Avery
This cabin is so much more spacious than you would ever think if you saw it from the outside―or even from the inside, if it was your first time.
If you’re accustomed to luxury penthouses and posh hotel suites, then you probably wouldn’t see this spartan dwelling as very roomy at all. I mean, it’s positively cozy—as real estate brokers like to say—by my usual standards. But it’s not big.
And yet, wandering around with a straw broom, getting familiar with every corner of this place while cleaning up every speck of dirt, my standards have completely changed.
Standing on its own in the wilds of Vermont, Jack’s cabin is a safe, warm and welcoming refuge.
The cabin is large enough for not only survival, but for living well with room to spare.
It’s spacious for Jack’s needs, at any rate. But I’m enjoying my time here today.
It feels like a home. I don’t remember the last time a place felt like that.
Houses, apartments, condos, even this cabin―none of them are homes by themselves. It’s the obvious care put into it, the residue left over from years of thoughtful living. Those are the things that make any place home.
I begin sweeping towards the stairs, moving the broom bristles back and forth in a cheery rhythm.
I start humming, which surprises me as much as it would surprise anyone. I’m not even humming any melody in particular, I’m just expressing…something.
I wouldn’t call that ‘something’ happiness, though. After everything I’ve been through, and with all those loose ends left unresolved, I can’t let myself use or even think about the h-word just yet.
But I’m experiencing things that feel like the cornerstones that my life has been missing all along, parts of the foundation of the person I really am—the person I’m supposed to be.
With Jack, I’m learning things about myself that maybe I wish I knew earlier, but I doubt anyone else could’ve taught me nearly as well.
I move straight from humming to whistling as I start the task of sweeping the stairs. I doubt there’s a vacuum cleaner anywhere within a dozen miles of here, so I sweep slowly and meticulously, leaving no part of the step unswept until I have a small pile for the trash can.
I’m still whistling when I start working on the second step. I think about what else makes this cabin feel like a home.
It must be the warmth I’m feeling. Not just the welcome heat of the cabin, but the sense of caring and companionship I feel from Jack—even when he’s outside working on his big secret project.
My whistling eventually turns into a melody as I make my way further up the stairs and I sweep more small piles of dust and dirt into the dust pan. Who needs a vacuum cleaner anyway? Who needs to hire people to do this type of thing? Other than, I guess, Mommy, of course.
Part of what makes a house a home is doing it yourself. Jack has his projects here, and now I have mine. If there’s one thing he seems to need here, it’s someone who cares how dirty that fireplace makes everything. I’m working on getting this place as clean and tidy as it’s ever been, and Jack’s working on…well, whatever he’s working on.
I’m looking forward to seeing it when it’s finished.
I’m enjoying this melody that I’m whistling, even though I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. But I wish I had some way to record it right now.
Doesn’t really matter, though. I’m just enjoying whistling while I sweep. Singing while I work. Even sounds like some of the birds outside the window are singing along with me.
I’ve almost made it to the top of the stairs. I can’t wait to learn more about myself out here, without my social media accounts to worry about or any boring state dinners to attend.
I want to explore this new world that Jack has shown me. Have some time to think about who I am and what I want to do with my life—beyond, I guess, just being with Jack.
This is what domestic life is all about.
I reach the top of the stairs before I know it.
I’m still whistling―I guess it does make the time and the work go faster.
But usually when I’m whistling, Buck shows up eventually. I’m surprised he hasn’t yet. I figured I would be swatting him away with the broom to keep him out from under my feet—but instead, he’s surprisingly quiet and nowhere to be seen.
I empty the dustpan into the bin waiting at the top of the stairs. Jack does need to start getting bags for his trash cans. I bet he just empties them out into the fire—if he ever even uses them at all. That’s something we can work on.
I want to make this place feel like even more of a home.
I start sweeping the landing at the top of the stairs, working my way from one corner to the center, getting a nice satisfying little pile of dust that Jack’s somehow missed over the months, or years, since the last deep cleaning of this place—not that I mind.
I’m quite happy to put my own touch on Jack’s home in the woods.
I keep whistling, carrying the broom and dustpan back down the stairs. But apart from my whistling, it’s been quiet here for a while now.
Is Jack still outside? I wonder.
“Jack,” I call out.
When I’m about halfway down the stairs, I hear something, or someone, walking loudly.
Not Jack, who lumbers so hard it shakes every floorboard he sets foot on—even when he thinks he’s tiptoeing.
Not Buck, who tippy-taps and bounds and prowls as it suits his mood.
Where’s that noise coming from? It’s hard to tell. I don’t see anyone downstairs, and the door is still closed.
