A Full House

“The door’s stuck,” he reported to Amanda in case she hadn’t noticed.

His daughter nodded somberly.

The sun sank lower, the woods grew darker around them and the logs of the cabin looked solid, stoic and impenetrable. He began to doubt the wisdom of renting a place that hadn’t been used for more than three years. The Realtor had offered to drive out and open it up for them, but Jake had declined. After seeing how old Jim Hinkley was, it seemed too much to ask that he drive twenty miles just to unlock and show them a simple little cabin. So Jim had drawn them a map, given them the keys and wished them well. “Oh, one thing,” Hinkley had cautioned before they’d embarked. “If any repairs need be made, you’ll have to do them yourself or hire the job out, and the owners’ll deduct the repair bills from the rent. They’re too old to handle that stuff themselves.”

“Well, what do you think?” Jake asked Amanda. “Should I give it another try?”

Another somber nod. His stomach tightened. She was counting on him. He’d better make good. He picked up a two-by-six that someone had tucked beneath the cabin and used it to tap the edges of the door, hoping that would be enough. But it wasn’t. He took a breath, raised the two-by-six again and struck the door in the places that appeared to be bound tight. He put more muscle into it, and in the end was using the timber as a battering ram. When the door finally gave, it burst abruptly inward, spilling him into the dark interior with an undignified bellow. He tripped on something and landed in a face-down sprawl.

In the startled silence that followed, he heard small musical sounds behind him. Amanda, giggling behind her hands. He rolled onto his back and glared up at her. “What’s so funny, Pinch?”

“You, Daddy,” she said, convulsed in mirth.

He sat up and took stock. Not much to see through the light of the door. Two bunks against the far wall. Small gas stove on the left, along with a short run of countertop and a sink. Woodstove dead center, stovepipe rising straight up. Table and two chairs to the right of the door; squeezed in between them and the stove, nearly spanning the length of the little cabin, the promised canoe.

The first thing he did was haul the canoe outside and leave it beneath the big pines at the edge of the pond. Then he rummaged in the toolbox in the back of his truck, found a hammer and pried open the shutters while Amanda explored the cabin’s interior. “Daddy?” she asked as he worked on the last shutter. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Jake nodded toward a little structure behind the cabin. “Out back, Pinch.” He fastened the shutters back with the eye hooks and was putting the hammer away when he heard Amanda scream in fright.

“Daddy!” She had opened the outhouse door and recoiled in horror. He came up beside her and peered inside. “Spiders,” she pointed. “Big ones.”

He stared. “You’re right, Pinch, they’re huge.”

“I have to pee,” she whimpered.

“Not in here. Not until we evict these giants. C’mon. Let’s go find a handy tree.”

He took her hand and inhaled a deep breath of the woodsy air. It had been a long time. Too long. His daughter should have spent time in the outdoors the way he had as a boy. He’d been lucky. His parents were older, but they’d loved the woods and had brought him often to his grandparents’ camp. They’d taught him to appreciate the cry of the loons at dusk, the splash of a moose ambling along the shoreline, the deep authoritative hoot of a great horned owl in the midst of a moonlit night. They’d shown him how to paddle a canoe, how to tie the proper fly onto the proper weight leader, how to release a brook trout unharmed into the dark cold waters from which it came.

He needed to teach these things to Amanda. Instead he’d forgotten it all. It had been years since he’d last visited Maine. Maine. The name rolled off his tongue, sounding solid and big and just a little bit wild. It sounded like a place of tall trees, rugged mountains and rocky coastline. It sounded good.

How had he ever wound up in a place like New York City? He’d been so in love. Linda had been so beautiful, so in control, so sure of her future. Sophisticated and sharp, and so very kind to take any interest in a blue-collar boy such as himself.

He’d met her at a U-Maine party in Orono. She’d been visiting one of her friends, a girl in Jake’s physics class. They’d been introduced and the next thing he’d known he’d transferred to NYU just to be near her. While she’d studied acting at Juliard, he’d gotten his degree in political science and then picked up another degree in criminal justice, figuring that a cop could always get a job in New York City.

Linda had started making commercials, he’d walked a foot patrol and written parking tickets. They’d moved in together, a tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn. She’d won a small but steady role in a soap opera, he’d gotten his own patrol car. They’d married. When she’d landed her first movie role, he’d been working as a plainclothes detective, Amanda had been two years old and things had been looking good. But Hollywood changed Linda; the long separations had been difficult. By the time he’d made lieutenant, Linda had been nominated for an Oscar for best supporting actress in one of the most popular films of the year and their marriage was on the rocks.

