Thirty-Eight

Brian parked in the lot at Andy’s Market on Highway 116 north of Sebastopol. He took a couple of canvas shopping bags from the stash in the back of his Jeep Wrangler, grabbed a shopping cart, and wheeled it past a display of new-crop Gravenstein apples.

I should have stopped at Cousin Pat’s place, he thought. She grows Gravensteins. She would have given me a bag of apples.

But truth be told, he didn’t feel like talking with anyone in the family. There would be the inevitable questions about Sheila and the kids. He was pretty sure he’d mentioned the plans for the August camping trip up to Plumas County when he was at Aunt Caro’s Fourth of July barbecue. Now that the trip had been canceled, he didn’t want to talk about it. Or the fact that Sheila had gone away yet again, extending her trip even longer. He was tired of the whole damn ball of wax.

He picked out several apples, bagged them, and circled through the open air section of the store, with its abundant displays of fruits, vegetables and nuts. He piloted the cart into the store, speculating about what to have for dinner. Here was a display of pies from Kozlowski Farms, which was located up the road between Graton and Forestville. He’d hiked right past it on the West County Trail. He could have stopped there and bought something, but he hadn’t thought of it. Besides, how would a pie fit into his pack?

Now he was thinking about it. The pies looked great and he was hungry.

Why not? He thought. I’m batching it for the foreseeable f­uture. I can eat any damn thing I want.

He chose a crumb-topped apple pie—made with Gravensteins, of course—and put it in the cart. He headed for the cheese section. He picked out some cheddar and jack, and took some salami from another refrigerated case. Then he circled around the fresh produce, picking up lettuce, tomatoes, bell peppers, an avocado, and other things for salad. He grabbed a couple of baskets of strawberries as well.

He moved into another section of the store and picked out crackers to go with the cheese, and debated about tortilla chips and salsa. Sure, why not? He could use the avocado to make guacamole.

Of course he had to have ice cream for his pie. He moved the cart to frozen foods and took out a half gallon of French vanilla. Then he walked down to the meat section and grabbed a couple of steaks.

He assessed the contents of the shopping cart. Did he need anything else? No. This should do it. He headed for the checkout stands.

“Brian?”

He turned and saw Willow. She was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a purple T-shirt, her long, curly hair caught back and tied, as it frequently was, with a purple scarf. She must have just come into the market. Her shopping cart was empty except for an assortment of cloth bags.

He felt suddenly tongue-tied. He was glad to see her and angry with himself for feeling that way. “Hi. How are you? Didn’t know you shopped here.”

“Oh, Andy’s is the best,” Willow said. “Now that I’ve moved into my grandfather’s house, it’s not far. What brings you here?”

“I just hiked the West County Trail.”

She nodded. “That’s the one that follows the old Petaluma and Santa Rosa Railroad line. It’s nice that they’ve turned the railroad right-of-way into a path.”

“It’s an easy hike,” Brian said. “Mostly flat and paved. Tomorrow I want more of a challenge. I thought I’d head up to Armstrong Woods and check out some of the trails there.”

“It’s pretty up there, with the redwoods.” Willow moved out of the path of a mother with a toddler, angling her shopping cart closer to a display of crackers. She reached for a box and examined it, then put the box back on the display. She cocked her head to one side. “Wait a minute. Weren’t you and your family going camping up in Plumas County? That was this week, right? Before you start the new job?”

He hesitated, frowning. “I had to cancel the trip.”

“Why?”

Suddenly it all came pouring out, all the anger and frustration that had built up over the past few months. He shouldn’t be telling her this. He shouldn’t be glad to see her, and the sympathetic look on her face.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out.” Willow’s face brightened. “Hey, I have an idea. If you really want to get out of town for a few days, you can use the cabin at the ranch. From Graton it’s not far to Guerneville, and Armstrong Redwoods is just north of there. You could even go over to the coast.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Brian said, looking doubtful. It wouldn’t do for him to spend too much time in proximity to Willow.

