The Cabin

It was spring in Kentucky, the end of April, which is about as glorious a time as there can ever be in the Red River Gorge. After a lot of years of hard work, my wife and I had been able to retire just where we wanted, an old log cabin in the Gorge itself, with a property line which went right down to the river. The river, designated a National Wild and Scenic River by Congress, didn't have many properties on which you could build new, and we were lucky to find the old cabin for sale. The cabin had seen better days when we bought it, and though we had a contractor install a brand new metal roof on it right away, I was doing most of the work on the place myself. I am not a licensed electrician, but I know how to do electrical work, from books and many years of experience in not only my previous homes, but the homes of friends. I am not a licensed plumber, but, same story, I can do all of the work myself, and it not only works, and doesn't leak, but it looks as neat as though a pro had done it.

I had leveled out, by hand, a small picnic area near the natural, small boat landing on our property. While the cabin sat a good thirty feet above the water, and a thorough inspection by me indicated that it had never been flooded, there was a steep, winding path down to the river. I added wooden steps, and the picnic area. From the cabin itself, and a wonderful back porch, we had an amazing view of the gorge; from the picnic area and boat landing, the view was of the water, and it was pleasantly cool even during a Kentucky August.

A drunk driver ended all of that. My wonderful wife, of forty years, got to live in that cabin with me after it was finished for three whole weeks, and now her ashes, cast into the river on a miserable February day, are long gone, down river, on the bottom, or washed up on the bank. If any of them wound up fertilizing a flower somewhere, she would be happy.

That was a bit more than two years ago, and the sharp pain of my loss had settled down into a dull ache. Lauren loved this cabin, with a bedroom overlooking the river and an old stone fireplace that provided a cheering fire on cold winter nights. Even in the winter, with the trees bare and the wind howling down the river channel, this was a warm and marvelous place to live.

I had thought about selling the cabin, it seemed so empty, but I could never make the effort. Lauren's death had sapped my energy, and the 64-year-old man who was able to do all of that work, on the cabin and on the landing, was now a 66-year-old widower who could barely muster the energy to keep the cabin clean. Then again, I barely had the energy to get it dirty.

Still, spring brought new life, new greenery and new flowers, to the Gorge. I had resolved to myself, and to Lauren above, that I wouldn't just sit in the rocking chair and molder and die. I may be depressed, but I'm still in pretty good health, still strong and still alive.

It was Wednesday, April the 22^nd, Earth Day, and I simply couldn't stay on the porch. Lauren wouldn't have wanted that. I had cleaned off the winter debris from the steps down, and off of the picnic table below. I had installed a permanent charcoal grill, the kind that you find concreted in in campgrounds, down near the picnic table, and set about trying to catch my lunch in the river. The water was still cold, and I had to wear waders.

Now, I'm not the best fisherman in the world, and, to be honest about it, if I caught something, it was generally just pure, dumb luck. And Earth Day of 2015 was turning into the luckiest day I had had in two years. I caught not one, but two smallmouth bass, each about two pounds, in very quick succession.

That was more than enough for me, so I started the charcoal in the grill, and while it was catching and heating up, I cleaned the fish. I'm not particularly good at that, either, but I managed to get them ready to cook without slicing off part of my thumb.

The fish were sizzling on the grill when I spotted her, a lone kayaker passing in front of the property. Usually, kayakers go in at least pairs, but this lady was alone. Fortunately, the cabin was on one of the easier parts of the river - maybe a bit more than Class I, but not really Class II - and if you take a spill, you'll get wet, but you won't drown, not as long as you don't injure yourself going over. I yelled "Hello!" to her and waved, and she waved back . . . which turned out to be a mistake. Just as she waved to me, the bow of her kayak caught a rock, and the boat spun her sideways, and that's where she took a bath.

Of course, I ran out into the river to rescue her. The river isn't more than four feet deep in front of my property, and I managed to not only grab the lady but also her kayak and the paddle, which had caught on an obstruction. She was embarrassed, but not hurt. However, she was also soaked clear through, and the river water wasn't even 60º at this time of the year.

I sputtered my apologies for distracting her, and she apologized for being clumsy and forcing me out into the water to rescue her. I pulled her and her boat up to my boat landing so that she could recover.

