I’ve been here two weeks. It’s boring, sometimes, but that’s good. Boring is good. I’ve carved a bunch of new pieces, a squirrel, a raccoon, a cardinal, a moose, a little clutch of field mice. I sit and drink coffee on the porch in the morning, sip whiskey at night. Never more than one, because for once I’m not trying to escape.

I’ve cried a bunch. It was embarrassing at first. I’m a man’s man, raised by a man’s man. I drink whiskey and punch sissies, and only sissies cry. But Dad died lonely and bitter, of cirrhosis and misery.

Fuck that noise.

The first time I was sitting on the dock, toes in the water, drinking a beer, it just…hit me. I missed Lisa. Missed her laugh and her voice and her soft curves. And my eyes stung, my nose itched, and then I just couldn’t stop it. And hell, I was alone, right? No one to see, so I just let it go.

And you know what? It felt good, in a weird way. Like I’d been holding it in all these years.

After that, I was as emotional as…well, the only comparisons that come to mind are probably sexist and shitty, so skip ’em. I cried a lot. Just sat around and let myself cry for…me.

I’ve fished. Caught a few lake trout, mostly just tossed ’em back.

Read books—turns out there’s a library next town over, and I got myself a card and checked out some fiction. Westerns, mostly. Zane Grey, Louis L’Amour, Larry McMurtry. Some historical stuff, a couple biographies.

Mostly, though, I whittle and I carve.

And I wonder about that cabin down the way.

Just sitting there empty, and it feels ominous.

I know I should be reading Adrian’s book, but I just can’t. I dunno why. I’m not ready for it. I have to…let the bats in the belfry of my soul air out a bit, so to speak.

I can’t fathom why Adrian gave me this place, what his greater purpose was, but I’m goddamn thankful. I was suffocating, I’m starting to realize. Wearing a path in the floor of life, pacing back and forth from work to the bottle to work to the bottle, rarely even engaging in conversation with anyone beyond idle chitchat, and I ain’t got time for that most of the time. Well, patience is what I lack, more than time, but still.

I needed this.

I’m starting to breathe, a little, finally.