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4

Marcella

I clutched either side of the tiny boat, my nails digging into the icy metal as I was being taken to the isolated cabin.

I was pretty sure the boat wasn’t made for choppy ass ocean water like this, but when I had voiced my concerns to Harmond, the older gentleman who was taking me, he just grumbled that it was fine and left it at that.

Of course, the day I took this trip it was a shit day with frigid rain that felt like little needles as it contacted my bare skin.

The waters were almost violent, and the boat was out in the middle of nowhere, bouncing aggressively. I was two-seconds away from having to lean over the edge and throw up my breakfast.

The rain jacket I wore kept me mostly dry, but it didn’t keep out the icy chill that even in August seemed to surround me.

My three large waterproof bags sat on the inside of the boat, the rain pelting the rubbery coating that covered them.

A wave of nausea rose in me as we went over a large crest, the boat bouncing up and down so hard my ass ached.

I started shivering, my teeth chattering as the wind and rain whipped all around me. My fingers were numb because I hadn’t let go of the sides of the boat since sitting down.

I stared at Harmond. He had a perpetual scowl on his face, but I was pretty sure that’s just how he looked.

Deep lines and grooves etched his face, he had white whiskers all over his cheeks and chin, was missing a few teeth, and although I knew he wasn’t smoking right now given the rain, he kept his pipe wedged in the corner of his mouth.

When I’d met him at the dock, he’d been wearing a scuffed up and dirty yellow rain jacket, black rubber boots, and, of course, that pipe that had smoke billowing out of it. He’d offered me a lifejacket, ordered me to put it on, and then did the same.

We’d been traveling for half an hour before he finally acknowledged my presence. He tipped his chin and grunted, the rain pelting his face.

“What?” I shouted to be heard over the engine of the boat.

Harmond grunted again and pointed behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and squinted through the gray surroundings to see the little cabin coming more into focus the closer we got. And when we were about ten feet from the dock… the fucking rain let up.

Of course , I silently said to the sky as he maneuvered the boat, tied it off on the wooden post of the dock, then climbed out.

I glanced at him, then at the island, which was still a far distance from where we docked.

The dock bobbed as he moved around on it, the width only about four feet as he started pulling my bags out.

I was a little confused why we weren’t going straight to the island when I spied a skiff off to the side.

“Can’t get closer,” he grumbled out, as if he heard my thoughts. “Boat will get stuck.”

I knew nothing about boats or sailing or any of that, but the skiff was half the size of the boat we were currently on, and I could see the rocky beach and how shallow the water was around the island.

Harmond said nothing as he took one of my bags and transferred it to the skiff. He gestured me forward, and I unsteadily climbed onto the dock.

The platform bobbed up and down with the current and I reached for the banister, feeling my thigh muscles tense as I tried to keep my balance.

He climbed into the second boat and I took a seat next to my bags and across from him. And then he rowed us to the shore.

I learned he was a man of very few words, but got his point across through his expressions and grunts.

Once we were on the shore, I got out and grabbed my bags. He was already throwing the bags to the dock before I even set them on the ground.

“Monday at eight in the morning,” he grumbled out, reminding me of when he’d pick me up to head back to Ketchikan.

“Okay. Thanks, Harmond.”

He was already rowing away before I finished saying his name, and I lifted my hand to wave goodbye despite his back was to me.

I stood there until I could no longer see him, when the fog seemed to roll across the ocean, and obscured anything farther than one hundred and twenty feet from the island.

Then I continued to stand there as I looked around. There was another smaller island right across from where I stood, and another skiff that was overturned and laying a few feet to my side.

Behind me was the cabin with a set of stairs that led up to the small deck.

I could make out a narrow wooden boardwalk that wrapped around the side of the cabin and disappeared around the back.

There hadn’t been many pictures online when I booked this place, and had basically just shown the exterior of the hunting cabin and surrounding wilderness around the property.

I lugged two bags up to the cabin and set them down so that I could punch in the code to the lock and open the door.

I stepped inside and immediately the scent of age, unused space, dust, and a hint of mold filled my nose. To my left was a tiny kitchenette and a wooden two-person table.

To my right was what I assumed was supposed to be the living room, with an out-of-date patchwork loveseat, and a small coffee table in front of that held a few magazines that looked like they had been printed twenty years prior.

And the one bedroom was in front of me.

The bathroom was outside. Meaning it was nothing but a literal outhouse.

Normally the no running water nor electricity might have deterred me, but I was in a place in my life right now where having nothing but a roof over my head and no one else around was the escape I needed.

This was camping, which I was more than used to.

I quickly went out and got my third bag, hauling it inside. I shut the front door and stared at the lone bedroom, the door partially open so that I could make out what looked like a bunk bed with no mattresses.

The lone window in the room looked foggy, the glass old. I used the sleeve of my raincoat, still wet from the weather, and moved it along the glass, smearing some of the dirt away so I could see outside a bit more.

I could see the outhouse directly across from the bedroom window and wrinkled my nose.

Nothing like looking outside and seeing where someone relieves themselves to get your day going.

I left the bedroom and started going through my bags, setting the food on the table, the portable stove and the propane canisters I’d bought in town onto the counter, and putting the rest of my “electronics” on the table.

I brought my clothes and sleeping gear into the bedroom and walked back out into the kitchen to set my toothbrush and any kind of bathing items in the sink.

Since I still had my outside gear on and the rain had let up, I set up the outdoor shower and took a walk around the cabin.

After filling up the bag with the water in the large plastic rain-catching container—something I was thankful the renters had included in the “amenities” description—I hung it up and walked along the “boardwalk” that ran the perimeter of the cabin.

Because of the recent weather, the forest looked more like a rainforest, with water dripping from the leaves and the scent of earth and moisture filling the air.

The boardwalk only lined the back and sides of the cabin. The outhouse was directly behind it, and there were a couple of manmade trails leading off into the woods.

Making my way back to the front and toward the shore, I walked the waterline and listened to the sound of the gentle lap of waves. There were snails stuck to the rocks, and fish creating ripples as they jumped above the water before diving back into the ocean. When I kicked a rock, I jumped back, watching a crab scurrying away, its home being disturbed.

Tomorrow, I was going to take the skiff to the island and do a little exploring.

After heading back inside, I unpacked my drawing pad and sat at the table. Despite not having any service, I still got my cell out and pulled up some music.

And then for the next hour I sat and drew, and found peace I hadn’t felt in a really long time.

I started sketching my grandmother’s face, then added flower detailing. I drew hyacinth for the framework, and wisteria behind her profile.

When my hand cramped, I shut off my phone and set my pencil down, realizing I heard absolutely… nothing.

It was the first time in my life where there wasn’t the sound of the neighbors down the hall screaming at each other, or horns blaring outside my window.

I inhaled deeply, not smelling car exhaust or pollution or somebody burning something on the stove next-door. Sure, there was age and a musty smell in the cabin, but I’d take that over all the polluted scents I was used to back home.

I rested back and closed my eyes, thinking for the hundredth time since arriving just yesterday that I wanted to live here, just burrow in deep, nestled away from everyone, and pretend like nothing else existed.