Free Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) by Lydia North, Kim Scott Page A

guessed it was a Thursday, but I couldn’t be sure.  It would not be unusual for the men to leave early or even take the day off during the work week.  Yet the more I studied the worksite, the more it appeared to have been closed up for the winter season.
    Sorrowfully, I stopped the ATV and shut it off.  The silence was heartbreaking.  There were no people, no pickup trucks, and no cell phones.  I felt a lump in my throat and swallowed hard.  I tipped my head back and examined the tree tops. 
    The gas tank on the ATV was too low to venture much farther.  It was unlikely that I would reach the cabin before the last of the fuel ran out.  I risked being left out in the woods, without shelter overnight.  Dejectedly, I moved to start the ATV again.  It started, stalled, started, and died.  I dropped my head.  It couldn’t be happening.  Feeling defeated, I climbed off the machine and stared down at the fuel gauge.
    Leaving it behind, I walked toward the mobile home.  Simple, wooden steps led up to the middle of three doors.  I climbed the snowy stairs and tested the door and found it locked.  Given the alternatives I couldn’t give up.  I found two plastic milk crates under the stairs and stacked them in front of the door at the right end of the house trailer.  That door was locked too.  Lastly, I tried the one to the left and nearly gasped as the knob turned with little effort.  Awkwardly, I maneuvered up onto the floor.
    The small room held a picnic table and several outdoor chairs.  They had been stacked hastily, leaving only a narrow path through to the hallway.  I looked through the first doorway along the hall.  It was a bathroom with pink and mint green tile.  Gold asterisk like stars, on the shower wall, made me think of the old Jetson’s cartoon.  The wall was partially concealed by a weathered blue tarp, hung up as a make-shift shower curtain.
    In the next room, file cabinets and office equipment filled the space.  Sheets of clear plastic had been draped over a computer, copier, fax, and printer.  I checked the multi-line phone, and it was no surprise that the line was dead.  
    At the end of the hall, I entered what might have been the living room when the trailer had been a home decades earlier.  It had been converted into office space with a large drafting table and two desks.  The surfaces were neat and orderly… too neat and orderly.  There was no work in progress.  The place had clearly been vacated for the season.  The office staff was unlikely to return before early spring.
    I moved on to the small kitchen and began searching through the drawers and cabinets.  Two cartons of protein drinks had been tucked under the kitchen sink.  Salt, sugar, honey, and a box of tea bags had been left on a rotating tray in the center of the table.  In the small cupboards above the refrigerator, I found a gallon size plastic bag filled with breakfast bars, candies, antacids, hot chocolate mix, peanut butter crackers, and other treats. 
    Feeling scared and desperate, I pulled out a box of heavy duty trash bags.  Like a common thief, I rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing everything that I might be able to consume or use in any way.  I shoved it all into the garbage bag and carried it outside.  Greedily, I returned to take the toilet paper, paper towels, matches, the remaining trash bags and other goods.
    On the shelf above the toilet, I found books and magazines and I took them, as well.  In the desk drawers a flashlight and batteries had been left behind.  I threw them into another garbage bag along with a calculator that I had no use for.  I grabbed a battery powered lantern, the First Aid Kit, Tylenol, and other items.  When I reached to unplug the fax machine to take it, I stopped myself.   
    There was no bed or blankets in the trailer.  More importantly there was no heat.  Staying through the night was not a good option.  I would need to find a way to get back to the