"Linda called last night," Chrissy said as I came down the stairs for breakfast. "She said she and Mark had planned on going to the cabin this afternoon and stay the weekend; but Mark had to work. She wanted to know if we wanted to join her."
Linda and Mark β my wife's sister and her husband β had bought a cottage on Lake Gaston, just three hours away. He said it was his "retirement package," a place that he could rent for $1,000 a week during the summer and a place to which he could "retire" during the rest of the year. Spring was nearing, and so the two of them were trying to make the most use of the cottage before the rental season began. The big advantage for me and Chrissy was that we were often invited β all the benefits without the headaches of hassling with renters and rental agencies.
"We were going to leave around noon," she added.
"Babe, you know I'd love to go, but I have to work too. I was out late last night on appointments, I have a full day today, and I'll probably be up early tomorrow finishing up some paperwork."
"You're going to be working Saturday ... again?"
My silence wasn't the answer she wanted.
"Do you know how many times we've had to turn down their invitation, because you have to work on Saturdays? It seems that's all you ever do, lately, and I'm getting tired of it. I want to go and have some fun!"
"Well, Babe, you and Linda go and have some fun. I just can't make it. There's just so much I have to get done. Even Mark can't make it; it's just that time of year."
"That time of year! It's always 'that time of year'! It's always something you have to do for work. Linda and I will go, and we'll have fun, with or without you and Mark. Neither of you are the guys we married; you're both so busy with your work. You're just no fun anymore."
My silence continued, but now it was joined by hers. The only sounds the rest of the breakfast hour were my cereal bowl being slammed into the sink, and the door slamming behind me as I went off to work.
"You're just no fun anymore." Her words rattled around in my brain the whole day. After fifteen years of marriage, settled into the routine of daily life, I wasn't any fun any more. There were long hours during the week, the more than occasional Saturday office hours, and the weekend chores I could squeeze in on a Sunday afternoon. I was exhausted. So we didn't go out β not even on the weekends β except for a movie which I could just sit through. And there were quite a few invitations to the cottage that I had declined. My wife was right β imagine that.
I made a decision. I would stay a little late in the afternoon and finish up the paperwork and take off after that. If I could be finished by 7:00, I would still be up there around 10:00 and we could have all day Saturday and Sunday together; maybe go out for dinner Saturday night and sleep in Sunday morning. Yes ... it would work.
A couple of attempts to call and let Chrissy know of my plan were met with only her cell's voice mail. "Oh well," I thought, "I'll just surprise her!"
After work β it was closer to 8:00 β I threw a few things in a bag and set off for the lake. The week was taking its toll as I noticed my eyes blurring over a couple of times on the trip down. The headlights of passing cars made me squint and strain to see the road and more than once I made the rumble strips on the right shoulder of the highway serve their purpose.
The problem was that once I left the interstate and started on the twisting, country roads that wound their way around the lake, there were no more rumble strips, no more shoulders. Black asphalt abutted a narrow band of green and then dipped into a ditch.
A tired driver met the ditch with only a half-mile to go. My eyes drooped, my head dropped, and the car swerved. Before I could pull back on the road, both tires on the right were caught in the rut. I braked and then tried to ease back onto the pavement; but it wasn't going to happen. The front tire spun, but couldn't get a grip in the sand and clay mixture of the ditch.
I weighed my options. I could call for a tow truck and wait β one, two, maybe three hours at this time of night β with the car. Or I could walk the 2500 feet to the cottage and call for the tow truck in the morning. Or I could just torch the whole shebang and forget about it. I decided to hoof it on down the road.
Instead of invigorating me, the cool night air seemed to weigh me down. "Too much oxygen to the brain," I told myself. But I was alert enough to see as I walked down the drive to the cottage, that all was dark and no car was there. "Sheeeet," I said when I saw nothing. "They must have gone out!"
Fortunately, I knew which fake rock held the key to the front door and entered the darkened cottage. Now, I keep saying cottage, but it was more a house by the lake. You entered into the main floor which held a kitchen, a great room and the master bedroom for Linda and Mark. There was a stairway down to two bedrooms and a family room that opened onto a patio (covered by the deck off the great room) and a path down to the lake. During the off-season, the downstairs was closed to save on the heating bills. Guests β such as Chrissy and me β would take the stairs up off the great room to the loft above, which also served as a sleeping area. Worn out by the work of the week, and the walk, and with too much oxygen to my brain, I decided to go to the loft and sleep. Chrissy and Linda would be back shortly, I reasoned; after all, it was getting close to midnight.
A flash of brightness from the lights in the main room below roused me from my sleep. Through glazed eyes I glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand: 2:24. Though still half-asleep two thoughts entered my mind: "They stayed out to closing time!" and "I'd better get up and announce my presence, rather than waiting for Chrissy to come up to the loft and find a 'strange man' sleeping in her bed."