Overnight, the storm hits.  Wind whips around the cabin in great gusts, shaking the window and door.  The temperature inside drops considerably, and I have to keep the fire blazing to ward off the chill.

“Where’s my backpack?” Netti asks.

“Never saw one,” I tell her, though I vaguely remember her having one at the gas station.  “You weren’t carrying anything when I found you.”

“I guess they kept it,” she says with a long sigh.  “It’s not like there is anything in there they could use.  Just a change of clothes and my toiletries.”

“I have a couple spare toothbrushes,” I say.  I always have extra toiletries on hand, but I don’t know what compelled me to offer them to her.  Regardless, I can’t take it back now.  I point my thumb over my shoulder.  “Look in the box under the sink.  There’s a working toilet in there if you need it.”

Netti thanks me and heads into the bathroom, closing the squeaky door behind her.  Living on my own, I never bother with closing the door, and Solo apparently doesn’t like being shut off from the small room.  He first sniffs and then scratches at the door until I swoop in and pick him up.

“I told ya women are trouble,” I whisper into his fur, “always lockin’ ya out of the places you want to be.”

I cringe when I realize I’m speaking baby talk and immediately change my tone.

“She won’t be around long, boy.”

Solo mews and rubs his face against my cheek.  I’m not sure if he’s satisfied with my answer or not, but at least he’s content again.  His loud purr vibrates against my skin.

Netti is in the bathroom only a short time before coming back out.  When she comes out, she walks to the bed and sits on the edge with the blanket wrapped around her.  Her clothing is still wet, so I find her a pair of my sweatpants and a long T-shirt to wear until her own clothing is dry, but she’s still cold.  I’m not sure if it’s because of her exposure to the elements yesterday or if she just isn’t used to the temperatures here.

We’ve barely spoken since waking up, still wrapped around each other for warmth.  I wouldn’t know what to say to her anyway.  As I prepare milk for Solo, my whole body is tense, and I’m trying my best not to show it.  I’m not exactly prepared for a guest and wouldn’t know what to do even if I were so inclined to have one.  Margot came here exactly once, and that was just to bring me a box of extra supplies she had.  I didn’t like Margot being here either, but it was better than being at her place where I felt like an extra, unwanted piece of furniture.  It wasn’t Margot’s fault though.  I just don’t do well in any kind of social situation.

“I emptied that drawer for you,” Margot told me after I had lived there for a month.  “You don’t have to live out of your backpack.”

I shrugged, not knowing how to respond.

“Really, Bishop.  It’s okay.  You know you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Everything I own fits in the bag,” I said.  “I don’t really need to take up more space than I already do.”

“I want you to be comfortable here.”

I took a long, shaky breath.  I knew she was trying, but I also knew I was never going to feel comfortable living with her.

Margot had eventually given up trying to get me to relax, and that was the beginning of the end.  When the ice road began to thaw, I found the cabin.  A few weeks after that, I moved out of Margot’s place, and I have been alone ever since.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Margot or didn’t like living with her—I did.  That was part of the problem.  I couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling in the back of my head that living with me would never be in her best interest.  It was better for me to be on my own and safer for Margot to be away from me.

Even now, I can feel that same tickle running across my scalp.  My hands clench and unclench uncontrollably.  In my head, I see myself picking up a piece of firewood and bashing in my visitor’s skull just to be rid of her.  I close my eyes for a moment, willing the images away.

Solo is the exact opposite—he seems to enjoy the extra company.  He keeps crawling around in Netti’s lap and rubbing his head against her.  When I bring his warmed milk over, Netti offers to feed the kitten for me.

Solo rolls over on his back and reaches up with his paws as Netti brings the bottle of milk to his mouth.  He stares at her adoringly as she giggles and coos at him, and my stomach tightens.  Watching Netti with the kitten makes me feel like I’m out of place in my own cabin.  I don’t like it.