She looked at him, as though she knew what he was thinking. “It’s okay, Brian. I won’t be there. I’m heading up the coast myself. I’m going to spend a few days with a friend in Mendocino. I plan to leave tomorrow. I haven’t really decided how long I’m staying, but I should be back sometime next week.”

That put a different light on it. It was tempting, Brian thought. If he stayed at Willow’s property, he’d be twenty-five miles closer to several of the state parks he’d been planning to explore.

“I didn’t know you had a cabin on the property,” he said. “I thought it was just the farmhouse and the barn.”

“My great-grandfather built the cabin,” Willow said. “At least that’s what my grandfather told me. The family came to Graton way back before World War One. They bought land and then added to it. They did some logging up there in the woods. And they hunted, deer, wild pig, wild turkeys. So that’s what Grandpa used it for. Rick, too, when he was alive. Anyway, there are trails up there, from the hunting days.”

“So where is this cabin located?”

“About a mile from the farmhouse. The road continues up through the timber to the cabin. It goes further than that, just a narrow track really, and comes out on Green Valley Road, west of Forestville. I’ve never driven all the way up there. I think the road’s fairly rough, might even be impassable. For a car, I mean. You could certainly hike it.”

“Sounds nice,” Brian said.

“I think it would be great. It’s in good condition. One room, and there’s an outhouse that Grandpa put in. No running water, of course, unless you count the creek, and you don’t want to drink that. So you’ll need to bring in drinking water. There are a couple of old beds with mattresses. You can throw your sleeping bag on one of those. I don’t know about a table or chair. It hasn’t been that long since Rick used it. He was up there earlier in the spring, around Easter.”

Still Brian hesitated. Willow pressed her case. “You’d be doing me a favor to go up and look around. I haven’t been up there to look at the place since I moved onto the ranch, after Rick died. I’m wondering what I’m going to do with the land that isn’t planted in apple orchards. That area where the cabin is, it’s hilly and forested, very pretty. I thought about donating that section. Maybe the county could use it as a park, although I grant you it’s a bit remote for that kind of use. But every bit of open space is important. I’d rather donate it than sell it to some winery. You could take a look at the trails, let me know what you think.”

“It sounds great,” Brian said with a smile. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful. Now, I have a gate on the road, just below the house. And I have an extra key.” Willow rummaged through the large quilted bag she carried. She took out her key ring, removed one of the keys, and handed it to Brian. “I’m leaving first thing in the morning. So come on up whenever you’re ready.”

“Sure. I’ll pack up my gear and head up there tomorrow morning, probably. I’ll just stay a couple of nights, Friday and Saturday. Sheila and the kids are due back on Sunday.” If she doesn’t extend her trip again, he thought.

Brian put the key on his own key ring. Then he said good-bye to Willow and paid for his groceries. When he arrived at home in Petaluma, he went to the garage and pulled the camp stove and the big cooler off the shelf, along with the plastic tub that held his sleeping bag.

Before leaving the house on Friday, he left a note for Sheila. Then he loaded the car with his camping gear, extra water, and a cooler full of ice and food. He drove to Graton and headed west through the little town. Midway to Occidental, he turned off on Hargis Ranch Road and headed up past the apple orchard to the locked gate. He unlocked it and drove through, then locked it again.

Past the farmhouse, the road narrowed and wound through more apple trees, then gave way to oak and pine. Creek, bridge. Finally he saw the cabin, in a small clearing. He parked close to the cabin and got out, looking around. The road continued to the north. Willow had said it wound around and eventually came out at Green Valley Road. She didn’t know whether the road was usable. It looked all right to Brian. It was narrow, yes, but he thought his Jeep could manage it. He’d have to explore, take a hike down that way, and see what was there.

The cabin door was unlocked. He opened the door and walked inside. Then he stopped, frowning as he surveyed the interior. Someone was living in the cabin.