Free Cabin Girl by Kristin Butcher Page B

looking at my scar.”
    â€œHow’d you get it?” I know it’s none of my business, but I blurt the question anyway.
    â€œMotorcycle accident last year. I was in a coma for a couple of days. I got a ruptured spleen, some broken bones—I now have a pin in my hip, and this scar.”
    â€œOh my god, that’s awful!” I say.
    She shrugs. “It could’ve been worse.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œThe guy I was riding with got a funeral.”

Chapter Two
    Until a few days ago, I thought the worst sound in the world was the dentist’s drill. My scalp starts to prickle as soon as I hear that high-pitched whine. But since I’ve been working at the lodge, the drill is a lullaby compared to my alarm clock. It’s the kind you wind up. Instead of being coaxed awake by music, I’m jarred awake by clanging. At five thirty in the morning. Every. Single. Day.
    I chuck the clock across the room. It crashes into the wall and clatters to the floor but goes right on jangling. I bury my head under the pillow. Finally it stops.
    That’s when I become aware of another sound. The shower. I peer out from my pillow toward April’s side of the room. Her bed is already made. The shower stops, and I know that in a few minutes she’ll emerge from the bathroom all smiles and sunshine. I hide under my pillow again. I hate mornings.
    My little red wagon grumbles along the gravel path behind me. I don’t think it likes mornings either. But apparently fishermen do. Why they have to be on the water so early is a mystery to me. The fish probably aren’t even awake yet. Breakfast is served in the dining room at seven, so it’s my job to coax the guests into life at six thirty with coffee and warm muffins delivered to their doors.
    Pa-dumpf . I look behind me. One of the baskets of muffins has toppled off the wagon.
    Oh, yay. The morning is off to another wonderful start. In the five days I’ve been at Witch Lake, it’s been one disaster after another. I’ve managed to break three cups, dump a huge container of glass cleaner, spill bleach on a stack of blankets and lose the key to the storage shed. I even accidentally locked Sid in one of the cabins. The poor dog was there all day. I felt really bad about that. And yesterday, my wagon hit a rut and tipped over, throwing its entire cargo of clean sheets into a puddle. Winnie, the laundry lady—who is also my boss—was not impressed.
    I push the damaged muffins to one side of the wagon and continue with my deliveries. When I’m done, I head back to the kitchen. Up ahead I see Sid. He’s on course to walk straight across the path in front of me. Before that happens, I call him over. He might not be a cat, but he is black, and with the luck I’ve been having, I don’t want to take any chances. Sid immediately changes direction and trots toward me. Disaster averted. I offer him a piece of muffin.
    Once the guests hit the lake, I can begin cleaning. In the meantime, I have a half hour to grab some breakfast.
    The staff dining room opens onto the back deck of the lodge. The guides have already eaten, so the place is deserted—except for Winnie. Winnie is the grouchiest person I’ve ever met. She could out-sour lemons! She is always on my case. Even though I haven’t done anything wrong yet today—she doesn’t know about the muffins—I want to turn around and walk back outside. But I know she’s seen me, so I say good morning and head over to the food counter.
    I lift the lids of the metal warming pans—cold scrambled eggs, cold bacon, cold pan fries and limp toast. I opt for cereal and juice.
    â€œSix guests out today and eight new ones in, all by ten thirty,” Winnie says before I even sit down. “So cabins three, eight and nine get a change of linen as well as a cleaning. And you’ll need to wash the floors in all the cabins. With yesterday’s rain, there