My hands shake as I go back to the kitchen counter and stare out the window, feeling stupid for feeling awkward.  The storm is in full force, and big, heavy flakes fill the air as the wind whips them around the trees.  I keep my focus on the swirling snow until the violent thoughts dissipate.

I grab a heavy pan along with coffee and a percolator and the carton of eggs I got in Yellowknife.  After hanging the percolator on a hook inside the fireplace, I crouch down and cook the eggs over the fire without looking at the woman or the kitten.  When breakfast is ready, I hand her a cup of coffee and a plate full of eggs and caribou bacon.

“You want sugar?” I ask.

“Sugar?”

“For the coffee.”

“Oh, um, sure.  Yes.”

I add sugar to both of our cups and sit down on the floor by the fire.  Solo comes over to me, sniffing my plate.  I push him away a couple of times, but he’s very interested in the smell of the bacon.  Though I don’t know his actual age, I’m pretty sure he’s not old enough for solid food yet.

“I think my clothes are dry now.”  Netti reaches over and runs her hand along the sleeve of her coat.

“Should be.”  I stare at my plate as silence fills the room.  Even Solo stops his begging for food, curls up by the fire, and settles down for a nap.

I finish breakfast and wonder if the weather is too bad to deal with the caribou in the barn.  Inside the barn itself shouldn’t be too bad, but the short trek there might be ugly.  Chopping wood is probably out of the question until the snow stops falling.

“Well, I appreciate all of this,” Netti says suddenly, “but I really should get out of your hair.”

I look up and stare at her for a long moment, trying to decide if she’s completely nuts or not.  She doesn’t have a vehicle, and even my Jeep wouldn’t do well under the current conditions.  If it were a life-or-death situation, it might still be better to wait until the mass of the storm has passed.

“Have you looked outside?”  I shake my head at her.

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”  I sound like an ass.  It occurs to me that she was asleep when I was listening to the weather radio and that she hadn’t gone near the one window in the cabin, but she should at least be able to hear the wind against the walls.

“I guess the storm is too bad to leave?”

I’m not sure if she means it to sound like a question or not, but I think the answer is pretty damn obvious.  I press my lips together.  Any words that come out of my mouth are going to sound shitty.

“How long will it last?” she asks.

“Fuck if I know,” I say.  “Do I look like a meteorologist?”

The tension is getting to be too much.  I grab her empty plate and cup and take all the dishes to the sink, just trying to put some distance between us.  I add hot water from the percolator into the sink and grab a bottle of dish soap.

“Let me do that,” she says as she moves up behind me and tries to take the bottle of dish soap from my hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Please,” she says, “let me do it.  You made breakfast.”

Her hand touches mine, and I still as all my muscles fire at once.  Images of cracking her head open with the frying pan fill my brain.  She’s a guest, so I should be doing the work.  She’s a guest, so I should let her help if that’s what she wants.  She’s a guest, and I have no idea what to do.

I drop the pan in the sink, splashing cold water onto my arms.  The droplets feel like they’re burning my skin.  I push away from the sink, wanting to get away from her, but there is nowhere to go inside the small, one-room cabin.

She’s obviously shocked by my reaction but says nothing.  As Netti starts to wash the dishes, I grab my winter gear and start suiting up to go outside.  I just need to get away.

I still have that caribou to clean.  Maybe I’ll chop wood in the blinding snow just to get some of the tension out of my shoulders. Fuck the weather.

 “Where are you going?” she asks quietly.  “The snow is really coming down.”

I don’t answer her.  I just put on my boots and gloves before opening the door and quickly shutting it behind me.

Outside, I can breathe again.

The wind burns my exposed cheeks, but the snow isn’t deep enough yet to need the snowshoes, so I leave them on the porch and head to the barn.  Putting some distance between myself and the woman inside my abode is more important than anything else right now anyway.

Despite the brisk cold demanding that I focus and move quickly, my mind wanders to the past.

