Worth It

Tristan threw open the driver's side door of the U-Haul and practically bounded out like an excited child.

"Just smell the air! Isn't it fresh?"

"And cold." Chelsea drew her thin white sweater closer about her chest.

"This is pretty mild, actually. It doesn't even start snowing 'til mid-October."

"Great."

"Don't worry, honey. You're gonna love it here."

Chelsea had her doubts about the validity of this statement.

She had to acknowledge that it had been an act of extreme generosity for Tristan's mother to give the two of them the cabin she had lived in for years. They had tried to offer to purchase it from her but had been met with staunch refusal. Yet, all feelings of gratitude aside, Chelsea had not been ecstatic about packing up and moving to rural Montana. She had, of course, told her husband of her misgivings but he had not had too much difficulty convincing her to at least try it. It was obvious that he was overjoyed at the prospect of returning to his birthplace, and she couldn't find it in herself to refuse him.

"It just seems so remote, doesn't it?"

"Well, yeah. That's why Mom finally agreed to move." For the last two or three years Tristan and his sister had been dropping heavy hints to their seventy four year old mother that perhaps living by herself fifty miles away from the closest town and three miles away from her closest neighbor was no longer practical. They had both been relieved when she admitted they had a point and agreed to move into an 'active seniors' mobile home park one town over from Tristan's sister.

"And that road..." Chelsea allowed her voice to trail off with a little shudder.

Tristan had to agree that the seventeen miles of rutted, rocky dirt road leading up to the cabin had been less than a delight to navigate.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I know. But if my mom could live with it then so can we."

"Your mom has a giant SUV, not..." she turned to wave a helpless arm at their Ford Escort hitched to the back of the U-Haul. She wasn't convinced that the poor thing would be able to make it up and down that road at all once it was no longer being pulled by the van.

Tristan shrugged again and suggested that he give his wife a tour. He unlatched the gate and preceded her into the yard.

Gazing around she noted that the yard was incredibly spacious. It had that going for it, anyway. The grass was, however, far drier and browner than she had expected based on Tristan's description.

"I thought it would be greener," she commented, careful to keep her tone neutral.

"It is, in the spring and summer," Tristan replied. "This is typical for this time of year. At least we don't have to worry as much about ticks right now."

"Ticks? As in the ones that carry Lyme disease?"

"Actually the ticks here are more likely to carry Rocky Mountain spotted fever, but you don't want that either."

I want to go home, Chelsea thought to herself but did not say aloud. She turned her head toward where Tristan was pointing at the two wooden structures near the back fence.

"Those are the storage sheds," he told her, "and the propane tank's just behind them. There's a line directly from the tank to the cabin so we don't have to worry about filling smaller tanks or anything. We just need to call them to come out and fill it every other month or so."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. There's no electricity." Chelsea was finding it a little more difficult to maintain her neutral inflection. Disappointment kept trying to creep in.

"No. But the fridge and stove run great on propane. So does the heater."

"At least there's running water and indoor plumbing." If there hadn't been, the chance of Chelsea agreeing to this move would have been less than zero.

"Yep." Tristan nodded his head. "There's even a nice tub so you can take your baths. Let's go inside."

Chelsea let out a little yelp when the wooden pallet serving as the cabin's 'porch' threatened to give way under her foot.

Tristan reached out to steady her.

"Looks like the wood's rotting," he observed. "Guess Mom forgot to tell me about that. We'll have to replace it as soon as possible."

"Yeah," Chelsea agreed, a little breathless.

The cabin opened into a small entryway with a bathroom on the right and a bedroom on the left. Straight ahead the entryway opened out into the combined living room and kitchen area.

Chelsea stepped into the bathroom. There was no bathtub in sight. Just a toilet, a tiny sink and an enclosed shower stall with a frosted glass door.

"You were wrong about the tub," she stated.

"What?" Tristan craned his head around the doorframe to peer in. "Oh. She must've had it taken out. I didn't know. Guess that makes sense, though."

"Yeah, for a seventy four year old," Chelsea agreed in a bitter mumble.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it doesn't really matter. It's fine."

The bedroom was small but acceptable, with a large window that let in the afternoon sunlight.

The living room, on the same side of the cabin as the bedroom and therefore also flooded with daylight from its window, was spacious.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was small enough to be uncomfortable if both of them were standing in it at the same time. There were also, Chelsea observed, no cupboards aside from the pantry that stood to one side of the stove. She supposed they would eventually have to purchase a free-standing cabinet or something to keep their dishes in, which would of course take up some amount of the limited space.

"Well, what do you think?" Tristan queried.

Chelsea's expression, or perhaps it was her obvious reluctance to answer his question, was a perfect indication of exactly what she thought.

Tristan's enthusiastic grin faded from his lips. "You don't like it?"

"It's not that I...no, look, I can't lie to you, Tris." Chelsea drew in a deep breath through her nose and exhaled it slowly through her mouth. "No, I don't like it. I mean, the cabin's okay and everything. It's kind of cute. But I don't like it here. It's too far away from everything and it's too quiet. I don't want to live here."

"You said you'd try it," he pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," she agreed. And I'm beginning to regret it, she thought to herself.

Tristan made his way across the floor to drape an arm over his wife's shoulders. "I know it'll take some getting used to, honey. But I think you'll like it here. The quiet might be a good thing. You can concentrate on your writing."

"You mean the writing I can't do because I didn't bring my computer because there's no electricity?"

"We can try to find you a manual typewriter. There's at least one antique shop in town, if I remember correctly."

Chelsea had to bite back the sarcastic reply that sprang to her lips. She reminded herself that Tristan was only trying to be helpful. He was only trying to make this easier for her in the only way he could think of. There was no point in snapping at him and starting a possible argument.

"That would be kind of cool," she agreed instead. "I could probably write on a typewriter." Maybe she even could.

Seeing the smile restored to her husband's face, she couldn't help but smile herself.

"Besides," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder, "there is one thing here that makes all this worth it. One thing that I can't live without, and if it's here in Montana then that's where I want to be."

"What's that?" Tristan inquired.

"You." Chelsea lifted her head from his shoulder to catch his lips between hers.