He hands it to me. Turns away, goes back to the fireplace and grips the mantle as if it’s all that’s holding him upright. The fire plays on his bare chest. I never really realized exactly how big Nathan is until now. Easily twice my size, and then some. So much power in him, but he’s so gentle.

Right now, all that power seems taut, the wires pulled tight. As if he’s barely containing everything boiling inside.

I hold the book in my hands. The cover is something I can tell he did himself, with public domain images and some design software. It’s matte, and the colors are all pastels, an out-of-focus flower made into abstract art. Just something to use on the cover, since no one but Nathan, apparently, would ever see it. The title on top in an all-caps script, his name on the bottom in a sans serif font. I open the cover, and there are two individually folded packets of paper, letters, from a very familiar yellow legal pad.

“Might as well read those too,” he mutters. “Get it all out there.” A sigh. “Read the longer one first.”

Nathan,

Out of the blue, I know. On purpose.

You’re still mourning Lisa. I could see it on you, hear it in your voice, when we sat down to drinks that last time. And yeah, buddy, I knew then that I was dying. I was in denial still, to a point, but I knew. I was picking your brain, that day. I hope I didn’t cause you pain with my questions, but I needed to hear the answers from someone who knew.

I was coming to grips with understanding that I’d be leaving Nadia behind. How could I prepare her for it? What would it be like, for her, after I’m gone? Will she be okay?

The letter blurs as tears haze my vision. I blink them away, try to settle my nerves. “You knew him.”

“Yeah.”

“How?” I’m still processing, so I’m numb, yet.

“I was set construction foreman for Love, Me. We would meet downtown for drinks now and then. Talk westerns and whiskey, mainly.”

I sniffle a laugh. “He loved old Western movies. Rooster Cogburn, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.”

“Yeah.” A sigh from him. “I wasn’t a secret best friend or anything. We weren’t even really drinking buddies. Friends, that’s all. We’d get together once in a while, in the years since the movie, drink some whiskey and talk some shit.”

I nod. Go back to the letter.

Read it through, make a sound that’s half sob, half laugh at the signature: The Ghost of Adrian Bell. What an asshole. There’s a single slip of a note, explaining the cabin, and a lockbox in town.

“He bought both cabins and gave one to you, one to me.”