Cold Comfort: Monday, July 8, 2024 – Alyssa

Jonathan merely nods when he comes in, so apparently there’s no information to pass on before I’m off for the night. I gather my stuff and leave the desk, since he’s here to take over in case anyone needs anything. I don’t know how often during the night people want things, but he’ll be here from eight until about three, and then Lydia comes in and starts her work, and honestly I’m not sure how much they see each other in the summer. Apparently it works for them, but that’s not the sort of marriage I want in my own future.

That is maybe not exactly the thought to have when I find there’s someone waiting for me at my cabin. Truman doesn’t have a phone or even a book. He just sits on the stoop, leaning back against the building and smiling a little as he looks up at the trees, breaking into a grin when he sees me. “Here, try this,” he orders as he pops to his feet, pulling something green from his foraging bag and holding it out.

There’s no use in asking if he’s washed it, because that just makes him frown, so I take the green thing and ask him what it is instead.

“Lambsquarter.” He sees means nothing to me, so he adds, “Wild spinach.”

Okay, that’s probably why he started with the other name, since I’m not much of a spinach person. I eat it all the same, putting it in my mouth so I can hit the lock with my thumb and wait for the light to turn green. Truman follows me in, partly because it’s still damp outside but mostly because the stoop faces the path, and any residents walking by can see us together.

I start the electric kettle for my decaf coffee and Truman’s tea, which he brought by because he’s picky about that kind of thing. Well, he refills the tin when it’s empty, and I don’t know for sure if it’s the same tea each time. I just boil the water and he sighs because my kettle can’t be set to specific temperatures, and he fills the tea ball and times it.

He pulls the mancala board off the little bookshelf without asking. There are other games that take more thought and attention, but mancala’s the go-to when we just want something to pass the time and let us decompress after a day of being ever at the ready. Yeah, it’s one of Truman’s days off, but I guess he needs to decompress after those, too.

He gets his mug ready and drops the tea ball in before sitting down in his chair and nodding for me to take the first move. “I Googled you.”

I’m not sure if I laugh or snort, or if I should joke about how I didn’t even know he could use technology.

“At least, I’m pretty sure it’s you,” he adds. “I couldn’t find any photos.”

“I’ve never been on the socials.” There are probably photos of me out there, maybe even with my name attached, but there’s no account to tag.

“So.” It trails off.

So. He told me why he’s here, and he knows why I’m here. I gesture for him to make his move.

Truman nods. “I went down to Houghton, hit up the co-op, looked for agates, and still had time for a little forage walk. I’m thinking of asking Jonathan if I can do a garden here next year. It’s been too long since I had one, but moving every May means it kind of pointless.”

I make a bad choice and have a short run. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life starting in October.”

“Yeah?” He almost steals a look at my face. “Thoughts?”

I shake my head. “Option A, move back home.”

His eyebrows jump. “They don’t want you?”

“They’d take me. I just …” Time to admit it out loud, I guess. “I don’t want to go.”

Truman nods. “Option B?”

“Still working on that one.” I slouch back, since he’s having a nice long run of luck. “I didn’t really ever picture myself in this situation. I was supposed to be …”

“Married by now?” he suggests. “Baby planning?”

“Doesn’t everyone around this age?” Good job on not sounding defensive, Lyssa.

Truman nods once. “Sure, and then in a few years half of them get divorced and fight over the kids.”

I wrinkle my nose. It’s not happening the Disney dream way, anyway.

Truman lands in an empty space and sighs, flapping a hand to pass over control of the board. “I heard plans make God laugh, anyway.”

“Says the guy looking ahead to a garden next year.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.

“I mean.” He tilts his head. “I don’t actually believe in God anymore, but I think the universe could owe me a garden. I don’t ask for much, you know?”

Maybe I ask for too much.

“Hey.” Truman leans in, elbows on his knees, to get a better angle for catching my eye. “You want to be alone, I can leave you alone, but I figure, you should know I know, and I think you think it should change things, but it doesn’t. I still want to hang out with you.”

I haven’t had a chance to Google him yet, even though I have his full name now. I’m pretty sure he’s projecting. “Do you think it’s possible to ever really know someone?” It bursts out of me, apropos of … well, not nothing, but it’s sudden.

“You mean in this specific situation where everyone’s going around under assumed names, ignoring past identities, and we’re on call with our customer service act for twelve hours a day, or just in general?” It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow.

“In general. Anyone. Or even …” I gesture sort of vaguely. “Yourself. Do we ever really know ourselves?”

“Well, I think some people certainly get closer than others.” Sitting up again and reaching for his tea, he shrugs. “Some people don’t even try.” Then he smiles, the little lopsided one that doesn’t show his teeth.

“What?” I prod, because he’s hiding something.

“No, I just … before this month, I would’ve said anyone who comes up here at least tries.” He removes the tea ball and places it on the waiting saucer. “That was before Henry.”

It’s my turn, so I grab for a section of glass pebbles. “Everyone’s obsessed with Henry.”

“I thought it was just Emily, Jane, and Henry obsessed with Henry,” he nitpicks.

I wave a hand. “Everyone loud.”

“Fair.” He tilts his head. “You make it up to Curtain yet?”

“Did …?” I look at the cabin windows, but those are blinds, not curtains.

“Curtain,” he repeats. “The last Poirot case.”

“Oh.” Where’s he going with this? “No. I know he dies, though.”

Truman sips his tea and carefully sets the mug down on a coaster before making his move. “How much do you care about spoilers?”

“I just told you I already know Poirot dies. Speak.” I wave my hand grandly.

“Poirot’s after someone who’s associated with a bunch of murders, except it’s not a serial killer,” he explains. “It’s someone who likes provoking murder.”

I frown and gesture for him to go on.

“This person blends into the background. And no, I’m not telling you who it is,” he interrupts himself to protest, laughing. “This character knows exactly where to poke to get people who normally wouldn’t commit murder to go ahead and do it.”

I’m still having trouble following everything. “You brought this up because of Henry?”

“Because of Henry,” he agrees, mulling it over. “Edgar called him a vulture, and I think that fits. He’s looking for the … I don’t know, the raw meat, and circling, and that’s what Emily is to him, right? A piece of meat?”

“Jane thinks Emily’s making herself a juicy piece of meat, except she doesn’t think he’s as passive as a vulture.” At least vultures wait until you’re dead. They don’t want the fight.

Truman shrugs and tilts his head. “But we all agree there’s something about him that isn’t the same as the rest of us.”

I blink. “You’ve been here for years, right?”

He nods.

“And you seriously see something in Henry you’ve never seen in any other resident before?” I press.

He nods again.

“And now you’re referencing Agatha Christie, who likes to bring strangers together and end up with one of them murdered.” And of course Loon Lake is all about bringing strangers together.

“Sometimes more than one,” he adds helpfully. “Or at least more than one attempt.”

I roll my eyes. “Do they have the entire Christie collection at the lodge because you requested it?”

Truman shakes his head. “It was my mom’s. Our local library already had a set, so I carted it up here.”

And he’s been watching me carry one around all summer. His mom’s books. “Oh.” Wait, is that good or bad?

He smiles, this one with a sparkle in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have brought them here if I never wanted to see someone enjoy them again.” The sparkle might actually be tears. I try not to let myself have second thoughts as I reach over and give his hand a squeeze before picking up my next group of pebbles.

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Cold Comfort: Tuesday, July 9, 2024 – Henry, coming July 25