Page 59 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)
The room was the same as I’d found it last night, except clean, since I’d vacuumed, so I continued down the hallway to the guest bedroom at the far end of the house. From the big window that overlooked the forest, I had the perfect view of Kaine’s cabin.
He’d told me at our failed dinner that he’d come here looking for a place to disappear. It would be a lie to say I hadn’t left New York to disappear too.
But while Kaine simply resided here, I wanted to grow roots deeper than the hundred-year-old trees shading my front door.
This house would be my forever home.
It would be full of happiness, even if it wasn’t filled with children like I’d once dreamed.
Adam and I had tried to get pregnant for years, and every month, I’d cry over a negative pregnancy test. Finally, we’d gone in to see a fertility specialist and learned what I’d feared.
No matter how many ways we attempted to correct my hormone imbalances, I wasn’t ovulating. Add to that my cervical abnormalities, conception had been impossible the old-fashioned way. Before Adam and I could talk about other options, like IVF or adoption, our marriage had imploded.
The only good thing about my divorce taking years was that it had given me ample time to accept that I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t defective. And I didn’t need a husband or children to make me whole.
What I needed were things to love, like this house. Maybe once it was finished, I’d get a dog or a cat or both.
I bet a cat would love to sit in the large window of this guest room and stare outside.
I finished exploring the house and went outside, crossing the gravel driveway toward my camper. It was well past time for a large glass of wine and some meaningless social media surfing.
But as I reached for the door handle, the sound of an engine revved to life. It wasn’t a car or truck, but something smaller like a lawn mower being started with a pull cord.
I took two steps backward and looked to Kaine’s cabin. He was standing on the porch with a chainsaw in his hands. The engine idled for another moment, but then he hit the gas and the thing roared.
What was he doing?
His back was to me, but even from a distance, I saw that his movements were off-balance. He stumbled sideways, one foot tripping over the other. The chainsaw was still screaming, and the vicious blades spun dangerously close to his leg before he regained his footing.
Was he drunk? My heart lurched as he swayed again, and I dashed up the path between our homes.
“Kaine!” I shouted but he didn’t hear me over the noise of the saw.
I ran faster.
He lifted the saw, bringing it dangerously close to his ear, then dropped it down on one of his porch chairs. The same chair I’d been sitting in two weeks ago.
Sawdust flew from the back of the machine. The engine strained as it sliced through the wood. With one cut complete, Kaine lifted the cha
insaw and hacked at the chair again. His feet stumbled between cuts, but he managed to stay upright.
My heart was racing, my flip-flops sliding on the uneven earth as I hurried to his cabin, terrified I’d be just seconds too late. I had no idea how I’d wrestle the chainsaw from his grip, but I’d try.
“Kaine! Stop!” I yelled again, but he was lost.
The cuts got faster and as I approached the cabin, the chair was no longer standing. He’d cut apart the back and both armrests. All that was left was the seat resting in a mess of broken boards.
The saw went after that piece too, but instead of cutting it clean, a grinding, clamping noise filled the air. The chain on the blade had gotten wedged.
Kaine let off the gas, letting the motor idle. Then he dropped the machine on the porch. “Fuck!”
He stumbled backward, raking both hands through his hair. As he took one step, then two, he tripped on his own heel and dropped on his ass.
“Kaine!” I yelled again. If he heard me, he didn’t turn.
He just rested his hands on his bent knees, staring at the chainsaw that was still idling on the porch boards.
I sprinted up the porch stairs two at a time, breathlessly falling to my knees at his side. “Are you hurt?”
