After dinner, the firepit behind the lodge pulsed with warmth, its glow dancing across the gravel and low hanging string lights. Caleb sank into one of the chairs. Nic handed him a glass of whiskey and dropped into the seat next to him with a satisfied exhale.
“Man,” Caleb said, swirling the drink, “that meal might have changed my life.”
Nic chuckled. “Yeah, it never disappoints.”
He took a sip of his whiskey, then added, “You will not need breakfast tomorrow… but you are going to want it. Every meal out here is next level, breakfast, lunch, dinner. By the time you leave, you will swear someone slipped lead into your boots. Most guys gain a few pounds without even noticing.”
Caleb laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “Well, I guess there are worse ways to put on weight.”
“Trust me,” Nic said, grinning, “you will not complain.”
They sat for a while, quiet. The night was cool, with just enough breeze to stir the leaves. Around the other firepits, laughter rose and fell, but here it felt slower, settled.
Caleb finally broke the silence. “So how did you find this place?”
Nic took a sip before answering. “Dusty invited me. We used to work together. I was still in law back then, doing corporate stuff in St. Louis. Burned out eventually, walked away from it. As you know, I am with a restoration firm in Chicago.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Big switch.”
“Yeah. Worth it. Dusty and I kept in touch. He comes out here pretty much every week, it is only about an hour drive from St. Louis. Said this place helped him reset. Eventually, I gave in and came with him one Thursday night. That was four years ago.”
Caleb nodded slowly, letting the silence sit a moment. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, “What about George Taylor? I have not met him yet.”
Nic turned his glass in his hand. “You would not have. George passed away two years ago.”
Caleb looked over, surprised. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I think he was ninety two, but you would have never guessed it. Moved like he was sixty. Sharp, too, one of those guys who remembered names, asked good questions, always had a book in his hand. He did not just build this place, he gave it a soul.”
Caleb was quiet for a moment, watching the firelight flicker.
Nic added, “He left all of this in a trust. Everything. The land, the buildings, the cabins. It is set up to run indefinitely. Still not sure how he pulled it off, but somehow he did. Dusty could probably explain the details better.”
Caleb watched the fire for a long moment before speaking. The flames reflected in his eyes, steady on the surface, unsettled underneath.
“This land,” he said quietly, “it used to belong to my family.”
Nic turned
continue
toward him, clearly caught off guard. “What? Why didn’t you say something?”
Caleb gave a small shake of his head. “It’s not something I really talk about. My family isn’t here anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. I left it in the past years ago. There didn’t seem like a reason to come back.”
Nic studied him, still trying to make sense of it. “But you knew George Taylor. Obviously.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said. “I did.”
He hesitated. “After my grandmother passed, I lost touch. I haven’t been back since college. It’s… disorienting. All of this has happened, and I’m just now walking into it.”
Nic exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I still can’t believe this was your family’s.”
Caleb didn’t answer right away. The fire popped, a brief spark lifting into the dark before vanishing.
“I haven’t told anyone else,” Caleb said at last. “Not yet. Would you mind keeping it between us for now?”
Nic frowned, thoughtful. “Does Dusty know, he has to have some idea.”
Caleb nodded. “Yeah. Something he said tonight made me think he already does. Or at least suspects.”
Nic let that settle, then nodded once. “All right. Between us, for now.”
Caleb looked back into the fire, the familiar ache rising quietly in his chest.
“I will talk to Dusty tomorrow,” Caleb said. “I have a lot of questions… but just need a night to let it all settle.”
They both turned their eyes back to the fire, letting the silence do the talking. The wood popped. Somewhere out beyond the trees, an owl called once, then again.
The fire crackled quietly between them for another minute before Nic glanced at his watch.
“Hey,” he said, standing up and brushing ash from his jeans, “almost forgot, let us get you settled in at your cabin.”
Caleb stood, the whiskey still warm in his chest. They walked back toward the truck, boots crunching on the gravel path under a sky thick with stars.
Nic led the way down a gently lit lane that curved past the main lodge. Lanterns glowed on each porch, casting a warm golden light across the ground. Six cabins stood nestled beneath the trees, spaced out just enough to feel private, each one strung with soft lights and centered around its own firepit.