Now there’s just silence again, except for the faint chirping of birds outside. Maybe they’re still inspired by my whistling.
I put the broom and dustpan back in the closet, thinking about what else I need to do to get this place in good shape.
I hear something again, a kind of banging. There’s no rhythm to it—it just sounds like somebody opening and closing a door randomly.
That must be Jack.
Maybe he needs to fix the door, maybe it’s falling off the hinges or something. Maybe his big secret project is a new door altogether.
Red. I hope it’s red. Like the cardinals he feeds in the backyard.
I walk back towards the front door, and my brow furrows as I see that it’s wide open.
The wind is swinging it on its hinges as it slams against the outside of the cabin.
Did the wind open the door?
No, it couldn’t have. There are wet boot prints coming from outside and going up the stairs. Jack must’ve run upstairs quickly while I wasn’t looking.
I smile to myself. Does he really think he’s being sneaky? Well, in any case, he’s getting better at it.
Obviously, he’s finished with his project, and he wants to surprise me.
I wish he had been a little craftier and taken off his boots. Now I’m going to have to clean those stairs again, and they’re going to need more than just a sweeping this time.
Oh, well. I’m sure I’ll be just as happy to do it again.
I don’t even think about how slippery the stairs must be. I run all the way up, ready to see Jack again with his newly groomed beard, waiting for me with my surprise.
I’m also thinking about after that―about later tonight when I’ll be ready to explore some of these new things about myself and enjoy some more new experiences.
I feel like I have a lot of lost time to make up for. A lot of lost orgasms—it’s okay, I can say it. I can’t afford to hold back anymore.
I arrive at the top of the stairs.
“Jack!” I yell, out of excitement, and to give him a bit of a warning so he can properly present me with my surprise.
I start laughing, thinking about how quickly things have changed in the past few days.
How could I have ever predicted all this for myself? I don’t know. Maybe things were just meant to fall into place like this.
I’m still laughing when I hear a hollow, metallic clicking sound echo through the hallway.
“Who’s Jack?”
Oh.
No.
Adam’s sitting there in one of Jack’s chairs. He must have moved quickly, getting himself situated in the minute or two that I was downstairs.
He has the chair set up so I would find him, facing me, when I run back up. He has the gun ready, so the first thing I see, after hearing his voice and registering his face, is the barrel pointed straight at me.
I see the muzzle of the gun—another Stanton Industries special, I’m sure—and Adam’s eyes fixed right on me. I know that Adam is a good shot, but at this range, it doesn’t even matter.
Fish in a barrel.
I hear Adam’s heavy breathing as he waits for my answer.
“How did you find me?” I respond with my own question. I don’t really care about his answer, but I don’t know what else to say.
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t be able to find you?” I can almost smell the malice coming from Adam. He doesn’t look cool or calculating like he usually does. He looks, honestly, pretty fucking gritty. I don’t think he’s bathed or brushed his teeth since I last saw him.
“GPS, Avery! It’s the most basic thing in the world! You stole my car, crashed it, and I tracked you down. Not that it matters—I would’ve found you no matter what.”
“What do you want?” I feel physical fear creeping in, but a large part of me is ready to tell him go eat a dick—gun or no gun.
“The same thing I’ve always wanted, Avery.” Adam’s speaking with menacing calm. “I want to marry you. There’s still time to finish the ceremony as it was supposed to be finished!”
Adam’s cool demeanor slips, but he swallows—an oddly terrifying sound—and starts speaking again calmly.
“We can still have our wedding as planned, Avery. The guests are still there, and they’ll all be relieved to know that you’re okay. Think about how happy they’ll all be to see you and to finally get to watch our wedding.”
“No,” I say, all remnants of fear draining from me. “I don’t want to marry you, Adam. I’d rather die.”
Adam sighs. He rubs his temples with his index finger and thumb, like I’ve exasperated him.
I’m always exasperating Adam. It’s kind of the only thing I’m good at.
“Well, that’s too bad.” The gun clicks as he flicks off the safety. “Death it is, then.”
This all feels like a big joke, even though I know it’s not.
“You have a choice here, Adam. You can leave. Forever. Just go. Now.”
“I’m afraid not. I know that you’ve been staying here with the man who owns this disgusting cabin, and I can guess what you’ve been doing together. I can smell the fucking sex in here—so don’t bother lying to me. He ruined you, Avery.”
For a second, that hurts.
Then it just pisses me off.
I’m not fucking ruined because of Jack.
I’m whole.
“Just leave, Adam.” I know I’m supposed to be scared, but I’m just growing angrier.
“He knows too much,” he counters. “You both do. That’s why you both have to die.”
Adam stands up, keeping the gun trained on me. Now I know he means business.