Amanda was the one bright light that remained. Spending the summer with her was a gift beyond price. This place wasn’t quite as grand as his grandparents’ camp, but the important thing was that they were together. After Amanda had found the proper tree, which took some time because she wasn’t all that excited about the idea, Jake looked around the yard. “Well, Pinch, we’ve got our work cut out for us. This old cabin needs some tender loving care.”

“I’m hungry,” Amanda said.

“Me, too. That hamburger wore off a long time ago. Let’s get the truck unloaded and I’ll cook you something you won’t believe, it’ll be so good.”

“Can I watch?”

“You can supervise.”

Unfortunately, there was no propane in the tank outside the cabin, and Jake hadn’t thought to bring a jug of kerosene for the empty lamps. It was growing dark. He was about to suggest that they beat a hasty retreat to the nearest town for the night when he heard the cry of a loon wavering across the pond.

“Daddy,” Amanda breathed in awe, her hand reaching out for his. “What was that?”

“That’s a loon, Pinch. Sounds kind of crazy, doesn’t it? They can sound sad, too.”

“It’s scary,” she said.

“C’mon. Walk down to the dock with me and let’s listen for a while.” She stepped cautiously beside him and they stood on the thick cedar planking. The cry came again, long and mournful. “It’s definitely lonely this time.”

“What’s that splashing noise?” she whispered, pressing against him.

“Trout rising to a hatch of insects. See the ripples when one comes to the surface?”

Hard to see anything in the thick gloaming. A branch snapped in the woods nearby and he felt Amanda shiver. “Daddy?”

“Probably a moose coming down to the pond to drink. Sometimes they wade right out into the water and put their heads under to eat pond lily roots and grasses. We’ll see lots of moose while we’re here.”

“Are they big?” she whispered.

“As big as horses, with longer legs.”

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of. Let’s go back inside. I bet I can cook us some toasted cheese sandwiches on the woodstove. It’s getting kind of cool, and a little fire will warm the chill off the cabin. I think there are some candles, too. We’ll light a few and it’ll be real cozy, just like camping out.”

ANNIE CALLED her ex-husband that night. Ryan answered the phone himself and his voice was weary. “Sally’s fine, Annie. She picked out a cute puppy today, and between the two of them they’ve worn me out. Trudy’s been having some bad back pains and I’m a little worried about her, but she doesn’t want to call her doctor…” He rambled on distractedly for a few more minutes and then asked, “So, where are you staying? Sally told us you were renting a farmhouse up the coast.”

She gave him the phone number and address. “I told Sally she could spend some time here if she got lonely for her old mum.”

“Sure. I think it’s a good idea, you spending the summer nearby. It’ll be as good for you as it is for her, getting away from the big city. Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself already.”

“I am, actually. Very much,” she conceded.

“Annie, gotta go. Trudy just came downstairs and she looks pretty wrung out. Talk to you later.” Loud click. Dead line.

Annie replaced the receiver gently and sighed.

The old farmhouse creaked in the night the way old houses do, telling their own stories, and she sat in the kitchen for a while, reading the local paper by the light of the oil lamp. The muted thunder of the waves crashing up against the granite ledge was a constant lulling undercurrent of sound. When she looked out the window down the dark narrow bay, she could see the periodic flash from the Nash Island light. She had opened several of the old double hung windows in the kitchen and the curtains moved gently in a faint night wind. The only outdoor sounds were those of the ocean, of the light breeze through the wind-stunted evergreens that clung tenaciously to the shoreline and the distant clang of a buoy.

A far, far cry from the constant cacophony of human noise generated by a city the size of New York. It was only 9:00 p.m. and Annie thought that maybe she’d make some popcorn and curl up with one of the novels she’d brought to read, but instead she went to bed and slept better than she had in many months.

AMANDA HAD CHOSEN THE TOP bunk and just past midnight let out a shriek that woke Jake from a sound sleep and stopped his heart for a few beats. He sat up, slamming his head into the bottom of her bunk. “Amanda, what is it?” he gasped, holding his head.

“A mouse just ran across my bed,” she said, her voice quavering with fear.

“A mouse? You mean, one of those cute little creatures you were admiring while we ate supper?”

“Yes.” She sounded very close to tears.

“Amanda, that mouse isn’t going to hurt you. Go back to sleep.”