Cabin Fever(37)

 

I shrug. “I have no idea. I was busy building my IKEA table.” I gesture over to the alcove to get his mind off the missing bottle. My heart is thumping away in nervousness. He’s going to figure out what I did eventually. And what will he do in response? I probably should have thought that plan through a little further before executing it. Oops.

 

“Cool,” he says absently. Instead of taking the bait and admiring my furniture construction skills, he wanders around the room, looking under and behind things. He stops in the kitchen and lets his eyes roam the space. Then his gaze lands on me.

 

“Did you put it somewhere?”

 

“Put what somewhere?” I’m getting irritated now as I flip the two fried steaks in the pan. Why can’t he just let it go? Is my company so lame he has to be wasted off his butt to enjoy it?

 

“The whiskey. What’d you do with it?”

 

“Nothing. I’m cooking dinner in case you hadn’t noticed.”

 

“Yeah, for the last ten minutes, maybe. What else were you doing while I was passed out?”

 

I don’t answer, but dread builds as I hear his footsteps fading out towards his bedroom.

 

“Goddammit!”

 

I guess he discovered my little invasion of his privacy. Oops again.

 

I just keep on moving the steaks over the greasy pan’s surface, trying to act like I’m too busy to pay him any attention.

 

“You had no right!” Long strides have him just a couple feet away from me in seconds.

 

I reach over and take hold of a nearby knife, just in case. Not that I feel threatened, but he’s still pretty drunk if the smell of his breath is any indicator.

 

“No right to do what?” I’m feigning a casualness I do not feel.

 

He’s super pissed, practically growling at me. “You know very well what you did. You hid my alcohol.”

 

Despite his obvious anger, he reminds me of Jaws. All bark and no bite. I release my hold on the knife and pick up the spatula instead.

 

“No, I did not hide it.” I did much worse, actually. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but now I’m not so sure. He seems pretty worked up about it. Maybe him drunk and passed out would have been preferable to him drunk and angry.

 

“I’ll find it, you know.”

 

“Have at it,” I say, waving my spatula around like I could care less.

 

I’m going to leave the knife on the counter, certain now that he won’t touch me, even if he is madder than a wet hen. I’ve met his family and heard his story. He split all my logs knowing he was going to be leaving soon. He’s not an angry drunk, he’s a sad one.

 

“I will,” he says, sounding like a huffy kid.

 

“Knock yourself out. See if I care.”

 

I flinch and cringe as he throws things around and tips over furniture, but I don’t say a word. I’m not going to defend my actions. Let him come to his own conclusions about my motives. They were pure, and nothing he says or thinks will change that.

 

He storms outside, and a few seconds later, I hear a roar that’s almost inhuman. There’s that bear again. I guess he found the stains in the snow or maybe the empties. I hid them in a garbage bag under a bush; it was too cold to move them very far away from the porch steps.

 

The door bangs closed, and Jaws growls from his blanket on the floor in response.

 

“You dumped all my stuff out in the snow, didn’t you?” His voice is calm. Way too calm.

 

I turn around to face him, finding bravery in the knife on the counter at my side. “Maybe.”

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

I shrug. “Maybe because I don’t like seeing a perfectly healthy guy try to kill himself.”

 

“What I do with my life is none of your business.”

 

“It’s my business while you’re in my cabin.”

 

His face goes beet red and he yells at the top of his lungs. “This is not your cabin! This is my cabin and that was my whiskey and my beer and you had no right to go through my things!” Every vein in his neck is bulging out and I’m pretty sure he showered Jaws in spittle with every word.

 

I’m proud of how calm I still am, all things considered. I speak to him like a teacher would to a recalcitrant student. “Be that as it may, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Why don’t you sit down and eat some dinner? Maybe tomorrow the plows will come and you can leave and go drink yourself to death then.”

 

“You think after you steal my things and violate my trust like that, that I’m going to sit down at the dinner table with you and eat like nothing happened?”