The day was warm enough, but there was little sun making its way through the trees on my side of the river, and she was clearly chilled. "Wait here: I'll run up to the cabin and get some blankets to keep you warm, and, if you want, I can give you some dry clothes." She tried to say that she didn't need any of that, but she was just being cautious: she didn't know me from Adam.

"Nonsense, you're soaked, and I can help. I've got some fresh-caught bass on the grill, and we can have lunch while your clothes dry out." I guess that I have a trustworthy mien, because she said, "OK."

I practically flew up the stairs, changed my jeans in about four seconds, and grabbed an old quilt to take down to Suzanne - that is her name - to keep her warm. I still had some of Lauren's clothes in the cabin - I couldn't bear to throw them away - but they'd have never fit Suzanne. Lauren was a tall woman, 5'10", even taller than me, while Suzanne didn't look like she could have been an inch over 5 feet. I thought enough to grab an extra fork and knife for her to have some lunch.

I rushed down the stairs, just avoiding tripping and breaking my stupid neck, and wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. As I was doing so, a sudden desire came over me, and I almost, almost kissed the top of her head as I wrapped the quilt around her. I was about ¾ inch away from turning from a rescuer into a sexual assailant, and it took me a second to realize what I had almost done. I made certain that I sat on the opposite side of the picnic table from Suzanne, to keep me from doing something stupid.

In all of this, the fish turned out perfectly. I'm not sure how, because I hadn't been attending them, but they might have been the best bass I've ever eaten. I only had some bread and butter down on the table with me, and my best china was paper plates, but it was a really great lunch. Suzanne and I started in with the typical small talk, and found out something about each other. She was clearly near my age - I didn't ask, since my mother had taught me, long ago, that one never asks a lady her age - and she had this marvelous streak of grey in her hair, real grey, but placed so perfectly from one side of her forehead and winding around that it looked like it could have been placed there by a beautician. Her hair was cut short, almost boy short, and even just combed out with her fingers after getting soaked in the river, it looked really well styled. The rest of her hair was brunette, with just the occasional strand of grey in it.

It turned out that Suzanne was divorced, and had been for fifteen years. Her ex-husband had a thing for the young cuties, and she wasn't going to put up with his crap anymore. She got a generous settlement, including the house, and didn't have to work. "And I can file for early Social Security next year, and that'll keep me pretty well," she said, which also told me that she was 61 years old, or would be shortly.

I had said that this Earth Day was turning into one of the luckiest I day I'd seen in years, and it was. Suzanne and I sat down on that old picnic table and talked away for every bit of two hours. She lived in Winchester, and had four kids, she said, all of whom were grown and out the door. Her ex had moved to Texas, following some willowy blonde, who promptly took him for the rest of his money; she said that he had gotten exactly what he had earned.

I was becoming very interested in Suzanne, and was looking for a way to ask her if she'd like to get together after today, and I found myself as tongue-tied about that as a 17-year-old trying to ask a girl to the prom. I was lonely, and I hadn't felt this way in years. Heck, I hadn't had to ask anyone out for over forty years! Suzanne's clothes were drying rapidly on her - she didn't want to try wearing any of my stuff - and it wouldn't be long before she was back on the river. A friend had taken her and her kayak up the river to get started, and she had her own vehicle down by Schoolhouse Branch. I hated to see her go, and was trying desperately to come up with the right way to ask, when I got luckier still: the sky opened up, and it started to absolutely pour!

We were both soaked again, in about a minute. I grabbed her kayak and paddle and tied them to the picnic table, telling Suzanne to head on up to the cabin. Since I was delayed by securing her stuff, she was already on the porch when I got up there.

There was lightning in the sky, and the thunder was loud and close. The rain was pounding down on the cabin's metal roof as we were laughing and holding each other in our soaked clothes . . . and I kissed her.

It was a soft kiss, a first-kiss type kiss, one which made Suzanne just stare at me for a second. Still, she never made a move to push away or stop holding onto me, and then she reached up and kissed me back.

