Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I daydreamed about the look in his eyes when I’d let my hair down, the sweet way he’d brushed it away from my face when we were in the car, the way he’d teased me, and the sight of his muscular chest above me. Sometimes, if I thought about him for too long, I’d find myself staring at the phone in the cabin, wishing that I had his phone number. Then I’d recall that messing with Otto Hawthorne was the reason I was in that cabin in the first place and I’d snap out of the fantasy. No matter how much I wished Otto Hawthorne would ride in on his white horse and save me, it wasn’t going to happen. I was on my own.
I was stir crazy and cabin fever took on a whole new meaning. Sometimes I talked out loud just to hear my own voice. The isolation was excruciating. Some days it was only the fear that my dad would see that I’d used the phone he’d left for emergencies and get to the cabin before the police that kept me from calling 911. I had zero doubt that he was monitoring the account.
Where would I go, anyway? My parents wouldn’t let me live with them. I had no friends beyond Becka and my uncle would never let me stay with them if it went against my dad’s wishes. Even throwing myself on the mercy of the other members of our church wouldn’t work. They’d never come between a man and his family, and my dad had made his position very clear.
I always closed myself back inside the cabin by the time my stomach started growling for dinner. The thought of getting caught outside in the dark terrified me. After slowly eating dinner, drawing it out for as long as I could, I’d wash up and unroll my sleeping bag again, climbing inside to stare at the fire until I fell asleep.
The days and nights were monotonous, but they weren’t terrible beyond using the filthy outhouse. I was thankful that someone had been thoughtful enough to leave toilet paper but the feeling of being suspended over a hole filled with excrement never got any easier to endure. It was so bad that I’d picked a spot between two cedar trees and during the day, I started popping a squat outside. It wasn’t as if anyone would see me.
I talked to the baby. It was stupid and I thought it probably couldn’t hear me, but it made me feel less alone. As I went around, carrying wood into the cabin or counting the cans of soup I had left, I kept a running commentary going. I told him or her what the weather was like, how many days of food we had left, how many rounds of wood I’d split, how callused my hands were from the axe handle, how badly I missed hot showers. I described Becka and how much I missed her. Wondered aloud how my brother and sister were doing with me gone. I even told him or her about Otto, describing what he looked like and how sweet he’d been. I didn’t know much about him beyond the fact that he’d both made me feel safe and completely out of control at the same time.
I compartmentalized all of my thoughts so well that I could focus on just one thing at a time, one chore at a time, one meal at a time, surviving one day at a time. Incredibly, I settled in, accepting the new life that I’d been thrust into.
Then, suddenly, on day fifty-four at the cabin, the crunch of gravel outside made me race to the door, throwing it open so fast that it slammed into the wall.
Outside, my uncle Hank had just climbed out of his car, leaving it running. His expression was grim, his lips pressed tightly together, but as his eyes lifted and caught sight of me, his expression morphed into shock.
“Holy God,” he whispered.
I pushed a piece of hair behind my ear, embarrassed by how lank and greasy it was. I wasn’t due for another full bath for two more days and since I couldn’t actually see myself beyond my reflection in the windows, I hadn’t thought about my appearance in weeks.
“Uncle Hank?” I took a tentative step forward. “Are you here to pick me up?”
He got control of his expression and shook his head. “Yes,” he said, contradicting the movement. “Just for a few hours. Grab what you need.”
I glanced back into the cabin. “What I need? Where am I going?”
“Put some shoes on,” he replied firmly, ignoring my question. “Let’s go.”
I hurriedly slid my feet into my rain boots and grabbed the cleanest sweater I had out of my bag, trying to smooth my hair at the same time. Barely taking enough time to add a couple of logs to the fire so it wouldn’t go out before I got back, I rushed outside and down the steps to the car.