Tiny House on the Hill
Page 4
She managed to tuck them both into the tiny back booth, just as the waitress appeared. She wore a name badge that read: My Name is Mindy. She had jet-black hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, bright red lipstick, and she was chewing gum.
“I’m Mindy,” the girl said robotically. “Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” Summer said, looking up at her. “What are Dolly Sods?”
“Beats me,” Mindy said, nodding toward Summer’s cell phone. “What does Wikipedia say?”
Summer used her remaining cell phone battery to discover The Dolly Sods Wilderness, known to outdoorsy types as Dolly Sods, is a wilderness area in the Allegheny Mountains located in eastern West Virginia. The unusual name came from an eighteenth-century family in the area named Dahles, tacked on to the local term for an open mountaintop meadow called a “sods.” Over time, the area’s name was shortened to Dolly Sods.
“I guess the thrift stores of West Virginia will have to wait,” Summer said to Shortie, who was much more interested in licking the bacon grease from Summer’s fingers. “Looks like we’re going hiking tomorrow.”
Google Maps directed Summer into West Virginia the following morning.
The rocky plateau at the very top of Dans Mountain in The Dolly Sods Wilderness left Summer literally breathless. The almost 5,000-foot elevation gain was slow going, but spurred on by Bale’s endorsement and Shortie’s exuberance, she’d made it to the top after losing her way several times. This wilderness was aptly named; the paths were marked only with footprints. She guarded her cell phone as she forged streams, carrying Shortie through rushing water that could easily have carried him away.
Summer perched on a breathtaking overlook. Shortie stretched out beside her. He was obviously enjoying Mother Nature. She’d never taken him hiking before, in part because she thought his little legs would be an impediment, but, she had to admit, mostly because she didn’t hike. She thought back to hikes she’d taken with her grandfather in Washington every summer. From her bedroom at her grandparent’s property, she could see Mount Rainier when the mountain was “out”—the few days a years when the fog didn’t obscure it. She smiled at the memory as she looked down at Shortie. Maybe they’d take up hiking when they got home. She caught herself off guard. It had been years since she’d thought of Washington as home. Although the topography in the Allegheny Mountains was very different from the Cascade Mountain Range in the Pacific Northwest, the feeling of being part of a bigger picture was the same. When her dreams of a life with Keefe unraveled the summer she’d turned eighteen, she headed to college determined to show him she’d be fine without him. She wondered if she had proven anything except that she could be stubborn enough to stay away.
Summer had gone over their brief but shattering story a million times, each time hoping some new piece of information would reveal itself. What had gone wrong with Keefe? Since she was six years younger than Keefe, he acted like more of a big brother even while she was tending a crush that spread across her soul. She remembered watching him after work at the bakery. He’d whip off his apron, hop on his motorcycle and roar across town to pick up Evie, a local girl with the longest legs Summer had ever seen. Summer prayed that when she grew up, she’d have legs like Evie’s—legs that cause everyone to stop dead in their tracks to watch her climb onto the back of a motorcycle.
The summer Summer turned seventeen, everything changed, almost. She never got the long legs.
As bittersweet as the memory was, Summer couldn’t help but relive their first kiss. She had radar when it came to Keefe, always knowing where he was—either at the house (he lived over her grandparents’ garage), at the bakery, or in town with or without Evie. She’d heard that Keefe and Evie had broken up while she was home in San Francisco, but it didn’t seem to make much difference in her own relationship with him. She’d somehow lost track of him one brilliantly sunny day. She wandered down by the lake on her grandparents’ property and suddenly there he was, fishing. They saw each other at the same time. He waved and, with her heart pounding, she managed to get herself to the creaking little dock without stumbling on her shaking legs. She was surprised to see him fishing from the dock. Keefe was known throughout Cat’s Paw as the best fly fisherman in the area.
“Hey, little girl,” Keefe said as she sat down beside him. “You caught me slumming.”
“I’m not so little,” Summer said, trying not to sound disappointed. She hated it when he called her that.
“No, I guess you aren’t,” Keefe said. “I keep forgetting you’re all grown up.”
Summer steamed. Every year, as soon as she’d get to her grandparents, she’d run to find Keefe, to show off how grown up she’d become. And every year, he’d seem surprised that she was there. Ruffling her hair, he’d say: “Hey, little girl, you back for the summer?”
Clearly, he had not been counting the days until he saw her again.
“You know, Clarisse,” he said, watching the water for any sign of shadow below the surface. “I’ve been…”
“Don’t call me that,” Summer said. “Only my grandmother calls me Clarisse.”
“Sorry,” Keefe said. “No ‘little girl,’ no ‘Clarisse.’ Any other new rules?”
Summer tried to smooth out her scowl. Practicing enticing expressions she saw online, she thought she’d perfected a come-hither look, only to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like an unpleasant child.
“Just call me Summer,” she said.
“I think I can wrap my old brain around that,” he said.
“You’re not old!” Summer said.