They stopped in front of one near the edge of the woods. Nic pulled open the door. “This is us.”
Inside, the cabin was stunning in its simplicity. A wide, open concept living area greeted them, stone fireplace on one wall, leather chairs and a worn sofa arranged around a large coffee table made of reclaimed wood. The kitchen stretched along the back, fully stocked, with a farmhouse sink, local pottery mugs, and a neat row of coffee beans above the counter.
Three doors lined the walls, each opening directly into the shared space.
“That one is yours,” Nic said, pointing to the door closest to the window. “King bed. Should be plenty of room.”
Caleb stepped through the doorway and took it in. The room was warm, simply furnished but intentional, bare pine walls, a weathered leather chair in the corner, a small wooden dresser, and a handmade quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. A single fly rod was mounted above the window, and a faded trail map was tacked to the wall beside the nightstand. The scent of cedar lingered in the air, with just a trace of something citrus and clean.
“You sure?” Caleb asked, glancing back at Nic.
“Absolutely,” Nic said with a tired smile. “I will take one of the queens. Bunk room is empty. Just the two of us this weekend.”
Caleb nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the room again. “This is great, thank you.”
Nic stepped back into the living space, motioning casually to the small kitchen area. “Make yourself comfortable. Fridge and pantry are stocked, though, honestly, I doubt you are hungry, but seriously help yourself to whatever…”
He yawned as he reached his room’s door. “I am wiped. Was up late last night finishing work so I could be here this weekend.”
He turned slightly and offered one more glance toward Caleb. “Breakfast is at 7:30 in the main lodge. You really do not want to miss it. And hey, glad you are here, man.”
With that, he disappeared into his room, leaving Caleb’s door open behind him.
Caleb stood there a moment longer, letting the stillness wrap around him. The flicker of firelight from the lodge glowed faintly through the window, casting long shadows across the floor.
It had all happened so fast. The invitation. The drive. The land. And now this place, on a property that had once been his world.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the smooth grain of the wooden floorboards. His mind was racing, full of names, faces, places. But beneath all that motion, something quieter, heavier, was settling in.
He realized, with a strange ache in his chest, how much he missed connection. Real connection. Not surface level handshakes and “we should grab lunch sometime” texts, but the kind of friendships where you could be honest without filtering every word. Friends who knew your story and did not flinch.
Back in Chicago, those relationships had faded. Gradually. Almost imperceptibly. Work got busy. Texts went unanswered. Plans fell through. Now, when he thought about the guys who used to be part of his everyday life, he was not sure where most of them even lived anymore. And today, on the drive down, during dinner, memories of high school friends had surfaced too. Names he had not said out loud in years. He could not remember the last time he had talked to any of them.
There was freedom in those days, he thought. When conversations did not require pretense. When you could talk about real things without feeling exposed. And then, almost involuntarily, his thoughts turned toward God. That was a relationship he had not touched in over a year. He was not even sure how to define where things stood now. Distant? Dormant? Or just done?
The question unsettled something deeper. Maybe this was all his fault. Maybe he was the common denominator. A wrecking ball to every meaningful connection in his life. The friendships. His marriage. His career. Was there something wrong with him? Or worse… was there something wrong with the family line itself? Some curse he could not name but always seemed to feel pressing just beneath the surface?
The thoughts closed in like a fog. He stood up abruptly, walked to the kitchen, and opened the fridge. Nic had been right, fully stocked. Cold drinks, bottled water, craft beers, snacks lining the pantry shelves. Whatever he could have wanted. But he did not want anything. He shut the fridge door, turned off the kitchen light, and walked back to the bedroom. Pulled off his clothes and dropped them on the chair. The bed was wide and soft, with big, heavy pillows that swallowed him the second he laid down.
Just as his body began to sink into rest, another thought surfaced, the looming meeting on Monday. For a moment, he had forgotten. But now, the weight of it rushed back in, a dull, familiar wave of panic pressing against his chest. And yet, strangely, even that felt distant out here. As if the urgency belonged to some other life. Some other version of him.
He exhaled, slow and quiet, staring at the ceiling for a long moment.
He closed his eyes.
And this time, he did not fight the sleep when it came.
No comments:
Post a Comment