Read Online Not Dark Yet by Berit Ellingsen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Berit Ellingsen
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against the living room wall. “Just because he’s a cheating bastard, I have to move out! I love that apartment! I found it!”
He wanted to go and pick up the moist wad and place it in the bin in the bathroom, but instead he said, “Why don’t you come and stay here?”
“And live with you?” Beanie said, but then lowered her head and voice. “This apartment is too small for two people.”
That was the argument Michael had used when he’d suggestedthey move in together, more than a year ago. “No, I just need a house sitter,” he said.
Beanie pulled another tissue from the plastic pack in her lap and wiped her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can’t afford it. Freelance music producers don’t earn that much.”
“I’d rather have someone I know stay here instead of renting it to strangers,” he said. “I could pay part of the cost if you wanted to stay and look after the cats.”
Beanie lit up so much he regretted not having mentioned it sooner. “Would you really do that?”
He nodded.
“For how long?”
“A few months,” he said. “Maybe half a year.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Work.”
“Did you sign up again?” Beanie looked as if she had been waiting for it, that she thought he was stupid enough to do that.
“No,” he huffed. “It’s not like that.”
“Thank goodness,” Beanie said, her relief as touching as it was annoying. She looked at him. “Does Michael know?”
“I’ll tell him soon,” he said.
“You must.”
“I will. I promise.”
Beanie stood. “All right,” she said. “I’ll start packing right away.”
“But no smoking,” he said. She wasn’t allowed to when she was visiting.
Beanie sighed, then bulged her upper lip with her tongue at him to emulate the small packets of ground and moistened tobacco that had become increasingly popular, even among women, as smoking became less and less accepted. “I’ll have to start snuffing then,” she said.
He made steak and a green leaf salad for dinner, no rice nor pasta, and a shake of blueberries, lemongrass, and spirulina for dessert for Michael and himself. After the meal they watched the news together: floods to the north, crop failures on the eastern continent, hurricanes on the western continent, drought on the entire southern continent, food prices going up all over the world, demonstrations, riots, wars.
“I thank the gods every day that we live in a place that is peaceful and has few natural disasters,” Michael said.
When the news was finished, he brought the laptop over to the sofa and showed the image on the screen to Michael.
“I’ve found a cabin,” he said.
Michael leaned past him for a closer look. The red one-story structure had been photographed from the air. The nearby hillock wasn’t tall enough to put the cabin in shade and in the far distance a lake glittered under the blue sky, making the area look generous and sunny. The cabin’s sharply gabled roof was dark with solar cell panels and the deck in the front was unpainted, but tidy.
“There’ll be lots of mosquitoes with all those trees nearby,” Michael said and started scrolling down the website to the realtor’s information about the property. “How old is this thing anyway?”
“Just a decade,” he replied. “But it’s built from re-used wood. It was the previous owner’s pet project.”
“‘Has its own well and solar cell panels, no municipal water supply or electricity,’” Michael read. “That’s certainly basic. Are you sure the previous owner didn’t die from a heart attack while cutting firewood or pumping water from the well?”
“No,” he said, “she died at home from old age.”
“So the previous owner is dead,” Michael said. “And how on Earth do you know that?”
“I phoned the realtor,” he said.
“You’re serious about this?”
He nodded.
“Are you leaving?” Michael said. “Without me?”
“That’s why I’m showing you the cabin,”
He wanted to go and pick up the moist wad and place it in the bin in the bathroom, but instead he said, “Why don’t you come and stay here?”
“And live with you?” Beanie said, but then lowered her head and voice. “This apartment is too small for two people.”
That was the argument Michael had used when he’d suggestedthey move in together, more than a year ago. “No, I just need a house sitter,” he said.
Beanie pulled another tissue from the plastic pack in her lap and wiped her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can’t afford it. Freelance music producers don’t earn that much.”
“I’d rather have someone I know stay here instead of renting it to strangers,” he said. “I could pay part of the cost if you wanted to stay and look after the cats.”
Beanie lit up so much he regretted not having mentioned it sooner. “Would you really do that?”
He nodded.
“For how long?”
“A few months,” he said. “Maybe half a year.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Work.”
“Did you sign up again?” Beanie looked as if she had been waiting for it, that she thought he was stupid enough to do that.
“No,” he huffed. “It’s not like that.”
“Thank goodness,” Beanie said, her relief as touching as it was annoying. She looked at him. “Does Michael know?”
“I’ll tell him soon,” he said.
“You must.”
“I will. I promise.”
Beanie stood. “All right,” she said. “I’ll start packing right away.”
“But no smoking,” he said. She wasn’t allowed to when she was visiting.
Beanie sighed, then bulged her upper lip with her tongue at him to emulate the small packets of ground and moistened tobacco that had become increasingly popular, even among women, as smoking became less and less accepted. “I’ll have to start snuffing then,” she said.
He made steak and a green leaf salad for dinner, no rice nor pasta, and a shake of blueberries, lemongrass, and spirulina for dessert for Michael and himself. After the meal they watched the news together: floods to the north, crop failures on the eastern continent, hurricanes on the western continent, drought on the entire southern continent, food prices going up all over the world, demonstrations, riots, wars.
“I thank the gods every day that we live in a place that is peaceful and has few natural disasters,” Michael said.
When the news was finished, he brought the laptop over to the sofa and showed the image on the screen to Michael.
“I’ve found a cabin,” he said.
Michael leaned past him for a closer look. The red one-story structure had been photographed from the air. The nearby hillock wasn’t tall enough to put the cabin in shade and in the far distance a lake glittered under the blue sky, making the area look generous and sunny. The cabin’s sharply gabled roof was dark with solar cell panels and the deck in the front was unpainted, but tidy.
“There’ll be lots of mosquitoes with all those trees nearby,” Michael said and started scrolling down the website to the realtor’s information about the property. “How old is this thing anyway?”
“Just a decade,” he replied. “But it’s built from re-used wood. It was the previous owner’s pet project.”
“‘Has its own well and solar cell panels, no municipal water supply or electricity,’” Michael read. “That’s certainly basic. Are you sure the previous owner didn’t die from a heart attack while cutting firewood or pumping water from the well?”
“No,” he said, “she died at home from old age.”
“So the previous owner is dead,” Michael said. “And how on Earth do you know that?”
“I phoned the realtor,” he said.
“You’re serious about this?”
He nodded.
“Are you leaving?” Michael said. “Without me?”
“That’s why I’m showing you the cabin,”
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