Jennie
If this plane crashes, at least I'm going out on a high note.
Lali is the kind of attractive that makes a woman stop paying attention to what she's doing and nearly end up strangling herself with her scarf. She's tall and built, with dark hair, hazel eyes ringed with dark green, and a smile that makes my insides mushy.
I'm tucked into her side, her arm stretched out along the back of the seat, fingers curved around my shoulder, keeping me nice and safe. Lali's arm is very sturdy, and solid, and thick, like a tree trunk. She also smells great, like fresh laundry and cologne with a hint of peppermint, likely from the gum she gave me to take care of my breath.
She dealt with my bag of vomit, which is both mortifying and insanely sweet. At least the near scarf strangulation happened before I hurled. I'm currently fisting her sweatshirt in one hand and hugging my mittens to my chest with the other. I also keep trying to bury my face in her armpit. Despite the long flight from Seattle and the tiny, cramped quarters on this plane, she still manages to smell like deodorant.
She covers the hand clutching her sweatshirt.
"I'm sorry." I pry my fingers from the soft fabric, but before I can tuck my hand close to my own body, she threads her fingers through mine. It's an unexpected level of intimacy.
"A couple more minutes and we'll be on the ground again," she reassures me.
I squeeze her hand as the plane descends and squeak out my anxiety when the wheels touch down, pressing my face against Lali's chest.
Eventually, when it's clear we're bumping along the tarmac, I peek up.
Lali grins down at me; it's disarmingly charming. "We survived."
I look out the window at the mountains rising to my right, the water on the left. "We did." Now that we're on the ground I'm embarrassed all over again. "Thank you for being my personal support person and human teddy bear."
Lali smiles even wider. "It was honestly my pleasure."
"I don't know if witnessing me toss my cookies was a pleasure for anyone, but thank you for being so nice." I gather my purse and mitts, making sure I have everything before we disembark. Our luggage is waiting for us on the tarmac. The cold air coming off the water makes me shiver, probably because I've been roasting in my parka for the past hour. I shove my hands in my mitts and try to bat my hair away from my face—it's not particularly effective, given how windy it is.
"Let me give you a hand," Lali offers when she notices my struggle. She slings her huge duffel over her shoulder and grabs the handle of my suitcase, and we head for the warmth and safety of the arrival terminal. I rush to keep up with her long strides.
Once we're inside and the wind is no longer an issue, I tuck my mitts into my purse and quickly braid my hair so it's not a problem when I have to go outside again. Lali stops when we reach the car rental desk. "Where are you heading from here?"
"I have a cabin about ten miles past the town of Kodiak. It's supposed to be on the water. I wanted an authentic Alaskan experience." My printout with the directions from the airport to the cabin is in my purse.
"So you need a rental, then?" Lali motions to the kiosk. "I'm picking up a vehicle. If you want, I can drive you to Kodiak and you can get one there—it'll be a lot less expensive without the airport taxes."
I fidget with the end of my braid, embarrassed. "Oh, that's really nice of you, but I don't have my license."
Lali tips her head to the side, her expression curious. "How are you planning to get to your cabin?"
"I was going to shuttle to town and then cab the rest of the way."
"Or I could just drive you."
"I couldn't ask you to do that. We might be in opposite directions."
"You said you're ten miles outside of Kodiak, right? I'm already heading in that direction. I don't mind dropping you off—unless you're waiting on someone?"
"Oh no, it's just me." I try to keep my hands still instead of talking with them, which is something I do when I'm nervous. Incidentally, I'm nervous often.
Lali's brow furrows. "So you're alone here without a car?" This seems to concern her, which of course means it also starts to concern me.
"I can always call a cab when I need to go to town." I used to bike everywhere back home. And during my brief stint in Seattle I took public transit. That was definitely nerve-racking. All those people so close together.
It would be a good idea to get a bike so I can go back and forth to town for groceries and stuff. That way I won't have to worry so much about making polite chitchat with the cab drivers. Also, there are a lot of movies about psycho killers who pick up unsuspecting victims and such. I don't want to meet any of those while I'm here. I put purchasing a bike on my mental to-do list. Mostly I'm tired and in need of a shower and maybe a little rest after this long day.
