I raise my fork to dig into my second helping of the Alaskan grayling I caught but stop mid-air when I see Abbie’s face. She always looks fair, but right now, her skin is bleached pale and she’s pushed her food away from her.

“You alright?” I hope she’s not getting sick. Abbie doesn’t exactly strike me as a great outdoorsy kind of girl. I don’t know if roughing it like this is taking a toll on her health. Truth be told, I also don’t need any more delays in getting her out of here. I feel terrible for even thinking it, I mean, it’s not like I want her to leave. But the longer she camps out here the more chance her old boss will come looking for her. Or worse. The police will.

“What?” Her glossy eyes flicker back into focus and she looks over at me like she just remembered I’m here. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she presses her lips into a thin slit.

Not the most convincing face, but I know it’s best to let things go. There have been many times that my mind has drifted back to my sister and my thoughts have dragged me unwillingly into another world. Sometimes it’s good to let things drop.

Abbie places her plate on the table and looks around like she’s searching the room for hidden treasure. I scoop some more fish into my mouth and watch as she rubs her hands up and down her thighs, it’s like I can see the wheels turning in her head.

“So, what do you do around here every day? I mean, don’t you get bored just sitting out here alone?” She sits up straight and tosses her hair over her shoulder, twisting her hands over it like she’s trying to pull it up into a ponytail only to let it drop back down around her face again.

“You’d be surprised actually, survival is pretty much a full-time job. I don’t think I’ve spent a single day out here bored, to be honest,” I admit, finishing the last bite of my meal.

I lean back and look around my place. I admit that it’s not much to look at, but I’m proud of what I’ve put together. She obviously has no concept of how much work it took to build this place or how much I do just to stay alive.

“Most days, just keeping wood chopped for fires, fishing, cooking, cleaning, working on the cabin and keeping myself clean takes up the entire day. Let me tell ya, keeping me clean is probably the biggest one. I’m always getting covered in dirt or tree sap or something. It’s amazing I haven’t turned into that dirty kid from the Charlie Brown comics, remember him? Pigpen I think his name was. He always had a dust cloud surrounding him,” I smile.

Abbie laughs and I can see her relax a little. Whatever was just eating at her seems to have passed. I love making her smile, making her laugh. It’s almost as amazing as making her cum.

Making her cum is the clear front-runner, but then in a distant second is making her laugh.

“So, what’s on the agenda today? You’ve already gone fishing. Is it wood chopping day? Do you have a schedule like that?” She leans in toward me, and rests her elbows on her knees, cradling her face in her hands. The way the sun is falling on her looks like a spotlight in a play. Like she’s the star of the show.

“Today is Wednesday,” I answer her matter-of-factly.

“Okay…” she raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Wednesday is my day off. Ever since I finished this place, when the weather cooperates I try to give myself a day of rest every week.”

“Oh, okay then. What do you do? Just chill here?” I can see the boredom creeping in across her face. She’s trying to hide her disappointment, but the fine lines that erupt in a spider web across the bridge of her nose and the way her pink lips are tugging down in the corners is making it impossible.

“No, I’ll show you after we eat. Usually I have some drinks and either write or draw for a while.” I stand up and pick up her plate, placing it on top of mine. “Are you done with this?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she casts her eyes downward.

“I guess you’re not a fan of my cooking?” I tease her.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just not used to eating fish for breakfast I guess.” She scuffs her boot across the floorboards and avoids my eyes.

“Suit yourself,” I shrug and pop the last of her fish into my mouth. I’m not about to waste a perfectly good catch.

“So, are you an artist then?” Abbie looks up at me.

“I wouldn’t say that, but I find it relaxing,” I admit. “I used to try to whittle on my days off, but it turns out that wasn’t a great combination with the booze,” I snort and tug my shirt sleeve up, revealing a scar I gave myself in a drunken attempt to carve wood.

“Ouch! Yeah, that just sounds like a terrible idea,” she shakes her head.

“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a genius,” I laugh and tug my shirt back down. “Anyway, just let me get this stuff taken care of and we’ll get going,” I nod to the dirty dishes.

“I can do them,” her voice is chipper, like she’s volunteering to taste test a new kind of candy bar, not wash dirty plates.

“Great,” I agree. “You get the dishes and I’ll get everything we need for the day together, sound good?”

“Mmhmm,” she stands up and then gives me a quick, wide-eyed look before wincing and lifting her foot.

“You okay?” I close the distance between us and grab her arm for support.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” she won’t meet my eyes. I hope she’s not trying to hide how much pain she’s dealing with.

I try to assess what she’s holding back, but decide to let it go. It’s Wednesday and my grassy knoll and lazy day are calling to me.