My brother left an hour after Mason took off in his old red truck. I stood out on the front steps, Rascal at my side, and waved as Kevin disappeared yet again. My chest felt heavy as I watched him leave. I realized that no one ever had guarantees, but as I watched the Range Rover turn out of the little driveway and vanish, I tried hard not to think about the kinds of things Kevin did at work, about the risks he was pushed to take with his life. A very uncharitable part of me wished that he had chosen to be a barista instead. Let grumpy unattached guys like Mason go off and save the world.
Though that didn’t feel quite fair. I didn’t know anything about my host. Other than that he didn’t seem capable of smiling and had an affinity for books.
“Guess it’s just you and me, Rascal,” I said, looking down at the sturdy brown dog at my side. I knelt down next to him, running my hands through the thick ruff of fur at his neck. “That okay with you, buddy? I’m worried I’m gonna be in your space too, like I’m in Mason’s.”
Rascal nosed at my cheek and gazed at me with eyes like pools of amber liquid, and the tension inside me released just a little.
“Okay,” I told him, “let’s go inside. If I’m going to be here all day, I might as well make myself useful.” The place could definitely use some tidying up. And I had a feeling that if Mason was working double-time, running between the farm and the coffee shop, he probably didn’t spend a ton of time thinking about putting things away.
I stepped back into the airy little cottage and allowed myself to explore in a way I’d never do if Mason was home. I poked into all the rooms, sticking only my head into his bedroom, where I was charmed for some reason by the neatly made bed, the single hardback chair in the corner, and the closed book upon his nightstand next to a glass of water. This room wasn’t cluttered at all. I squinted to see if I could make out what he was reading and chuckled to myself when I caught the title, Principles of Geothermal Farming.
So serious.
I wandered through what appeared to be Mason’s office, Rascal at my side as I looked around. This room was neater than the living room, floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with binders, their spines explaining exactly what they contained—tax returns for the last seven years all neatly lined up, medical records for Mason, and another binder for someone named Billy—his uncle, I was pretty sure—and lots of other binders that were labeled according to date and subject. Mason had notes on everything from cheesemaking to hybridization of tomatoes, and I smiled to myself as I explored. It was a little like looking inside his head, I suspected, and while I did feel like I was invading his privacy a bit, I also wanted to know who exactly I was throwing my lot in with here.
The tidiness of Mason’s room had me back in my room, making the bed carefully and hanging my shirts in the closet, tucking the rest of my things into the empty drawers. I hadn’t slept very well the night before, but that was nothing new. It had been comforting knowing that both Kevin and Mason were here though. It was a lot different than the recent nights I’d spent in my apartment, worrying whether this would be the night someone actually acted on their threats.
I spent the rest of the day tidying up books and magazines, dusting shelves, and baking a loaf of quick bread from some bananas that looked well past their prime on Mason’s countertop. Hopefully he hadn’t been saving them for some mystical farming purpose.
As I moved through the shelves in the living room, I lingered in front of the few pictures I found. There were three in total. One of them was actually of my brother—he and Mason were glaring at the camera in full Marine gear, holding serious-looking guns in their hands, but the picture was given a bit of levity by the tiny brown dog at Mason’s feet, one of his legs stuck out in front of him and casted while a huge cone rose up around his little head. “That you, Rascal?” I asked him as he sat at my feet, patiently following me through my exploration of my new space.
The other two pictures were of Mason’s family, I thought. In one, he was just a kid, standing in front of two adults I assumed must have been his parents. There was a little girl in the picture too. His mother had her hands draped over Mason’s shoulders, the man laughing as he gazed down at his children, and the little girl beaming up at him. Mason looked directly into the camera, his cheeks pulled wide in a glorious smile that I wondered if he’d managed since. There was a startling difference between this gleeful boy and the man I’d met last night.
The last photo was a young woman, a teenager who must have been the little girl from the family shot. She was wearing a crown and holding a bouquet of roses, and something about the photo made me think it was prom or homecoming. She looked proud and happy, and I wondered where Mason had been when this was taken.
I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the land around Mason’s house, Rascal trotting at my side, dutifully keeping an eye on me. The yard consisted of the walipini, a chicken coop I hadn’t noticed before, and a little fire pit set back in the trees with a few low chairs around it. The chickens were cute and seemed curious about me, so I hung out for a while chatting with them, feeling a bit like I’d lost my mind.
In the pantry, I found some soup I could heat for dinner—I didn’t want to assume it would be okay if I raided the refrigerator for a full meal, but it felt wrong to expect Mason to cook after he’d been at work since before I’d been awake. When his truck rolled back up the driveway, I had two bowls of steaming chicken noodle soup on the table.
“Hi,” he said as he came in the door, spotting me setting the table.
“Hi,” I said. My cheeks flushed for no reason whatsoever, making me hot and awkward. “I didn’t know what your plans were for dinner. I found some soup in the pantry.”
“Oh,” he said, glancing at the steaming bowls. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll just wash up.” He disappeared for a few minutes and then came back to the kitchen, pausing as he walked through the living room, a deep frown on his face.
He sat at the table, not looking at me as he picked up his spoon and started eating.
“So, thanks again for—“
“Did you move things around?” he asked, interrupting me.
“I did tidy up a little bit. I thought maybe you’d appreciate it. I know you’re super busy, and—”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean . . . look, I think I’m just really used to living alone. It’s gonna take some getting used to.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just . . . I won’t touch your things.” Well, this was going to be a fun few days. There was no way I could stay here a month. I’d lose my mind.
“What else did you do today?” he asked, his tone was soft, but I felt put on the spot. Was I supposed to have a good answer? What did he think I’d be doing?
“I explored a little bit around the property,” I said. “Made some banana bread . . . not much, really.” An uncomfortable laugh escaped me.
He just nodded, staring into his soup.
When we’d finished eating, Mason insisted on cleaning up. Then he picked up a book and deposited himself on the couch, ignoring me.
“Well, I guess I’ll head to my room,” I said, figuring maybe I’d borrow a book.
Rascal responded by jumping down from Mason’s side and nosing at my thigh for a pat. Mason said, “Good night.”
As I tucked myself in, I tried not to let my mind search through all the feelings I was having, all the doubts. At least in the city I’d been in my own space, my own world. Here I felt detached and unmoored, completely unwanted. I knew no one, had absolutely nothing to do, and no plan for how to spend my days. What had my brother been thinking?
I didn’t sleep. My mind raced between worrying about the situation I’d left behind and discomfort over the situation I was in now. I hadn’t looked at my phone all day—it had become a conduit for the crazy and angry constituents of Senator Andrews to reach me. But I powered it up now.
Morgan had sent me a few messages checking in, and there were texts from numbers I didn’t know that I didn’t open. Those were the scary ones, usually. I didn’t pull up my email, but I did listen to a message from my brother, telling me to give it at least a month. I blew out a little laugh.
I listened to the next message too, thinking it might be work-related, something I needed to forward to Morgan—but it wasn’t.
“Listen to me, you lying little bitch,” it began, and I pressed the delete button and then practically threw my phone away from me, my heart beginning to race again.
I lay awake for hours. I listened as Mason went to bed and tried to will myself to sleep. But after lying in the dark for what felt like hours more, I finally pulled the quilt from the bed and stumbled out to the couch, turning on the ancient television more for company than for anything else. Rascal came over and curled up next to me, and eventually, I must have fallen asleep there.