Her kiss was gentle and it was sweet, a kiss full of promise, if only we could realize it. She had these amazing light brown eyes, almost hazel, and a dusting of freckles. I was looking at her, and she was staring into my darker brown eyes as well, but no words passed between us now: we were just standing there, holding each other. I don't know what Suzanne was thinking or feeling, but for me, it was a longing, and hoping, and praying that this moment would never end. I had to kiss her again, I just had to, but I was actually terrified that I'd ruin this moment. Finally, I ventured another kiss, again, a soft one, one full of romance more than passion, but passion was certainly what I was feeling.

The wind shifted, and the thunderstorm started blowing the rain onto the covered porch itself, so we had to scurry inside. That meant breaking our embrace, which gave me a moment to think.

"Here you go," I said to her, handing her a fluffy robe. "The shower's in there, and don't worry, I have plenty of hot water here. I'll wash and dry your clothes, and I can drive you down to your car afterward."

That seemed to be the break she needed, to both think about what we were doing, and assure her by my actions that I wasn't a rapist-in-the-woods.

I was rushing around like a madman as soon as she closed the bathroom door behind her. The front had turned the air decidedly cooler, and most of the windows had been open; the breeze dropped the temperature in the cabin quickly, and I thought that a fire would be the perfect romantic setting. Fortunately, I had dry kindling and firewood inside, and these waxed fire starter squares to get things going without the need for constant attention. I went to the kitchen, to get some (powdered) hot chocolate ready to go, and then I laid out a too-big flannel shirt and some bib overalls out on the back of the couch, in case Suzanne wanted them. They were mine, not Lauren's, so they wouldn't have been quite as big on her. Grabbing our wet shoes, I put them on the hearth, for the fire to dry, and then I stripped down to my jeans, to be ready to hit the shower when Suzanne came out. I made sure to have my chest puffed out and my gut sucked in when she came out and saw me without a shirt. Nothing will ever make me look not 66, but I could at least look like a very fit 66!

Suzanne came out of the bathroom, with the white terrycloth robe tied around her, still toweling her hair dry. "Your turn," she said, as though this was as much her cabin as mine - could she really be thinking that way? - and she reached up to give me a quick kiss before I went in. I'm not that tall, just 5'8", and she had to stand on her tiptoes, and it was just wonderful. "There's hot chocolate for you in the kitchen if you want it," I said, as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

I showered as fast I could, without it seeming too ridiculously fast, and brushed my teeth while I was in there. The wind was blowing away from the open bathroom window, so it wasn't raining inside, and the trees were barely visible through the rain and the mist. I have no neighbors, and even the road, highway 715, is out of sight down a long driveway. The rain was still pounding on the metal roof, loudly enough to be heard through the insulation. It was just the two of us, out in an isolated log cabin. If Suzanne wasn't interested in seeing me after today, in a romantic setting like this one, I had no hope of ever seeing her again.

"That was quick," Suzanne said as I came out of the bathroom in an identical terrycloth robe.

"It would be rude to leave a guest alone," I replied.

"This is a beautiful cabin," she said. "I kind of had to look around when I had the chance."

"Thanks, I'm pretty proud of it. It was in rough shape when we bought it, and we had a new roof put on it right away, but I did almost all of the other restoration work myself." I could kick myself: I had said "we," not "I," and that can only remind Suzanne that I had a wife here with me. Still, the "we" was the truth, and Suzanne already knew that I was a widower. I just had to hope that my stupid tongue didn't pour cold water on this. "The cabin didn't have electricity or running water at first, but I was able to get underground lines for both put in. The utility companies had to do that work, but I wired and plumbed in everything in the cabin itself. I cleaned up all of the wood, and refinished everything. I was able to pick up some vintage cabinets for the kitchen and bathroom, clean them up and repaint them."

"You switched from 'we' to 'I' there, George," she said. "Yes, I noticed. This cabin was for your wife, wasn't it?"

There it was: Suzanne had put it all out there, where it couldn't be ignored. She had an ex-husband, but he was one she had kicked to the curb, and didn't ever want to see again, while I had a late wife, untimely snatched away, whom I still desperately miss.

"It was for us, not just her, but yes, this was to be our retirement home." I was speaking a bit more softly now, more reluctantly. It not only hurt to say, but I was so afraid that putting the truth out there would drive Suzanne away.

