Winter Escape

After stealing away in the early dark hours, enough coffee to keep her awake for a week, and eight hours of unfamiliar roads, the traitor arrives. As promised, the unlocked cabin contains an enormous fireplace, a comfy couch, loads of blankets, a quaint kitchen, a medium-size bedroom with king-size bed and a closet just big enough for a six-year-old to stand in, and a claw-footed tub. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she walks out the back door. A hundred yards away she finds a tiny shack with a moon carved in the top of the door. She groans.

Staring into the trees, she wonders how her family interpreted her sudden departure. Overwhelmed and suffocated by the ordinariness of daily life, she needed to do this. Wrapping her arms around herself, she recalls her final shift.

After twelve years of taking orders and serving food amidst twenty-eight years of boisterous children and their children, Della Davids propped her elbows on the counter and cradled her face, envisioning herself lounging on a deserted beach, reading and sipping a soda. A sippy cup bounced off the back of her head, shattering the dream. A harried young mother apologized for her giggling toddler’s behavior. “It’s okay. I survived three boys and two wild girls, and my husband and I regularly entertain four grands.”

“Bless you,” the young lady said while pulling her son’s fingers out of her hair.

Della asked another server if she could wait on the young mother and, remembering some rough moments with her children, she took the order, knowing full well she’d pay the bill. She even included an unexpected slice of hot, chocolate, ganache-covered cake with vanilla ice cream. When the young lady asked for her bill, Della instead handed her a note saying, “FREE! Do good for someone else.” The mother squished her son in a big hug and wept, bringing tears to Della’s eyes. That night Della left work with a smile, something she hadn’t done in ages.

Returning to the kitchen for dinner, Della notices something odd. In lieu of a sink sits a big basin, and there’s no oven or microwave or toaster oven. “How odd.” As if drawn to it, her eyes settle on a binder on the opposite counter. “Campfire recipes?” Where? She hadn’t seen a firepit outside. Recalling the iron bar in the fireplace she thumbs through the recipe book, checks her stash of food, and browses the cabinets for whatever dry goods the owner supplied. Beans, rice, noodles, and the bowl of fresh fruit on the counter. Knowing they’d stocked a makeshift cellar with milk, cheese, produce, chocolates, donuts, and pastries, she gathers what she needs and makes a meal. 

After dinner, the couple visits and tells her that bad weather is a definite and that they will restock her occasionally. “I don’t plan to be here long,” she responds. At that, they laugh.

The next day she marvels at the frequency of birds crashing into the windows and squirrels scaling the logs and peering in at her. Snuggled under a heap of blankets on the couch with a book, she wonders why no one has called. Could they really not miss her? Sure her husband can cook, and her grown children have lives of their own, but does anyone need her anymore? Checking her phone, she sees she has no service. At least she wouldn’t have to explain why she ran away from home.

Several days of reading leave her eyes blurring and her mind wandering. Having read the same paragraph of her favorite book four times without comprehending it, she stretches and yawns and walks to the window. “When did that happen?” Snow—and lots of it.

Bundled in layers, she grabs a flashlight she found in a kitchen drawer and treks into the woods with one of her husband’s guns and a knife. Though she vowed she’d never use the skills he taught her, she craves meat.

To her surprise, stepping into the lung-burning coldness results in sinking knee-high into the white fluff. After what seems days, she trudges into the cabin with skunk and possum meat. Though exhausted, she cooks her dinner and chugs some bottled water.

Later that week Della watches the birds of prey circle overhead before she enters the woods. As she heads toward the cabin with the carcasses of several squirrels and rabbits, she hears sticks cracking. Parallel with her, the continued cracking chills her bones. Something or someone is walking with her.

In an exaggerated effort of lifting her legs and plopping them in the snow, all she hears are her heart thundering and heavy breathing. Before she can question whether running has made her hot or if someone’s breathing on her, something swipes at her. Grateful that it connected with only her thick black coat, she breathes a ragged sigh of relief and risks a glance at the attacker. A grizzly!

As if running in cement, she forces herself to move faster and stumbles. Landing facedown in the snow, she debates whether she should jump up and stretch herself tall and be loud and scary or play dead. The beast walks around her, inspecting her. She holds her breath as the bear sniffs her and paws at her. When the bear snatches the first slain critter, Della yelps. The bear walks to her head and growls. Della’s lip trembles and tears sting her eyes. Why’d I leave my family? She pictures the headline in her hometown paper: 35-Year-Old Leaves Family, Mauled by Grizzly.

The heavy pad tucked under shiny claws presses on her hood, burying her face deeper in the snow. The thoughts of being crushed and smothered fill her with terror. Suddenly the paw lifts, and the bear snatches the remaining critters from her hand. Without a look back, Della charges toward the cabin, throws open the door, and dives into the mountain of covers on the couch. “I’m never eating an animal ever again,” she vows with her teeth chattering.

After hours of nodding off and fighting to stay awake, Della grabs the notepad the couple left her. Not caring whether her sleep-deprived brain can connect words and thoughts, she writes a letter begging her family to forgive her. 

When the couple arrive with supplies, she hands them the letter begging for her old life back. “Make sure my family gets this.”

“Are you telling them goodbye or wanting to go home?”

“Home. If they’ll take me, I wanna go home.”

The woman rests her hand on Della’s shoulder. “The roads are closed. Downed wires and trees, and with the constant threat of more snow, the trucks won’t be quick about clearing the streets.”

“You mean I’m stuck here?” 

“We’ve been talking,” the man says. “We don’t have a spare room, but we have a couch like the one in here.”

“And heat and plumbing and electricity, water, and internet and phone service,” the woman says.

Though determined to call her family the second her phone detects service, Della falls asleep as the SUV inches along. When the engine cuts, Della groggily opens her eyes, trudges in the house with the couple, and promptly flops onto the couch and falls asleep.

Woken by the aroma of coffee, eggs, pancakes, and toast, Della peels a blanket off her and pounces into the kitchen like her children used to do and their children do.

After devouring her breakfast, Della wipes her mouth and gazes out the window. Unaware of the direction they rode, she knows beyond the miles of trees sits an empty cabin overlooking more miles of trees . . . and at least one bear.

The woman encourages Della to call home. With shaking hands, Della digs through her purse and pulls out her phone. Countless voice messages and texts plead for her safe return. Three months of absence with the last message being yesterday means her family must still care.

“I wanna come home.”

The woman motions for Della to cover the speaker. “It’ll be a while.”

“But I can’t yet. We got snow like I’ve never seen and obstructions on the roads. And bears! Dan, one was going to kill me!” She listens a moment. “Stop laughing. I’m lucky she took the critters and not me. Do you forgive me for leaving?” Rising, she claws her fingers through her hair. “I needed a vacation, a real vacation, away from everybody. But I miss my life. I miss us. And the kids and grandkids. Do you still love me?” Della holds her breath, then she glows. “You do?”

The man leans toward his wife and whispers, “That cabin works every time.”

Miles away, the cabin sits, waiting for the next visitor.