He was always bringing up their age difference.
“I’m twenty-three,” he said. “Old enough to know better.”
“Well, I’m old enough to know better, too.”
“I guess you are.”
She couldn’t explain it, but she saw an interest in his eyes that she’d never seen before. She couldn’t explain it, but it was there. Her breath caught.
He sees me.
Without warning, he leaned in, smoothed back her hair and kissed her. She had fantasized about this moment her entire life, but now that it was happening, she couldn’t lose herself in the moment.
He’s kissing me!
Stop thinking.
But he’s kissing me!
Whatever was passing between them jerked to a stop as Keefe’s fishing line demanded his attention.
“You caught something,” Summer said, as they both leapt to their feet.
In seconds, Keefe had reeled in a small trout. She watched him handle the fish carefully. He took the hook gently from the fish’s mouth. Lying on his stomach, Keefe gently lowered it back into the water, moving the tail back and forth and side to side. The trout swam away. Keefe got back to his feet and dusted off his jeans.
“I guess that little guy was too small,” Summer said, wanting to sound knowledgeable. She knew that not everybody lived up to the catch-and-release rules of Washington State, but Keefe did.
“Yep,” Keefe said, squinting into the water and not looking at her. “That fish has some more living to do before it’s ready to be reeled in for good.”
He walked away. Summer stayed on the dock.
That was it? That couldn’t be it.
Keefe kept his distance the rest of the summer. When she came back the following year—when she was eighteen—Keefe seemed to think that maybe it was time to reel her in.
Summer stopped reliving the past. She could construct every moment they’d spent together. She knew the moment he started to slip away, but no amount of rehashing was ever going to change that.
She took a deep breath and relaxed into the mountains. She hated to admit it, but now that she’d come to terms with going back to Washington, she longed for the rugged beauty of the place. She hadn’t realized until now, exactly how much she’d put behind h
er.
She wondered if she was making excuses for herself, now that she was heading back to Cat’s Paw.
Or maybe it really was time?
Chapter 5
It had been years since Summer had done any serious hiking. Her thigh and calf muscles were reliving every moment of yesterday’s march in Dolly Sods. She’d had a restless night as her feet cramped and her legs twitched, but in the morning she’d driven across the border into Kentucky and she perked up. Her GPS told her she was only two hours from Cobb, her tiny house, her new life, and Bale. She’d orchestrated her trip to pull into Bale’s parking lot at exactly six o’clock that evening, which was closing time. She’d pictured conveniently arriving in time for dinner—if he were so inclined. She’d even researched dog-friendly restaurants in the area, so Shortie wouldn’t be a hindrance.
But now her legs were screaming at her. She couldn’t get up or down without grabbing onto a steady surface and pulling herself up or gently lowering herself down. There was no way to achieve any of this without grimaces and groaning of the most unflattering kind. She was torn: Call Bale and say she would be there by closing time or limp into a hotel. Call him and say she’d see him tomorrow and pray her legs felt better by morning.
Summer decided to call and make excuses for this evening. The last thing she wanted to do was limp into her new adventure. She touched the button on her phone that would let her chat hands-free. When the phone at the other end of the line started ringing, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She was shaking from head to foot.
“Hello, Summer,” Bale said.
He’s entered my name into his phone! She thought, giving Shortie a thumbs up.
“Hey, Bale,” she said. She looked in the rearview mirror. Shortie, who had been dozing for the last hour, raised his head at the unnatural tone of his human’s voice. “Listen, I was thinking…since it’s so late, maybe I’ll swing by in the morning. It’s been a long couple of days, you know, with all that hiking. My dog is beat.”
Might as well spin this, she thought, avoiding Shortie’s gaze.
“That’s fine,” said Bale, “I understand exactly how the old dog feels.”
Summer started. Was Bale old? How old could he be? He was so handsome. But he was distinguished, which means he wasn’t young. She was twenty-eight. He was…maybe forty? Keefe flashed through her mind. He was now thirty-four. Maybe she had a thing for older men.
“Are you still there?” Bale asked.
“Yes, sorry,” she said, snapping out of her reflective mood. She realized she was aimlessly driving up and down the same gravel road. “Weird phone connection for a second.”
“No problem,” Bale said. “I’ll see you first thing…are you in a red pickup truck?”
“Yes,” Summer said, surprised. “How did you know?”
“You keep driving past me,” he said. “Look to your left.”
Summer did as instructed. She could feel the blush immediately creeping up her cheeks as she saw Bale standing in the Bale’s Tiny Dreams parking lot. He waved extravagantly. She finger waved back.
Now what?
She knew she had to pull in.
As nervous as she was about seeing him after all these months, her pounding heart was due in part to the fact that perched on the edge of the lot sat her brand new fire-engine red caboose!
It took her breath away.
Rolling to a stop in the parking lot, she forgot all about her legs and jumped out of the truck—which made her remember her legs. She gripped the door handle fiercely with her left hand to keep upright as Bale approached.