"Tell me what you're feeling, George." Well, that was certainly direct. Then again, at our ages, beating around the bush isn't a particularly good idea.

"What I'm feeling? I'm feeling pretty good right now, and I'm really enjoying being with you. Yes, I'm attracted, very attracted, and I'm just hoping that I'm not blowing it right now. I think that we have a chance to be together, and I'm hoping that you feel the same way." She had been direct, and it was time for me to do the same. "How about you?"

"George, I'm lonely, and I've been lonely for a long time now. Here with you, I don't feel lonely, I feel like a high school girl with a crush. That first kiss you gave me, such a sweet, wonderful kiss, one I'll never forget, it was amazing. I could see it coming, I knew it was coming, I wanted it to come, and I was so afraid of it coming. I really want to see if this goes somewhere, but I'm afraid of being hurt again, and I don't want to mistake not being lonely for being in love."

"How will you know the difference? How will we know the difference?"

"It could take a long time to figure it out. Maybe we'll know more in the morning." Then she turned around, and walked into my bedroom.

"Lauren?" I awoke to the banging of dishes from the kitchen, and it took me a couple of seconds to remember: Lauren wasn't here, and Lauren would never be here again. It could only be Suzanne in the kitchen.

It was hard for a moment, knowing that my wonderful wife's ashes had floated down the river from here, two years ago, and still hearing those achingly familiar sounds coming from the kitchen. Still, I had to smile, to at least try to smile, knowing that I wasn't alone this morning, and that a very sweet woman was here in the cabin with me. The covers were a mess, and the terrycloth robe that Suzanne had been wearing was still on the floor. I got up, as silently as I could, to go peek in the kitchen, and there I saw what I expected to see, what I had hoped to see, Suzanne, still gloriously naked, with her back turned to me, puttering around the kitchen, looking like she was making breakfast for the two of us. If she was naked, then I could stay nude as well.

The lights had been out last night, and with the overcast skies and rain and trees, almost no moonlight made it into the bedroom. We had made love, starting softly and slowly, but quickly becoming more urgent, and I could still just barely detect the scent of her lips on mine, but it had been too dark for us to see each other. Now, in the light of morning, we could.

Suzanne was 61 years old, and there was no mistaking her tiny body for a twenty-something woman's. Her butt was a bit wrinkled, and there was some loose skin on her back. Her hair, cut very short, was still mostly dark, but the grey was there. I padded up behind her, and put my arms around her and kissed the back of her head.

"Mmmm, that feels nice this fine morning. And something else feels pretty promising as well," reaching back and caressing a fairly stiff part of my body. "You want breakfast now, or would you rather use that thing on me again first?" For an answer, I turned her around, put my hands under her butt, and lifted her right up on the countertop. Suzanne put her arms around my neck, and started kissing me, but, and I guess that I should have realized it first, we didn't quite line up for what I wanted to do, for what we both wanted to do. I picked her up again, and carried her back into the bedroom.

It was still raining this morning, no longer the downpour of yesterday, but a soft, steady, soaking rain. It wasn't hard enough for the sound pattering on the metal roof to make it through the insulation inside, but it could still be heard out on the river side porch, which is outside of my bedroom window. After a very pleasurable morning back in bed, softer, less urgent, but slowly wonderful, Suzanne had gotten back up to finish the breakfast she'd started. It wasn't much, just coffee, poached eggs and buttered toast, and she had decided to serve it, still naked, out on the river-facing porch. Even if there had been kayakers on the river, despite the rain, they'd have had to have looked up to see us on the cabin, some thirty feet above the river level. But, right now, I didn't care if anyone saw us, and I don't think that Suzanne did, either.

It was just barely warm enough for us to be out like this on a late April morning. A cold front had come through yesterday, turning an 84º day into 68º, and triggering some serious thunderstorms, but the overcast skies kept the day's heat trapped overnight, so it wasn't too cold on the porch. We really weren't saying much to each other, just holding hands across the corner of the table. Suzanne had the slightest of smiles on her lips, but if that smile was subtle, the smile in her eyes was not: it was brilliant and clear and joyous.