Chapter 145: The errand
Chapter 146: The Errand (Liam’s POV)
My lower back was already aching before I even put my boots on. Saturday morning arrived with a gray sky and a cold draft coming through the kitchen window. I sat at the table with a mug of black coffee, staring at the thick packet of calculus sheets Mr. Reynolds had handed me on Friday. My exam was first thing Monday morning, and instead of staring at derivative formulas all day, I had to drive up to the ridge road to haul logs for Mason’s dad.
Elena walked down the stairs, already dressed in a sweater and jeans. She looked surprisingly awake for a Saturday morning.
"Are you still going up to the barn?" she asked, setting her empty plate in the sink.
"Yeah," I groaned, leaning back in my chair. "I told Mason I’d be there by noon. I tried calling his dad’s cell phone an hour ago to see if we could push it to Sunday, but it went straight to voicemail. He’s probably already operating the splitter."
"You gave him your word, Liam," Elena said, walking over and placing her hand on the back of my neck. Her fingers were warm against my skin. "Besides, getting out of the house will be good for you. You’ve been staring at that math packet since Thursday night."
"I have to pass it, Elena," I said, turning my head to look at her. "The Boston office called Coach Vance yesterday afternoon. They want my official high school transcript emailed to their registration desk by next Tuesday morning. If my math grade is an incomplete, the league flags the contract automatically."
"You're going to pass," she said firmly. She leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "Go help the big guy with his wood. I have to go to the public library to pick up some research journals for my political science essay anyway, so the house will be empty."
"Fine," I said, standing up from the table. "But if my arms are too shaky to hold a hockey stick on Monday morning, I’m blaming you."
I grabbed my thick leather work gloves from the porch hook, picked up my truck keys, and left the house.
The drive up to the north side of the ridge took about twenty-five minutes. The road got rougher the higher I went, changing from cracked asphalt to loose gravel. I turned off the main highway onto the narrow dirt track that led toward Mason’s family property.
The odd thing was, when I pulled up to the main barn where the tractor usually sat, the big sliding doors were shut. There was no sound of a chainsaw, no smoke coming from the brush pile, and Mr. Miller’s heavy silver pickup truck wasn't parked in the driveway.
I cut the engine of my truck and stepped out into the quiet air. The only vehicle here was Mason’s old blue sedan, parked behind the equipment shed.
"Mason?" I called out, walking toward the side entrance of the barn. "Mr. Miller?"
The side door creaked open, and Mason stepped out. He wasn't wearing his work overalls or his heavy flannel shirt. He had on a clean black hoodie and a pair of sneakers. He didn't look like a guy preparing to split three cords of oak before dark.
"Hey," Mason said, wiping his hands on a rag. "You're right on time."
"Where’s your dad?" I asked, looking past him into the dark interior of the barn. "The tractor isn't hooked up to the trailer."
"Oh, yeah," Mason said quickly, clearing his throat. "The hydraulic pump on the splitter blew a seal about twenty minutes ago. My dad had to drive down to the hardware store in the next township to get a replacement valve. He told us to wait up at the hunting cabin until he gets back."
I frowned, looking down at my heavy work boots. "The hunting cabin? That’s another three miles up the gravel path. Why don't we just wait here and start stacking what’s already cut?"
"Because the keys to the tractor garage are up at the cabin," Mason explained, turning around and walking toward his car. "He left them on the kitchen counter up there when he went checking the perimeter lines yesterday. Come on, just follow me up in your truck. It’s freezing down here by the creek anyway."
I sighed, clicking my tongue. "This is turning into a massive waste of a Saturday, Mason. I could have finished three pages of calculus derivatives by now."
"Stop complaining, Vance. It’s an hour of driving," Mason shouted over his shoulder as he started his car engine.
I climbed back into my truck, feeling thoroughly annoyed. I threw my leather gloves onto the passenger seat and followed his blue sedan as it rumbled up the steep, winding path that led deeper into the woods. The trees grew thick along the edge of the road, blocking out most of the morning light.
After ten minutes of climbing the ridge, Mason slowed down and turned into the gravel clearing where his cousin’s hunting cabin sat.
The cabin was a simple wooden structure with a tin roof and a wide front porch. The windows were dark, and the place looked completely locked up for the season. The only strange thing was the number of tire tracks in the mud. The gravel driveway looked like it had been torn up by multiple vehicles recently, but there were no other cars parked in the clearing.
Mason parked his sedan near the porch steps and cut the engine. I pulled up right next to him, putting my truck in park.
"Are you sure the keys are in there?" I asked, stepping out into the cold air. "The place looks completely shut down."
"Yeah, my dad was here yesterday," Mason said, walking up the wooden steps. He reached down, lifted the corner of the heavy welcome mat, and pulled out a brass key. He unlocked the heavy padlock on the front door and pushed it open. "Go on in. I need to grab the flashlight out of my trunk because the generator takes a minute to click on."
I walked up the steps, my boots thudding loudly against the pine boards of the porch. The interior of the cabin was completely pitch black because the thick wooden shutters were bolted shut from the outside.
"Mason, I can't see a thing," I called out, stepping through the doorway into the front room. The air inside smelled like pine wood and old wool blankets. "Turn the generator on."
Suddenly, a loud click echoed from the corner of the room.
The overhead fluorescent bulbs flickered once, twice, and then flooded the entire cabin with bright white light.
"SURPRISE!"
The sudden blast of noise made my chest tighten, and my hand instantly went up in a defensive reflex, my hockey instincts taking over before my brain could process what was happening.
The small living room was absolutely packed. Standing in front of the stone fireplace were twenty guys from the varsity hockey team, all of them wearing their practice jerseys. Jackson and Collins were holding a massive white banner that read HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY LIAM in messy black paint. Miller was holding a plastic plate with a giant chocolate grocery-store cake, and Sarah was blowing a cheap plastic horn right in my face.
But right in the center of the crowd, standing next to the kitchen counter, was Elena.
She wasn't at the public library. She was holding a box of hamburger buns, a massive, triumphant smile on her face as she watched my mouth drop open.
I stood in the doorway, completely frozen, my keys still clutched in my hand. My brain felt like it was spinning in circles. I looked at the banner, then at Mason—who was now laughing hysterically behind me—and then down at my own work boots.
Saturday, June 13th.
I had completely forgotten my own birthday.