“Do you really think I don’t know that you’re hiding something, Bishop?  Do you think you can live with me all these months, tell me nothing about your past, and not have me notice?”  Margot had her hands on her hips and her girlish, heart-shaped face was full of fire and brimstone.  Her jet-black hair hung over her forehead and into her eyes.  She pushed it away as she continued to yell at me.  “You don’t trust me enough to tell me, and every relationship needs trust!”

“You think this is a relationship?”  I asked as I shoved the last of my items into my backpack and stood up, prepared to just walk to the damn cabin myself.  “At what point did I hand you a fucking ring?”

“Stop being shitty.”  She scowled at me.  “You’re doing it just to piss me off, and it’s not going to work.”

“You are pissed off,” I said.  “It did work.”

She took in a long breath to get herself back under control.

“At some point you are going to get tired of being alone,” she said.  “You are going to want to have people in your life again, and if you keep it up, no one is going to take you back, not even me.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

Once I’m inside the barn and away from the wind, I take a few long, deep breaths.  I welcome the cold air into my lungs.  It makes me feel alive even as it sends a shiver down my body.  Working on the caribou in the cold will be rough, but I welcome it.  Hard work keeps me from thinking too much.

As I work on gutting and skinning the caribou, I work up enough sweat to remove my outer coat and gloves.  Having my hands free for a short time makes the detailed work much easier though it’s too cold to leave the extra layer off for long.

I store the meat in the stone structure at the back of the barn along with my other kills.  There’s definitely enough meat to get me through the winter even if Netti is here for a while.

I think about that for a moment.  If the storm lasts a while and the snows pile deep, there will be no leaving the cabin.  I don’t have a snowmobile to get around, and there’s no way this woman is going to walk all the way to Whatì.  She doesn’t have the gear for it, and I don’t have enough extra to give her.

I really don’t want to think about how long I could be stuck with Netti sharing my cabin.  For the first time, I wish I had a telephone or two-way radio to contact someone in Whatì with a snowmobile or a dogsled.  At least then she would be away from me.

For a brief moment, I’m concerned about where she would go and what she would do without money or friends.  If she had either, she wouldn’t have tried to hitch a ride with those two hunters.

“Not my responsibility,” I mutter to myself.  “She figured out how to get here on her own, and she can figure out how to get herself somewhere else.”

But she got here during the warmer seasons, and now winter is in full force.

I finish cleaning up.  I’m breathing hard, and my arms and shoulders ache, but it’s a good feeling.  Having the pain to focus my attention on is a wonderful way to avoid thinking.  I gather up my outer coat and head back outside.

I don’t have any real sense of how much time has passed, but the snow is much deeper now.  At least six inches has fallen since I entered the barn, and the wind is blowing impossibly stronger.  I tuck my chin down to my chest and plow my way to the front door of the cabin.

I stomp my feet against the porch floor to knock some of the snow off.  The vibrations from my feet are amplified by the cold and echo up my legs, pulling me out of my daydreams.

When I open the door and go inside, Netti is sitting on the edge of the bed with Solo in her lap.  She’s added wood to the fire, and it’s blazing nicely.  Usually when I have been out working during the winter, the fire has died down and the cabin has gone cold, but this time it’s still nice and warm inside.

“I was starting to wonder if you were coming back,” Netti says.  There’s a smile on her face, but it’s hesitant.

“Nowhere to go.”  I kick the remaining snow from my boots before slipping them off.  I hang my winter gear on hooks by the door and walk past Netti to the bathroom.

The water from the sink is frigid.  During my first winter in the cabin, the pipes froze.  Though I was lucky enough that they didn’t burst, I had to have them better insulated before the following year.  Considering it’s just now the beginning of winter, I can only hope the pipes don’t freeze again before spring.

“I was going to try to cook something,” Netti says as I emerge, “but I’ve never cooked on a fire like this.  I wasn’t sure how to do it.”

“Just like a stove,” I say briskly.  “You just have to be a little more careful not to burn the place down in the process.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she says with a nervous laugh.

