Ten Years Ago

The road to the cabin was the same as it always was. Loose gravel, half a mile of pines, then the turn that opened onto the bluff overlooking Blackwater River.

Frank cut the engine and let the quiet settle in.

Linda was already out of the SUV before he reached for the keys.

He grabbed the bags from the trunk. The air was different here. Pine and river and damp cedar carried up from below the bluff. Cooler than Orlando. Cleaner somehow. The particular quiet of a place the world hadn’t gotten around to ruining yet.

“You packed enough for a month,” he called toward the porch.

“That’s because you forget things.”

“I forgot one thing.”

“You forgot pants once.”

“That was one time.”

She chuckled and continued toward the door.

The sound led him up the porch steps.

The cabin smelled faintly closed up when he unlocked the door. Cedar walls. Old stone fireplace. Dust and river air. Linda crossed to the kitchen window over the sink and slid it open before he’d even set the bags down.

Something she did every time.

Like the cabin needed to be told they were back.

The breeze moved through the screen, stirring dust motes.

Frank stopped in the middle of the front room, and his shoulders loosened.

Knotty pine, darkened with age, closed in the room. A gray couch sagged beneath an old, framed river map. Fishing rods leaned beside a dented tackle box in the corner. The stone fireplace still held ashes from winter.

Linda pulled a fishing guide from the shelf near the kitchen window. “This thing is from 1987.”

“Still accurate.”

Half the cover was missing, chewed nearly through.

“I bet Simba did it,” she said.

Their neighbor’s dog had apparently declared war on paper products years ago.

Frank switched on the lamp beside the couch. Amber light spread through the room but left the corners dim.

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far upriver.

Linda started opening cabinets. The cast-iron scraped against wood. A drawer slid shut.

He carried the bags toward the bedroom. “You hungry?”

She smiled at him. “You are. Let’s make dinner.”

Rain drifted against the windows during dinner. Frank stood at the counter eating while Linda sat on the stool across from him, barefoot now, one leg tucked beneath the other.

The cabin lights flickered once.

“Still needs rewiring,” he muttered.

“It’s survived this long.”

“That’s not how electrical fires work.”

Linda sipped wine. “You know what your problem is?”

“I have several. Narrow it down.”

“You don’t know how to be off duty.”

“I’m literally standing in a cabin.”

“Mentally, you’re still on a ship. Or a mission or some classified op.”

He drank from the wineglass instead of answering.

She watched him over the rim of hers. “We had to call security twice this week.”

He lowered his drink. “At the office?”

She nodded once. “One of the parents.”

“What happened?”

“He didn’t like hearing that his son needed inpatient treatment.”

Frank set the fork down. “And?”

“And apparently glaring at receptionists is his coping mechanism.”

“Did he threaten anybody?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Frank.”

“What?”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where your brain starts planning raids.”

“I don’t plan raids.”

“You absolutely plan raids.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

She pointed her wineglass at him. “There it is. I saw that.”

After dinner, she left the cast-iron soaking in the sink despite his predictable comments about proper maintenance.

By the time the rain moved out, dusk had settled over the bluff.

“Walk?” Linda asked.

He opened the door into a darkened world. “Trail or road?”

“Road. Less chance of me falling down a ravine.”

“That only happened once.”

“You bring it up every single time.”

“Because it was memorable.”

The gravel road curved along the ridge above the river.

The air smelled of wet earth and pine needles after the storm. Water dripped from the trees. Somewhere below, the river moved through darkness they couldn’t quite see.

Linda walked slightly ahead, hands tucked into the sleeves of his old navy sweatshirt she’d stolen years ago and never returned.

Lights glowed from two cabins farther down the bluff.

They passed the Burkes’ place first. Empty for the season.

Then the old boat launch farther ahead.

Linda slowed near the parking area. “Hang on a second.”

Frank nodded toward the restroom building beside the launch. “I’ll wait here.”

She disappeared around the corner.

He leaned against the rail overlooking the river.

At first, he didn’t think much of it.

The woods were quiet except for insects and the distant wash of water below the bluff. Wind moved through the pines overhead.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

He checked his watch.

The conversation about the angry father drifted back, whether he wanted it to or not.

Fifteen minutes.

Frank straightened from the rail.

“Linda?”

Nothing.

He walked toward the restroom building. Empty.

A light glowed farther up the road through the trees.

Voices.

Frank followed them around the bend and stopped.

Linda sat in a plastic chair on the neighboring cabin’s porch beside Evelyn Harper while Simba sprawled across the steps like a bear rug. Evelyn’s husband stood near the railing, holding a beer and telling some long story with both hands.

Linda looked up first.

“There you are.” Frank stared at her. Then at Evelyn. Then at the dog. “You were gone twenty minutes.”

Evelyn snorted into her drink. “Well, excuse us for being interesting.”

Linda’s mouth twitched. “Sorry, hon. She makes homemade blackberry jam. Time got away from me.”

Frank exhaled through his nose.

Simba thumped his tail once against the porch.

“You thought I got kidnapped during a bathroom break, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“You absolutely did.”

Evelyn pointed at him. “That look right there? That’s a man who already started organizing search parties.”

Linda laughed.

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “You could’ve said something.”

“And ruin the drama?” She stood and stepped down from the porch.

As they walked back toward the cabin, she slipped her hand into his. “You worry too much.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“No. You care too much.”

He didn’t answer.

The river moved below the bluff, dark and steady beneath the trees.

By the time they reached the cabin, the sky had cleared completely. Orange light lingered over the ridge beyond the river.

Linda drifted down toward the dock while Frank stopped inside to grab his phone from the kitchen counter.

He saw her through the window above the sink.

She’d set her wineglass on the weathered rail and stood looking out across the water, both hands resting on the dock railing.

Still.

Peaceful.

That particular stillness she had sometimes, the kind that meant nothing was wrong and everything was fine, and she was simply standing in the middle of her own life for a second.

He headed down the bluff.

The dock creaked once beneath his boots as he stepped onto the newer boards they’d replaced three summers earlier.

One board near the far edge still bowed.

“I’m fixing that tomorrow,” he said.

Linda glanced back over her shoulder, smiling. “You’ve said that for two years.”

“Then tomorrow’s finally the day.”

The sun sat low behind her and off to the right. Gold light caught in her hair as she lifted one hand against the glare off the river.

Frank raised the phone.

She didn’t know he was taking the picture.

The river moved below them. Pines shifted in the evening wind. Somewhere deep in the trees, a bird called once and fell quiet.

The light held for another few seconds.

Then she looked up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him the way she always did when she knew what the nothing was and had decided not to press it.

Frank checked the screen.

Linda squinted into the sunset light. One hand raised against the glare. The river behind her.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

And for the first time all week, he stopped thinking about work.