Free Sea Change by Diane Tullson Page B

sit down on the stony beach.
    Actually, I do believe this.
    I watch until I can’t see the boat anymore. I throw about nine hundred rocks in the water but he still doesn’t come back, so finally I head up to the lodge.

Chapter Two
    My duffel bag is gone. I figure Sumi moved it. On the porch of one of the small out-cabins I see a pair of boots and a rifle leaning against the wall. It must be Sumi’s cabin. There’s no answer when I knock, so I push open the door. I see my duffel bag, and I go in.
    The cabin is just one room with a woodburning stove in the middle. The stove gives off some heat. A set of metal bunk beds fills one corner, and there’s a small square table that’s pretty nice and looks like it might have come out of the lodge. The chairs don’t match the table. Hanging next to the table is a small framed painting of a girl dancing on a shore with whales in the background. I don’t know anything about art but it’s a pretty girl.
    A stack of cardboard boxes lines one wall. Inside the boxes I see cans of coffee, soup, beans, tetra packs of milk and juice, bags of rice and spaghetti, a huge tub of Golden Crisco. In a big tin box I find two loaves of Wonder bread.
    My stomach rumbles, a good sign. I haven’t had an appetite in days. I spot a can of tuna and peel back the lid. There’s no fridge that I can see, so I don’t bother looking for mayo. I tip half the tuna onto a piece of bread and squish the bread into a torpedo. Some of the tuna plops out of one end of the bread and falls on the floor. I bite into the sandwich. It’s good, amazingly good.
    My mouth is still full and I’m making another sandwich when I hear footsteps on the porch. The door swings open and Sumi is standing in her socks, holding a plastic pail. She takes off her heavy rain jacket and hangs it on a hook by the door. The sleeves of the jacket are rolled up, like it’s too big for her. She’s still wearing the cap, but without the safety glasses she looks way more like a girl—a nice-looking girl.
    She takes in my sandwich, the empty tuna can, my shoes and the spilled tuna. I try hard to swallow the lump of sandwich. She steps around me and sets the pail on the table.
    I shouldn’t have looked. The bottom of the pail is filled with a smooth red liver.
    â€œIs that from the deer?”
    She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Where else would I get it?”
    I can’t help but think of a female Hannibal Lecter.
    She opens the wood stove and jams in some sticks of wood. She blows on the embers and the wood catches. The fire crackles, and she adds a couple of split logs and then closes the door. On top of the stove she puts a heavy skillet.
    â€œWe’re going to eat it?”
    Another look. Sumi reaches into the bucket and grabs the liver. It slumps over her hand. She plops it onto a plate and pulls a knife from her side pocket. Holding the liver with one hand, she slices it into quivering pieces. The bite of sandwich I’ve only just managed to swallow threatens to come back up.
    I say, “I’m actually not that hungry.”
    She looks at me, then at the empty tuna can. “I guess not.” She pries the lid from the Crisco and uses a fork to gather a big blob. The tines of the fork leave marks in the yellow fat. The whole tub has fork marks. She flicks the fat into the hot pan and it starts to sizzle. From a big plastic jar she cups a handful of flour and coats the slices of liver. She drops the liver into the pan and then grabs a rag and wipes her hands. There’s no sink and no running water, just a plastic dishpan. Maybe this counts as washing her hands.
    Sumi rummages in one of the cardboard boxes and comes back to the stove with an onion. Using the same knife, she peels the onion in one big piece and then cuts it into rough chunks right in her hand. She puts the onion in with the liver and then plunks down in a chair.
    I say, “So,