Free Cabin Girl by Kristin Butcher Page A

come back and pick up supplies for the kitchen.” He touches my arm and smiles. “Sorry for the rushed welcome, but that’s how it is around here. I’ll talk to you later.” The next thing I know, he’s walking the new guests up to the lodge. I get that he’s busy, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling abandoned.
    Within seconds the dock is empty except for April and me—and Jim, who’s unloading boxes from the plane. Even the dog has wandered off.
    â€œCome on,” April says. “Get your stuff and follow me.”
    I heave my bulging backpack onto my shoulder and grab the handle of my suitcase. It limps over the boards of the dock like a train on a rickety track. Clickety, clickety, clickety . I breathe a relieved sigh when it finally rolls onto the gravel path. Even though it’s tougher to pull now, it’s quieter.
    â€œHey, wait up!” I yell to April, who is already way ahead and marching like she’s in some kind of walking race.
    She stops, turns and shakes her head. “You’re going to have to move faster than that if you’re going to last around here,” she says when I catch up.
    â€œHow about you carry the backpack and haul the suitcase and let’s see how fast you move?” I retort.
    To my surprise, April smiles. “Sorry. I’m used to doing everything in a hurry. It can get pretty hectic around here. If you’re not in shape now, you will be soon. Here, gimme your backpack.” It’s practically as big as she is, but she tosses it onto her shoulder like it’s filled with feathers and points toward the bush. “Our cabin is just up that trail.”
    It’s only a three-minute walk, but after fighting with my suitcase the whole way, I’m exhausted. Even so, when I spy a penny in the grass, I bend down to get it.
    â€œWhat’s that?” April says.
    I hold up the coin. “See a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck.”
    She rolls her eyes. “You actually believe that?”
    I shrug. “It can’t hurt.” I kiss the coin, shove it into my pocket and follow April inside. She gives me the thirty-second tour.
    The cabin is one big room, two if you count the bathroom. Though it’s a log structure, its interior is drywall and the floor is tile. There are the usual bedroom furnishings, a few attic-reject paintings and a small table with a couple of mismatched chairs. And that’s it for decor.
    â€œSo what do you think?” she says.
    â€œWell, I don’t see any spiders or cockroaches. That’s good.”
    April flops onto her bed. “And you won’t either. I like things clean. I hope you do too. Otherwise you can move into the guides’ bunkhouse right now.” She closes her eyes and shudders. “Guys are gross.”
    â€œHey, I’m tidy,” I tell her. “My mother is a neat freak. If I ever left my room without making my bed, she’d cut me out of the will.”
    April laughs. “You still live with your parents?”
    I nod.
    â€œHow old are you?”
    â€œSixteen. How old are you?”
    â€œNineteen.”
    â€œI gather you don’t live with your parents?”
    â€œNo way.” She snorts. “I don’t even know where they are. I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen.”
    I feel my eyes widen. “Seriously? Like totally on your own?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed. I like the idea of spending the summer away from home, but I can’t imagine being on my own full-time.
    April walks over to the mirror and starts brushing her hair. As she sweeps it from her face, my eyes are drawn to her scar. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help it. I catch her watching me in the mirror and turn away self-consciously.
    â€œSorry,” I mumble.
    â€œNo worries,” she says. “I’m used to people