"Okay." She scratches the back of her neck. "But at least let me drive you today."
"Only if it's not too much trouble." She seems safe and not like a psycho killer.
She graces me with the same brain-fritzing smile as before. "It's no trouble at all, Jennie."
I wait with our bags while she gets the keys to her vehicle. Then we head to the valet, where a huge gray truck with roll bars and waist-high tires is parked curbside.
Lali puts our bags in the back and helps me into the passenger seat before she rounds the hood and climbs in. She adjusts the radio so it's playing a local station and turns the volume down low as we follow the signs for Kodiak.
"It's just so beautiful here." I can't take my eyes off the mountains in the distance or the water to my right.
"It really is—and peaceful, especially once we're out of town and on the water," Lali says.
It doesn't take long before we're driving through the town of Kodiak, where we make a stop for groceries. It's a little awkward shopping for food with someone I don't know, but I'm happy to have a chance to stock up on essentials, since all I have in my purse are a few granola bars.
She helps me load my groceries into the truck, then programs the address to my cabin into her GPS and gives me a lopsided smile. "You're actually only about three-quarters of a mile away from where I'm staying. What're the chances?"
"It's a pretty wild coincidence, isn't it?" It also seems too good to be true.
My stomach twists as storefronts and houses give way to tall trees lining the road. I'm alone in a vehicle with someone I hardly know, and we're heading into the wilderness, where there aren't a lot of people. Usually that is my preference, unless it's my family, who I know and trust. But right now I'm nervous and uncertain. "My cabin is supposed to have satellite TV. I really like the Discovery Channel, and of course Animal Planet is always fascinating." I realize I'm babbling, so I ask her a question. "Do you watch TV?"
"Yeah, I watch TV." She's smiling, but her focus stays on the road.
"Do you have a favorite show?" This is good. I can learn more about her. Maybe we have things in common other than liking Alaska.
"Sure, depends on my mood and how much time I have. I binge-watch shows sometimes."
"Oh, me too! Once I binge-watched an entire season of Criminal Minds, which was a really bad idea. I got all paranoid and thought I was going to end up kidnapped by a serial killer." I glance over at Lali, nerves going haywire.
She's much bigger than me. And even though I've taken self-defense classes, I'm not sure they'd be useful against someone like her. What if she's planning to take me to her cabin and keep me there, like a pet? Or a hostage. I should be panicking more at that thought. As it is, my heart is racing.
She takes her eyes off the road for a second. "I promise I'm not a serial killer."
"Are you a mind reader?" What the heck was I thinking, getting into a truck with a guy I met on a plane? I can actually hear my mother losing her mind over this poor decision-making. If she does kidnap me, I'll never hear another one of her lectures again. I'm uncertain how I feel about that. I love her, but one of the reasons I'm all the way out here is because the smothering is overwhelming.
Lali laughs, reminding me that I asked a question before I got lost in the anxious spiral of my thoughts. "No, but your expression sort of says it all. I'm just someone hanging out in the wilderness for a few weeks, planning to catch some fish. You're safe with me."
"I hope so." I wring my hands, anxiety making my mouth dry and my palms damp. Dammit. Why do I have to worry about everything?
She takes her foot off the gas, pointing to the passenger side window. We pass a red mailbox that reads Sweet View Home. "That's my driveway. You're not too far down the road."
A minute later she makes a right on a narrow dirt road, the center of which is overgrown with a strip of foot-long weeds. Tree branches brush the mirrors as we pass them. It's a bumpy ride that makes me wish I'd used a bathroom while we were in town.
The lane finally opens up to a clearing and a tiny cabin.
"Oh! It's so cute!" I clap my hands, excited that I'm finally here and I'm still alive.