Handshake? Hug? Cheek kiss? Double cheek kiss?
While she was still making up her mind, Bale reached out for a hearty handshake, the option she had been most likely to reject.
“Looks like you made it after all,” he said.
“I did!” she said with over-the-top enthusiasm.
Calm down.
“Let’s take a look at your pup,” Bale said, looking in the front window.
“He’s in his car seat,” Summer said. “In the back.”
“Your dog is in a car seat?” Bale asked. “How does he stick his head out the window if he’s in a car seat?”
“He doesn’t,” Summer said. “My research said this was the safest way to travel with a dog.”
“Safest, maybe. But doesn’t sound very fun,” Bale said, peering in the back window at Shortie, who was getting restless as he intuited Bale’s attention. “May I?”
At her nod, Bale opened the back door and unbuckled Shortie, who leapt into Bale’s arms. Summer watched, furtively testing out her legs as Shortie put on an exaggerated show of gratitude for being released from bondage.
Bale put Shortie on the ground. The dog took it as his cue to start sniffing everything in sight.
“Let me get his leash,” Summer said, but she wasn’t sure she could move yet without yelping.
“He’s fine,” Bale said, spreading his arms to show that there was nowhere unsafe for Shortie to travel. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Let him read the newspaper.”
“Pardon me?”
“That’s what I call it when a dog goes sniffing around,” Bale said with a grin. “He’s getting all the news.”
Shortie was acting as if he were starved for news. Zigzagging among the tiny houses, Summer’s heart would stop every time he was out of her sight, then she’d breathe a sigh of relief when she’d spot his tail or his paws. She realized that she was going to have to adopt a more breezy attitude about life in general with the new life she was trying to cobble together, but she didn’t really want to start with her dog. Finally, Shortie bounded back. Summer was in a quandary. She really didn’t want Shortie roaming around, but she didn’t want to offend Bale. Years ago, Summer had perfected the art of subtle control. With her legs still shrieking, she bent over and scooped Shortie up. Bale reached over and scratched Shortie’s ears.
“He’s a fine man,” Bale said. “I can tell a good dog when I see one.”
Etiquette crisis averted.
“As long as you’re here,” Bale said. “Want to check out the house?”
The thought of climbing the three stairs into the caboose sounded like torture, but the pull of her new life was hard to resist.
“Why not?” she said.
As they walked to the caboose, Summer checked out the competition: the other tiny houses on the lot. Though there were several styles, they were all on wheels and ready to head off to zoning laws unknown. Some of them were houses she’d toured on her first trip. There was a very modern silver-toned box with a teal door and a rooftop deck. She remembered that she’d been drawn to it, but at 350 square feet, it was too big for her to ever consider towing on her own. There was also a replica of a Victorian Manor perfect to every miniaturized detail. But it reminded her too much of Queenie’s house, so she crossed it off the list. She smiled at the thought of having purchased it and now driving it to Queenie’s spread—an architectural mini-me on the front lawn. There were also a few new houses; there was a little number that reminded her of a Jules Verne’s time machine with its steampunk sensibilities and a rustic log cabin. In one corner of the lot sat what looked like a canvas tent.
“What is that?” Summer asked, pointing.
“That’s a yurt.”
“A real yurt?” Summer asked. “I thought only nomads in Mongolia used them.”
“They’re getting popular with the tiny house crowd,” Bale said. “A guy traded me this one for my smallest house. I’m going to study how to maximize yurt living.”
“You think yurts might take over the tiny house trend?”
“Maybe not in Mongolia,” he said. “But you never know.”
“And what about the guy who traded it to you?” Summer asked, fascinated by the tiny house motivations of others.
“Sixty-seven square feet?” Summer’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that the size of a port-a-potty?”
“Twice the size, actually,” Bale said. “But we don’t really like to refer to port-a-potties in general. Bad for the image.”
Summer looked at him to see if he was kidding. He winked at her. She flushed.
They had arrived in front of the caboose. She stared up at it.
Here it was! Literally, her dream come true. She hugged Shortie to her and kissed his head as she watched Bale climb up the stairs and unlock the glossy front door. He looked down at her and offered both his hands—his beautiful, workman’s calloused hands, which had built this house just for her. She blinked back tears. So many possibilities could lead from this moment.
“Do you want me to take Shortie?” he asked.
“Sure!” she chirped, handing him the dog.
Grabbing the rail, she pulled herself up the three stairs and followed him into the caboose. The evening light was fast evaporating. It occurred to her that they were in her house and yet she had no idea where the light switch was. She could hear Shortie’s little toenails on the floor as she watched Bale’s shadow flick a switch that illuminated the space with a warm, inviting glow. The fact that he was so comfortable in her house made her slightly giddy. She sobered immediately when she realized how big he seemed.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked, reading distress on her face.
“Oh, no!” she said. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
“Check it out,” he said, sitting in the built-in nook that was soon to be her new dining room.
Dining area, she reminded herself.