Yesterday didn’t work. Henry sat on the porch knitting until lunch, when he made himself a plate with a sandwich and some chips. He picked up a book from the library for the afternoon; went for a swim after Mr. Popular got out of the water, thanks, but damn it was cold; and showered before dinner. That was mistimed because he was on his way in when Jane and Emily were on their way out, boxes in hands and heads together, so that was a lost cause. He ate dinner alone, took a little stroll to see if anyone was out afterward, and then went to bed.
It didn’t work, but he couldn’t just switch things up and make it obvious that it didn’t work. If he set up a routine, then maybe he was more approachable, or at least it didn’t look like he was doing any of it just to be seen. Even if he totally was.
Thirty-one days sounded like a long time, but midnight tonight meant ten percent of his month was gone. This venture was coming out of his own pocket, and those pockets were about empty. It wasn’t time to change his approach, but to double down. He had coffee in his cabin in the morning, check, even though there was no one to see him. It helped to get him in the right mindset, maybe: sitting in the strange chair, next to the strange fireplace, drinking the familiar coffee from the strange pot, and just spending time with himself the way everyone else was.
Well. The Shelleys and the Meyers came in pairs. He didn’t think Edgar had any playboy rumors, though, so all the other cabins likely held one person and one person only, all of them with their coffee or tea or whatever else they had in the thing that was advertised as a kitchenette. If that was a kitchenette, then he was a prince of England.
Okay maybe he should’ve spent more time looking at the promotional material instead of hustling to put his money down. He’d figured it was only a month, so he could survive anything, and it was heated and there was electricity and indoor plumbing and all.
Man, he was bored. He hadn’t finished his coffee yet, and he was already so. Freaking. Bored.
Henry packed a sweater knit in sock yarn because he figured he’d need something to last the month, and it was a very simple pattern because he’d imagined holding a conversation while knitting. At this rate, he’d have the sweater done by the fifteenth and zero conversations. This was turning into one damn expensive sweater.
That was defeatist thinking. Reporting took time and leg work. Staking out someone’s house was just as boring as this, and then he was stuck in a car with no hope of a conversation. That was waiting with a camera and a voice recorder, eating fast food and hoping he’d have time at the gym later, or that the cute brunette from the bar would call him back, as long as it wasn’t when something finally happened.
He’d gotten a couple good shots of Aaron Gladieux in and around his house, but the man always got into his car in the attached garage, and there was a gate over the end of his driveway. As far as Henry had been able to tell, Gladieux now lived alone. The hot tub was gone, though. Henry couldn’t be sure about the girlfriend, but he knew the hot tub was gone.
He checked his watch and decided he might as well head up to the lodge. It was hard to look into the dining room from the porch, because the glass was treated with the same stuff they put on the cabin windows, but at least the others who came for breakfast could get used to seeing him. Clearly the knitting hadn’t worked to lure anyone in, at least at first glance, but maybe if he kept at it, proving it was more than just for show, someone would bite. He sat in the same rocking chair as yesterday, bag at his feet—just like yesterday—and rocked a little as he knit. Just like yesterday.
Unlike yesterday, the guy called Truman was back, and he went down to the dock in step with Edgar, the two of them talking animatedly as they got out kayaks and paddles and generally ignored the rest of the world because of their boating bro bonding. Neither of them looked up to wave at Henry before they got into their kayaks and headed toward the island out in the lake, which was big enough for a bunch of pine trees but otherwise looked like nothing but rock.
Henry hadn’t even considered the idea of boat bonding, but it wasn’t a bro he was after. He kept knitting. Rocking and knitting.
The sun reflected off the water and started giving him a headache, but he kept knitting. He’d stay here until lunch, and maybe time things better and make his sandwich when he wasn’t alone in the room, but there were footsteps, and maybe …
Henry made sure his Damn it didn’t show on his face. It was Percy, laughing over his shoulder as he came out, surveyed the porch, and decided to leave one rocking chair empty between the two of them. He nodded at Henry’s hands. “Did your grandma teach you?”
It was teasing, so Henry took it seriously. “No. My mom.”
Percy’s smile widened by a couple teeth. A couple very white teeth. “She wanted a daughter instead?”
“My parents wanted a lot of children, yeah, but she kept having miscarriages,” he answered evenly.
This pause was longer, but Percy’s smile didn’t change. He was very clearly trying to figure out if Henry was trying to provoke him or simply stupid. “Sorry to hear that.”
Henry shrugged. “I mean, they’re still together. Half my friends’ parents were divorced by third grade.”
“Ah.” Percy cleared his throat and looked out at the water, starting to sling one ankle up over the opposite knee, but the arms of the rocking chair got in the way and he almost lost one of his loafers. Loafers, no socks, khaki shorts, and a salmon-colored dress shirt. Why, Percy?
“You’re married?” Henry asked, just to throw the man a bone.
“Ah, yeah. Yes.” Percy nodded once deeply. “We’re married. It’s good. Well.” He started to chew his lower lip, then clearly forced himself to stop. “Life is good. Back home, you know. But sometimes you just have to get away.”
Henry nodded because clearly he’d also opted for the month away.
“But. I mean, with … Mary.” He hesitated over his wife’s name and then looked up when the door opened and Alyssa came out holding a piña colada. “Thank you. But, with Mary …” He smiled a little strangely. “These are perfect days.” Percy took a drink and nodded. “Thanks, Alyssa.” It was clearly a dismissal, so she retreated and the men fell silent, one sipping, one knitting, and Henry started calculating exactly how long he’d have to keep sitting here until it was time for lunch.
Cold Comfort: Wednesday, July 3, 2024 – Agatha, coming July 8
Rebecca Frost 
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