For the first time in my entire life, I'm going to have a real adventure. On my own. This won't be anything like my short time at the University of Seattle. It will be peaceful, and I'll be totally safe. Nothing bad will happen to me here. It's going to be awesome. At least this is what I tell myself as enough knots to keep a professional escape artist busy form in my stomach.
As we get closer to the cabin, the cuteness becomes questionable. The cabin is actually pretty run down.
Lali frowns. "Are you sure this is the place?"
I dig around in my purse for the paper copy of the confirmation email. I smooth out the crumpled sheet. The number on the side of the cabin matches the address on the email, but the cabin looks a lot better in the picture. "Yup, this is it. Maybe the ad was old?"
"Yeah. Maybe. Can I help you get settled?"
"You've already done so much. I'm sure you have some settling of your own to do." I grip my purse strap to keep from wringing my hands again. Of course now I'm worried that I should invite her in and that she'll want to stay and hang out, but I'm tired, and I don't think I smell very nice under this parka.
"I don't mind. At least let me help you get your stuff in the cabin."
I shove down the paranoia that she's only offering so she can chain me to my bed. If she was really a serial killer, she would have just taken me to her bunker, not dropped me off at my cabin. Besides, it would be awkward for me to carry my stuff in while she sits in the cab. "Okay. Sure. Thank you."
I grab the groceries, and Lali brings my suitcase to the front door. I find the key under the mat like the instructions said and slip it in the lock, hoping the outside just needs some fresh paint and that it won't be a reflection of the inside. The door creaks its protest as I shoulder it open. I flick on the light and stare at my new home for the next six weeks, coughing as I breathe in dust.
"It's rustic." It smells musty—and possibly like something rotten.
Lali sets down my bags and also coughs several times into the crook of her arm. "That's one way to describe it."
She turns a slow circle, taking in my little home away from home. It's basically a one-room cabin with a bathroom and a closet. In one corner is a double bed made up with a comforter that may have been fashionable when my great-grandmother was my age.
A nightstand also doubles as a side table for the seventies-era recliner in a color that resembles infant poop—sort of a yellowish, browny green. A very old tube TV is set against the opposing wall, complete with rabbit ears, which I didn't even know still existed.
I'm not sure the information about satellite service was accurate, based on what I'm seeing. On the other side of the cabin is the kitchen, if one could even call it that. There's a hot plate, a microwave, a sink, and a tiny bar fridge. The kind I had when I lived—very briefly—in off-campus student housing.
The biggest piece of furniture, other than the bed, is the two-seater table pushed up against the far wall. It's conveniently located close to the tube TV, which is situated in the center of the room. Lucky me: I can watch TV from my bed, the recliner, or the table while I'm eating my noodles, which, based on the hot plate, are going to be my primary source of nourishment. And maybe fried eggs and bacon.
"This is great!" My voice is high and reedy. This place is the opposite of great, and I think I'm on the verge of a panic attack, which I'd like to avoid while Lali is here. So I fake enthusiasm, hoping I can trick my brain into believing it's true until she's gone. I clear my throat. "I love it! It's perfect."
Lali adjusts her ball cap and squeezes the back of her neck. "Are you sure you're going to be okay here?"
"It'll be great!" I pull the curtains open to let in some sunshine and release a cloud of musty dust. This time I cough for a full thirty seconds before I can speak. "It just needs a little fresh air and a good dusting!" I'm much more careful when I open the curtains over the sliding door. The glass is covered in a layer of grime, but the view beyond that is incredible. Trees dot the front yard, framing the lake and the islands beyond, the bright-blue sky reflected in the water.
I turn the lock, lift the security bar, and slide the door open. Or I try to. It takes some serious effort, at least until Lali gives me a hand. A gust of cool air comes off the water, and I pull the lapels of my jacket together. I take a couple of steps onto the deck—which creaks—and almost fall through a hole. Thankfully, Lali is there to save me with her lightning-fast reflexes.
She grabs me by the waist, pulling me up against her. "I really don't know about this place, Jennie." She sets me back down inside the cabin, away from the danger.
