The Cabin

She laid in the tiny wood-framed bed, pulling the blankets up close underneath her neck. It was too cold to wake up and she dreaded the thought of her feet hitting the freezing floor. She knew she should get up, put on some tea, start the fire, and prepare for the pain that today would inevitably bring. But the thought of going through her father’s personal belongings brought tears to her eyes. Tears she was afraid would not stop flowing if she permitted them to start. Tears that would inevitably freeze to her cheeks.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to sit up, putting her feet on the wooden planks that creaked underneath of her weight. She stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket around her tightly, and contemplated whether to head to the kitchen for the tea, or the living room for the fire. She thought the former would be the best option, so she ventured out of her bedroom and down the hall, passing her father’s closed door in the process and not being able to glance at the doorknob she would have to turn at some point.

She clambered through the cabinets in search of a mug. Her dad’s kettle still remained in its place on the stove, untouched since he had passed. She filled the kettle with water to boil, set the mug on the counter, and set herself in motion to start a fire. A daunting task she had never been good at, despite her dad’s countless attempts to teach her here at the cabin following her mom’s death when she was only 8. She never wanted to stay at the cabin with him. She loved her dad, but after her losing her mother, he became as cold and empty as the cabin itself. She finally was able to get him to budge on letting her stay with his parents a few hours away, where she had resided up until his own death, 12 years later.

As she slowly started into the living room, when a white slip of paper caught her eyes underneath the small dining table, tucked beneath the floorboards. She stared blankly at the slip, unable to coerce her body into bending down to pick it up. A small spider crawled across her barefoot, she shuddered and was brought her back to her senses. She bent down, shooed the spider off of herself, and crawled underneath the table reaching for the paper. As she unfolded the paper, she was not surprised to find her fathers’ handwriting. A note addressed to her that read:

“Lily,

I can’t apologize enough to you for how cruelly this life has treated you. You deserved more, and my god did your mother and I aspire to give you it all. We were all robbed of happiness. For what reasons why I’m sure we will never know. I wish I didn’t have to leave you so soon. I wish I would have come to you, repaired all of this sooner. If you are reading this, it is already too late. The cabin is in your name. If you choose to burn it to the ground, know that I will stand with you, watching the flames in admiration and relief alongside you. I never wanted to be here either, my Lily.

Walk to the front door, my sweet girl, and take twenty steps to the right side of the cabin, to the tree where I promised you I would hang that swing. I’m so sorry that I never did. On the west side of the tree, towards where our real home once stood, start digging. You will find a box with all of the savings of my life. You know I never trusted banks.

I love you, Lily.

Dad

The tears streamed down her cheeks as she folded the note back into place. She was wrong, they didn’t freeze, they were hot and they stung. She picked herself up off of the floor. The water for her tea had almost entirely evaporated. She shut off the gas and walked outside, her bare feet hitting the cold dirt, grabbing a shovel from the shed as she made her way to the tree. Her pain masked the chill of the Autumn morning as she started to dig.

The black metal box wasn’t buried deep. The cancer that stole her father from her also stole any strength and energy that he had left to bury the box any deeper than where it was. She knelt down on her knees and pulled the lid off, grateful that it opened without a fight. She didn’t have any strength and energy left either, she thought to herself.

Peering inside she saw a black velvet drawstring bag. As she opened it, the tears flowed even faster than before. Her mother’s pearls wrapped around a significant sum of cash, $20,000 was her guess after a quick count. She looked up to the sky and smiled, whispering ‘thank you’ and truly believing that her parents could hear. At the bottom of the box was a small, black Moleskine notebook. She laughed a bit; it was the only notebook her dad ever used. She opened the notebook, where he had written,

“My stories are complete now, Lily, the time has come to make your own.” -Dad

She didn’t burn down the cabin, though she would have liked to. Year after year, she still returns, this time bringing her own husband and daughter. Her husband even put up the once-promised swing in her tree. She knows her father lingers about, she can still feel him. She embraces the presence, love, and warmth that the cabin now brings. Being there reminds her that while you can’t change your past, you can heal your future.