“Watch.”  I say little else as I place a pot of rice on the fireplace hook to cook and then get out a cast iron skillet.  I cook up some caribou meat and vegetables to go with the rice while Netti watches.

When the meal is ready, Netti jumps up to retrieve plates for us.  She flitters around with a nervous smile on her face, trying to do things to help.  I should say something to make her feel more at ease, but I don’t know what to say.  I spent my formative years locked up, and the social niceties of regular society are simply something I never learned.

“How long do you think the storm will last?” she asks.

I glare at her.

“I know, I know,” she says as she holds her hands up, “you aren’t a meteorologist.  You must have some idea though.”

“Hopefully just a day or two,” I say.  “You never really know until it’s over.  I don’t usually pay much attention.  Once it sets in, I just wait until spring.”

“You just stay here for months?”

“Yeah.”

“By yourself?  You don’t go anywhere?”

“I prefer to be alone.”

“I guess I’ve ruined that.”

“Yes, you have.”  It’s a shitty thing to say, but it’s the truth.  Storm or not, I don’t want her to get too comfortable here.  As soon as I’m able, I’ll take her somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

“Where do you think you’re going to go anyway?”  My tone is harsher than I intend, but ultimately, I’m going to need an answer.

“I don’t know.”  She looks away, biting at her lip and rubbing her hands together.  “I was going to try to make it to Yellowknife, but that didn’t work out so well.  I guess I should go back to Fort Providence.”

“Do you know someone there?”

“No.  It’s just the last city I was in.”

I snort at her use of the word “city.”  Fort Providence, though larger than Whatì, is just barely a hamlet.  If I can get the Jeep to Edzo, there’s an all-weather road to Fort Providence.  The trek is even farther than Yellowknife, but if I drove her, I’d be rid of her.

I’m tempted to ask her a hundred questions, beginning with how in the hell she ended up in Fort Providence, let alone Whatì.  Though tourist fishing is decent business in the summer months, no one comes this way in winter.  There isn’t a fancy hotel in town, and the main entertainment is Dene Hand Game.  She obviously isn’t Dene, and there aren’t too many people around competing in Hand Game who didn’t grow up playing.  I’ve tried, and I’m terrible at it.

I don’t ask her because I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.  It’s the same reason I am here.  There’s only one motive that brings someone this far north—to escape something or someone in the south.  If I start asking questions, I’m going to get more information than I want to hear.  Best case, she won’t want to talk about it.  Worst case, she’ll tell me everything and then want to know how I got here.

“I assume you don’t have any money.”

“No,” she says quietly, “I ran out shortly after I got to Fort Providence.”

“Yellowknife is a better destination,” I say.  “A lot more people.  Maybe someone would give you a job or something.”

“I don’t know…”  She shakes her head as her voice trails off, confirming my suspicions.

Those who don’t want to be found don’t go looking for a job in a city where they might be recognized.  It’s part of the reason I don’t go there more than once a year and never stay long when I do.  I’m technically a fugitive though I don’t think anyone cares enough to actually go looking for me.

“Would you be able to take me to Fort Providence when the storm lets up?” she asks.  “You’ve already helped me so much, and I know it’s a lot to ask.  You don’t even know me.”

“It depends on the storm,” I say.  “I can get you back to Whatì, but farther than that might not be possible for a while.”

“Why is that?”

“Even getting to Whatì can be difficult once the cold sets in.  There aren’t any roads around here, and my Jeep can handle the snow only to a certain point.  Once it gets cold enough, it won’t run well.  It’s winter, Netti.”

“Netti?”  She lets out a short burst of laughter.  “No one has called me that in ages.  Just Seri, please.”

For a moment, I just stand there.  I’m the first to admit that I’m not great when it comes to talking to women, but I don’t think that’s my problem here.  This woman is just weird.  I know she told me her name was Netti, and I knew then that it wasn’t the name she had given me before.  Seri does actually sound right—a shortened version of a longer name.

I have no idea what to say.