scare me.”
“Am I? Will that do it?” Ryan looked at her. “I thought you were already scared. You know, having to sleep in the same bed as a lesbian.”
Jen smiled. “Yes, that was a shock. But you don’t seem all that threatening.” She leaned closer and bumped her arm playfully. “Are you medicated?”
Ryan laughed. “No. I have no mental disorder. At least I don’t think so.” She relaxed, knowing she couldn’t keep up this façade of pretending not to like her indefinitely. It could be so much worse. She decided to throw her a bone, a bit of information about her life. Maybe she’d be sensitive enough to leave it at that.
“My family is...wealthy,” she said. “And we don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“Because you’re...gay?”
“No. The reason why doesn’t matter. But it afforded me the opportunity to buy this land, build this cabin.” She paused. “My solitude is for my own sanity.”
“Okay. Then what do you do?”
“Do?”
“Yeah. You must do something to keep sane. Laptop?”
“What about it?” she asked cautiously.
“You keep busy with something,” Jen said, her voice slightly accusing.
Ryan wondered if Jen could see the possible lies and excuses that popped into her mind as she tried to find something appropriate to say. There were dozens of them, and what she blurted out was probably the worst possible choice. She cringed as she heard the words leave her mouth.
“I’m...an editor.”
Jen’s interest was obviously piqued. “An editor? Like in publishing?”
Ryan nodded, desperately trying to think of a graceful way out of this.
“So when I told you I’d written several self-help books, you didn’t think to mention this then? I mean, we have something in common, at least.” Jen looked at her accusingly. “Which publisher do you work for?”
Ryan shoved a forkful of her dinner into her mouth, stalling. “I freelance,” she mumbled.
“Freelance?”
Ryan nodded, not elaborating.
Jen put her elbows on the bar, watching her. “So you have a project now?”
Ryan nodded again. “Yes.”
Jen picked up her fork again. “You’re doing an awful lot of typing. What are you doing? Rewriting the whole manuscript?”
“First-time writer. I’m making a lot of notes.” She stood, scooting the barstool away and taking her half-eaten dinner to the sink, effectively ending the conversation. An editor? Yeah, way to think on your feet , she chastised herself.
She felt Jen watching her as she slipped on her coat and gloves. She avoided looking at her. “Girls.” Both dogs jumped to attention, Sierra beating Kia to the door, as was the norm. They burst out into the darkness, the air bitterly cold after the warmth of the cabin. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breath frosted around her. The moon was only a sliver, but the light was enough, reflecting off of the snow, to allow her to move about without a flashlight. The dogs ran up the trail ahead of her. They knew the nighttime routine. She would wait close to the cabin as they did their business. They would return a few minutes later, snow clinging to their fur, tongues hanging out regardless of the temperature. They would stare at her, waiting on her to let them back inside the warm cabin.
She looked skyward, where a million stars were twinkling. She loved nights like this. Silent, dark and windless. So quiet, in fact, she could hear each breath she took, hear each steady beat of her heart. It was almost a form of meditation, for she could hold no thoughts in her mind as it emptied itself of contemplation and filled itself with a relaxing nothingness.
Tonight, however, her mind remained fixed on the uninvited guest who was sharing her cabin. An inquisitive guest, no less. Ryan’s wish to remain anonymous was on shaky ground. She wouldn’t tell her the truth. Catherine Ryan-Barrett . No, Jen would want to know about her family and the hotel and casino business. And then about the Pulitzer Prize and if
“Am I? Will that do it?” Ryan looked at her. “I thought you were already scared. You know, having to sleep in the same bed as a lesbian.”
Jen smiled. “Yes, that was a shock. But you don’t seem all that threatening.” She leaned closer and bumped her arm playfully. “Are you medicated?”
Ryan laughed. “No. I have no mental disorder. At least I don’t think so.” She relaxed, knowing she couldn’t keep up this façade of pretending not to like her indefinitely. It could be so much worse. She decided to throw her a bone, a bit of information about her life. Maybe she’d be sensitive enough to leave it at that.
“My family is...wealthy,” she said. “And we don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“Because you’re...gay?”
“No. The reason why doesn’t matter. But it afforded me the opportunity to buy this land, build this cabin.” She paused. “My solitude is for my own sanity.”
“Okay. Then what do you do?”
“Do?”
“Yeah. You must do something to keep sane. Laptop?”
“What about it?” she asked cautiously.
“You keep busy with something,” Jen said, her voice slightly accusing.
Ryan wondered if Jen could see the possible lies and excuses that popped into her mind as she tried to find something appropriate to say. There were dozens of them, and what she blurted out was probably the worst possible choice. She cringed as she heard the words leave her mouth.
“I’m...an editor.”
Jen’s interest was obviously piqued. “An editor? Like in publishing?”
Ryan nodded, desperately trying to think of a graceful way out of this.
“So when I told you I’d written several self-help books, you didn’t think to mention this then? I mean, we have something in common, at least.” Jen looked at her accusingly. “Which publisher do you work for?”
Ryan shoved a forkful of her dinner into her mouth, stalling. “I freelance,” she mumbled.
“Freelance?”
Ryan nodded, not elaborating.
Jen put her elbows on the bar, watching her. “So you have a project now?”
Ryan nodded again. “Yes.”
Jen picked up her fork again. “You’re doing an awful lot of typing. What are you doing? Rewriting the whole manuscript?”
“First-time writer. I’m making a lot of notes.” She stood, scooting the barstool away and taking her half-eaten dinner to the sink, effectively ending the conversation. An editor? Yeah, way to think on your feet , she chastised herself.
She felt Jen watching her as she slipped on her coat and gloves. She avoided looking at her. “Girls.” Both dogs jumped to attention, Sierra beating Kia to the door, as was the norm. They burst out into the darkness, the air bitterly cold after the warmth of the cabin. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breath frosted around her. The moon was only a sliver, but the light was enough, reflecting off of the snow, to allow her to move about without a flashlight. The dogs ran up the trail ahead of her. They knew the nighttime routine. She would wait close to the cabin as they did their business. They would return a few minutes later, snow clinging to their fur, tongues hanging out regardless of the temperature. They would stare at her, waiting on her to let them back inside the warm cabin.
She looked skyward, where a million stars were twinkling. She loved nights like this. Silent, dark and windless. So quiet, in fact, she could hear each breath she took, hear each steady beat of her heart. It was almost a form of meditation, for she could hold no thoughts in her mind as it emptied itself of contemplation and filled itself with a relaxing nothingness.
Tonight, however, her mind remained fixed on the uninvited guest who was sharing her cabin. An inquisitive guest, no less. Ryan’s wish to remain anonymous was on shaky ground. She wouldn’t tell her the truth. Catherine Ryan-Barrett . No, Jen would want to know about her family and the hotel and casino business. And then about the Pulitzer Prize and if