marmalade.

“I’m not a crazy cat lady, am I?”

The cat doesn’t respond.

“I just need to get out a little more,” I say as I pet him. I’ll drive into town tomorrow. I don’t necessarily need any more groceries, but it wouldn’t hurt to stock up. You never know when a blizzard will hit.

I stand in the checkout lane, smiling warmly as the older man in the green vest rings up my pile of canned and frozen foods. His name tag reads “Dan.”

“Looks like it’s gonna be a cold one, Dan” I say, trying my best to make it sound natural.

The young woman with a nose ring who’s bagging the groceries looks up, squints, then continues stuffing frozen pizzas into the bag.

“No doubt about it. You new around here?”

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, nervously unzipping my wallet.

He shrugs his shoulders and smiles. He scans the cans: chicken noodle soup, green beans, and corn.

Now why did I get corn again? I don’t even like corn.

“I reckon the big one’s about to hit,” he says, ringing up the last few items. “Need a pack of waters?”

“Pardon me?”

“Water, in case your pipes freeze up,” he says, pointing to palettes of bottles and jugs sitting against the wall.

“Sure, yes, thank you.”

“And don’t let your fire go out,” he warns me, “even if you’ve got heating. Keep it going, just in case.”

I nod slowly. I pay with cash, thank him, and drive my cart out through the automatic doors and into the rush of biting cold. I pull my beanie down farther, over my ears.

As I pack my bags of groceries into the trunk, I smile to myself. Mom will be happy to hear that I had some human connection today. That’ll tide me over. As I slam the trunk shut, I feel a shiver down my neck. The sensation scatters across my shoulders, down my spine. Is someone watching me?

I make my way to my car door and glance around the parking lot. Between the corners of dirty snow and slush, a few vehicles are parked. They all have various amounts of snow clinging to their hoods, testaments to how long they’ve been here. There’s no one sitting in them, as far as I can tell. I retreat to my seat, and yank down my seatbelt. It’s all in your head. No one knows where you are. Well, Maddie knows, but she wouldn’t tell anyone. She knows better.