The Cabin by Wilder Jasinda

Author:Wilder, Jasinda
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-948445-51-1
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder
Published: 2020-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

I eventually manage to scrape myself off the bathroom floor. When I do, I have an imprint of tiles on my reddened cheek. I go out and haul my bags inside and I unpack every damn thing Tess packed for me, which is just about my entire wardrobe. I put everything away; fill all the drawers with my clothes and the shallow but wide closet with my dresses and my shoes and my boots.

I make myself at home.

Because somehow, I realize I won’t be leaving here any time soon. I can’t leave here until I’m whole again, and that will take a long, long time.

When I’m unpacked and my suitcases are shoved under the bed and on the shelf in the closet, I go over to the wine rack in the kitchen. Withdraw a bottle of Josh, slowly uncork it. I haven’t had red wine since before Adrian died—it was our thing. He liked whiskey and I hate it; I like vodka and he hated it. The one thing we could agree on was red wine.

I pour a glass, swirl it, watching the ruby liquid smear down the glass in receding waveforms. Take a tentative sip.

I’m hit with a tidal wave of memories. Sitting on our couch, two bottles in, a giant bowl of popcorn on his lap, marathoning LOTR, which was a yearly thing for him. It bored me to tears, so he’d get me tipsy and then I’d fall asleep. Or, sitting in bed with the iPad and a bar of chocolate, him reading while I binged Vanderpump Rules. Italy, getting drunk on red wine in a street-side cafe in Florence, telling the server to choose the wine for us because who the hell knows anything about all those weird, obscure, Italian name wines anyway? It’s all good, especially once you’re four glasses in and the world is topsy-turvy and beautiful with that golden Italian sunshine.

All that, in one sip.

I take the bottle with me as I head outside to the little dock. It’s maybe twenty feet long, with four shoulder-high posts weathered gray and stained with bird poop. There’s an Adirondack chair and a small table, handmade by whoever built the cabin and a lot of the stuff in it. It’s deep, and comfortable.

The sunset is breathtaking.

I hurt, all over. Grief and anger are physical. I can taste them. Feel them in the tension in my shoulders. Relax? Ha. I have to think about breathing. Each breath, I have to tell myself to suck it in, and let it out. Take another breath. Keep breathing.

The wine rolls in my mouth, tumbles in my belly. I should have eaten first. But then, I haven’t been properly drunk since my bender after the funeral. I know I should go slow, take it easy. But…how?

I think the alcohol does something to the anger. Metabolizes it, somehow. Half a glass, and I’m feeling it. I’ve not been a teetotaler the past year, but I’ve not gotten drunk. I’d rather work.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.