In the soft yellow light, I take in my temporary quarters. Simple furnishings, just like the main room, with a bed, side table with a lamp, and a heavy wooden dresser. The piece that stands out is an easel sitting next to the window.

“Was this your grandfather’s room?”

He gives me a silent nod while tucking in a corner of the fitted sheet.

“Was he an artist, too?”

Ben glances up, surprise clear in his eyes. Then, he turns, following my indicating nod to the easel.

With his back to me, I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling, only that he’s been quiet and still for a stretch. I’m about to try taking my question back when Ben clears his throat and meets my eyes.

“Yeah, he was. Taught me everything I know.”

There’s pain on his face, although I can tell he’s attempting to hide it. Ben tosses me my side of the top sheet, which we arrange in silence and then finish by spreading a thick quilt over top.

When we’re done with the bed, he doesn’t immediately leave. Instead, he slides open the shuttered closet doors. The top shelf holds a couple of pillows, which he hands to me.

I’ve started putting on the pillowcases when he speaks again, “This is some of his work.”

Sitting on the floor of the closet is a stack of canvases. Ben removes one, stares at it for a moment, and then turns to show me. The image is of a mother deer and her fawn. The young animal grazes while the elder stands tall, on the lookout for danger. The detail is amazing.

I step closer, lean in, and notice the texture of the paint. I’m tempted to run my fingers over the subtle ridges, but I don’t want to be disrespectful. “It’s gorgeous. At least, that’s my inexperienced opinion.”

Ben nods. “All of his work is. He painted what he saw. Living out here.” He settles the painting back in the closet and shuts the door.

For some reason, my heart aches. It seems wrong, almost criminal, to put that piece in the dark, like a forgotten item unworthy of the daylight. Maybe, if this trip goes well and Ben and I become closer friends, I could possibly ask to take the painting with me. I’d love to hang it right above the couch in our apartment. That way, I’d have a piece of this wild land with me back in the city.

My thoughts are interrupted by my stomach, which decides to make it known that I haven’t eaten since the granola bar and yogurt I had for lunch about six hours ago.

Ben grins at me, having clearly heard my body’s demands. “You hungry?”

“How did you guess?”

He chuckles. “I have a cooler in the car with food for the weekend. I’ll go grab it.”

I follow him out to the main room, and when he steps out the front door, I pick up the other stack of sheets. No reason for me to stand around, doing nothing, when there’s another bed needing to be made.