see if there’s room to pull off the road.” Cautiously, he edged the Chevy into a parking area beside the cabin.
Janet’s face grew keen with interest. “It doesn’t look too bad.” she observed hopefully.
Gerry eyed the structure in quick appraisal. “No. No, it doesn’t,” he conceded. “At least, from the outside.”
The Crow’s Nest was a typical mountain cabin from the early twenties, days when this had been a major resort area. It clung to the steep slope with one end resting on the bank just below the road, while an arrangement of wooden posts supported the sections jutting out from the mountain. Its unlovely design was that of a stack of boxes anchored to the ridge. The top floor—on level with the road—was a large square; underneath was a rectangle about two-thirds the width of the first, and the bottom floor was an even narrower rectangle. Rusty screen enclosed porches running the length of each level on the side overlooking the valley.
“Well, we can’t complain about the view,” Gerry offered. “There’s three porches to choose from. Hope it’s not too drafty for you. Well, come on. You can explore while I unload stuff.”
Getting out, he gratefully stretched his long body, then reached in. “Make it okay?” he inquired solicitously. She pulled herself erect unsteadily, tugging hard on his arm and gripping the door with the other hand. Gerry unloaded her walker, then went to unlock the cabin while Janet hobbled painfully across the pine-needle carpet to the door.
Inside she smiled. “Oh, Gerry! It looks so cozy! I know we’ll be happy together here!”
“I hope so, darling!” He brightened.
The screen door slammed shut on squawling hinges.
Janet was exhausted and went to bed early. Gerry had not felt like sleep. The ordeal of driving had left his nerves on edge, and the strange surroundings made him restless. Instead he settled down in one of the huge rocking chairs, propped his feet on the edge of the porch screen and enjoyed the mountain night. Idly his fingers flicked the bottle caps nailed to the wide wooden armrests, while he thoughtfully nursed a Scotch and soda. He had brought several fifths down with him—the nearest liquor store would be Knoxville, and Tennessee liquor prices were terrible. He grimaced. Good Scotch was another luxury he could no longer afford.
The mountain breeze was cool and clean, and the night’s silence astonished him. Dimly he could hear the whine, see the flicker of light as an occasional car passed along the highway in the valley far below. The house uttered soft groans and squeaks in the darkness, and the rocker answered with a rhythmic creak. From outside came the sounds of creatures of the forest night. Crickets, tree frogs, shrill insect calls. Mice, flying squirrels made soft rustlings in the quiet. An owl called from the distance, and a whippoorwill. Overlying all was the whisper of the pines. Gerry had often heard the expression, but until now he had never understood that pines actually do whisper. Soft, soothing whisper in the night. But a sound so cold, so lonely.
Even bad Scotch gets better with each drink. Maybe not Chivas Regal, but it does the job. Gerry rocked softly, sipped slowly, glass after glass. The night was soothing. Tension slipped from overstrung nerves.
Half in dream he brooded over the turn his life had taken. God, it had all seemed so secure, settled. His wife, their son. A rising position with the firm. Good car, good house, good neighborhood. Country club, the right friends. Bright young man already halfway up the ladder to the top.
Then a woman’s inattention, a flaming crash. Only a split second to destroy everything. The funeral, weeks of visits to the hospital. The lawsuit and its cruel joke of an insurance executive whose own policy was inadequate.
All of it destroyed. A comfortable, well-ordered existence torn to twisted wreckage. He could never return to the old life. Despite the sincere best wishes of embarrassed friends, the concerned expressions of doctors who warned him about the emotional shock he had suffered.
Maybe it would have been best if he had been in the car, if he had died in the wreckage of his life.
No... that was a death wish. Part of the warnings of those concerned doctors after that scene in the hospital... Part of their reasons for urging this vacation upon him... “You both have scars that will have to heal...”
Gerry laughed softly at the memory of the psychiatrist’s attempt to talk with him. In the stillness