"It's fine. I'll just call the rental people tomorrow and let them know the deck needs a couple of new boards." Half a board is now missing, thanks to me. An animal scurries around under there. I've probably disrupted his home. On the plus side, this is going to be a great place to observe the wildlife. I pat Lali on the chest, noticing how solid it is, much like her arm. "I promise I'll be fine."
She chews on the inside of her lip and rubs the back of her neck, something she's done a couple of times now. Her expression tells me she doesn't believe me, which riles me a little. She doesn't even know me, and she's making assumptions. Ones my parents would probably agree with and which are possibly accurate, but I'm determined to prove myself while I'm here.
I'm twenty-five years old. I can be independent without the world falling to pieces. I can handle living in a rustic cabin for six weeks on my own. "Honestly, Lali. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." I start unloading my groceries so I have something to do with my hands other than wring them.
"Okay. Well, if you've got a handle on things, I guess I'll head to my place?" It's more of a question than a statement.
I glance over my shoulder. "Thanks so much for all your help, and sorry about falling in your lap, and . . . the Cessna." I cringe, wishing I'd left it at thanks.
"No problem, and it happens to the best of us. You mind if I take your number down?" She taps the old-school rotary phone. The number is stuck to the front with one of those adhesive labels.
"Sure. Go ahead." I stuff my hands in my parka pockets. It's not particularly warm in here, but I'm still hot for some reason.
She takes the number down and shoves the piece of paper in her hoodie pocket. As an afterthought she picks up the receiver.
"What're you doing?"
"Making sure there's a dial tone." She sets it back in the cradle and rocks on her heels. "Okay. Well, I hope I'll see you around."
"Me too. I mean, yes." I try not to be too enthusiastic about my nodding. "Thanks again for everything."
"It's been a pleasure, Jennie."
I walk her to the door. She hesitates and takes a half step toward me. I decide I want to hug her, because she's been nice. And also because she's attractive, she smells good, and she's warm like a big teddy bear.
"Thanks again." I wrap my arms around her waist and let my whole body make contact with her.
"You're welcome." Her arms circle me. For a second I worry that she really is a serial killer and I've just embraced my doom. But all she does is give me a squeeze before she releases me. Her tongue peeks out and drags across her bottom lip, gaze fixed on my mouth.
I hope I don't have something stuck in my teeth. And that she's not thinking about me being sick on the plane. I rub my lips self-consciously, and her gaze lifts to mine again.
"I'm just down the road if you need anything. It's probably a fifteen-minute walk along the beach, but I'd wait until morning before you go exploring."
"I'm probably just going to unpack and maybe tidy up a few things. It's been a long day."
"Tell me about it. I've been going since five."
"You must be beat."
"Kinda, yeah." She glances around my cabin and seems disinclined to leave, but since there isn't much else to say, she finally heads for her truck. I wait until she's disappeared down the long driveway before I close the door.
"It's fine, Jennie. You're fine. Just put on some music and enjoy the beginning of your first-ever adventure," I mutter to myself.
I find my portable speaker in my bag, plug it in, and put on some happy, upbeat music.
I resume unpacking groceries, putting away the fridge items first. It's not very big, so it's a bit like a three-dimensional food puzzle, but if I close the door fast, everything stays put.
Next I move on to the dry goods. Everything is fine. I can totally do this. I don't need a big place or an actual oven to cook. I can get by with a hot plate and a microwave.
I open one of the cupboards and am greeted by a mousetrap—with a very dead mouse in it that smells absolutely putrid. I scream, because the black holes where its eyes used to be are staring at me, and it's disgusting. I stumble back and fall on my butt in the middle of the kitchen. The floors are rough-hewn wood, and I manage to get a palm full of splinters.
"It's fine. You're fine," I say, for what feels like the hundredth time already as I sit with a lamp aimed at my palm and pick each sliver of wood from my skin.
But I'm not fine at all. My vision blurs, and I suck in a panicky breath.
What have I gotten myself into, and how am I going to make it through the next six weeks on my own in this turd heap of a cabin?