Any Day Now

“Coffee’s on,” Sully said. He walked into the store.

The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.

—Sophocles

Chapter 3 (#udc5a6990-a9d0-5231-8f8c-42dd97d34df0)

SIERRA TOOK A brief detour through the bathroom, backpack over one shoulder. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair.

She wondered if Sully was angry. It was a campground, after all.

She wandered into the store. In the back was the kitchen and a short breakfast bar with just three stools. Sully stood behind the bar, which also served as the checkout point for purchases. He was staring into a steaming cup of coffee. Behind him at the back door Beau was inhaling his breakfast in great, greedy gulps, tail wagging.

Sierra climbed up on a stool a little sheepishly. Quiet.

Sully took a swallow of his coffee, then slowly turned toward the little kitchen. He brought her a cup of coffee, then pushed the cream and sugar toward her.

“You mad?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her. “Ain’t worth a damn before my coffee.”

“Ah,” she said. So she left him to it. She stirred some cream and sugar into her cup and took a slow, luxurious sip. Excellent coffee, she thought. It would be slightly more excellent if the sun was at least up. Maybe if they became friends she could point out to him that he might like the morning better if he slept until the sun at least began to rise. As for herself, it was as she had predicted. She felt fresh and new. Apparently her demons decided to sleep in.

“How’s your neck?” Sully asked.

“My neck? It’s fine. Why?”

“You were sleeping like a pretzel. Wasn’t it a little cold?”

“Nah, I was toasty. I had my sweatshirt on and my sleeping bag is great. I wouldn’t have slept in the car if it was predicted to freeze.”

“You Joneses,” he said. “You really know how to make do.”

She laughed. “You were right about Mrs. Singleton’s hostel. It filled up with college girls who were oh-so-happy to be on a vacation. They were loud. And I scored a roommate—surprise, surprise. She was drunk and passed out on the bed. I used to be a lot more flexible.”

“That so?” he asked.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. She was going to be asking for a cabin if he proved tractable. And he was Cal’s father-in-law. “Well, specifically, I was usually the one who passed out. Sobriety is kind of...startling. And at times inconvenient.” She took another sip. “You know about me, right?”

“Know what about you?” he said, refilling his half-empty cup.

She told him her story, the abbreviated version. She was a recovering alcoholic, sober nine months. She’d been reunited with Cal while she was still in rehab, right before Cal and Maggie got married. She was in AA, the second A standing for anonymous. “But I figured Cal would have mentioned something about me,” she added.

“Not a lot,” Sully said.

She gave a short unamused laugh. “Someday I’m going to learn to play my cards close to my vest like that. Did you or didn’t you know?” she asked directly.

“He mentioned you were in the hospital and he wanted to visit you before he and Maggie married. I think he wanted to know if you inherited your father’s malady. The mental illness.”

“I wanted to know that, too. I didn’t.”

“I guess that’s lucky, eh?”

“It’s not too late,” she said.

“That so? And how old was your dad when he succumbed?” Sully asked.

“As close as we can figure out, he was in his early twenties. But he had some symptoms he and everyone around him tried to ignore. Like he was... Well, he was brilliant. I think under his schizophrenia he’s still brilliant. It’s just all twisted up.”

“Your brother seems pretty smart. Is it possible those two things aren’t really connected?”

“Huh?” she asked.

“The smart and the crazy?” Sully asked.

She just shrugged. She’d asked herself that a lot. Because it was horrible to be afraid of intelligence, especially one’s own intelligence.

“I got the feeling they aren’t the same thing—smart and crazy. There’s some autistic kids from a group home come around in the summer. Not a one of ’em could pass an IQ test of any kind and some of ’em are just downright brilliant. You know? Memories like steel traps, math skills you wouldn’t believe, musical talents that knock me over. They’re a hoot, you should know ’em.”

“Do you know them?” she asked.

“Some,” he said. “I get on with the autistic kids just fine. That’s probably because I ain’t all that smart to start with but I have a talent or two. Not like them, that’s for sure. We open the grounds up to some youth groups now and then. You just don’t know how trapped they feel till you see ’em on the trails or in the lake—they cut loose.” Then he grinned in a way that showed the pure joy in him.

And Sierra fell in love. Right then.

“Who told you you weren’t all that smart?” she asked him.

The smile stayed. “Girl, no one had to tell me. More coffee?”

“No, this is good enough. I don’t want to get the wiggles. Listen, about that cabin...”

“It’s all cleaned up and ready for you,” he said. “I knew you’d come around. Besides, I think this place helps.”

“Helps what?”

He looked reluctant to answer. “I don’t know—helps what ails you. I see it happen all the time and people need all different things. Your brother, for example. I had no idea what he needed but he hung around, made himself useful now and again even before I needed a hand. And eventually he stole my daughter right out from under my nose. It worked for me, way back when I came home after the war. Course it took a while before I managed to get what I needed. I wasn’t that much older than you.”

“Oh? I’d love to hear about that,” she said.

“Well, I think it’s boring to everyone but me. I’ll tell you one or two things if you’ll eat a sticky bun.”

“Deal,” she said, smiling.

“Let me fetch one and put it in the microwave,” he said. “It’s better warm.”

He took a moment to do that. Then he took her cup away and refilled it anyway, bringing the coffee and pastry to her.

“My grandpa built this place. He left it to my dad. My dad planned to leave it to me. I didn’t have much interest in it, to be honest. I had bigger plans. But my dad needed me home, I could see that. My mother died while I was in Vietnam and the Red Cross got me home for that but it wasn’t till I was in my thirties that I found a wife and brought her back here. But she was a terrible wife and I was an even worse husband. In spite of that, we had Maggie. It took six years before my wife got fed up and left me.” He raised a thick, graying eyebrow. “Bored yet?”