Cabin Fever

Chapter One And then the princess kissed the frog--" "Ewww!" "--and do you know what happened then?" Though she'd heard the story a hundred times or more, five-year-old Micahlyn Harper solemnly shook her head. "Nothing!" Nolie said. "He just sat there in her hands, still an ugly old frog, and then he jumped into the water with a splash and-- Oh, blast." Seeing a faded yellow mailbox a few yards ahead, she reached for the directions tucked beneath the visor and scanned for the reference to the mailbox. The sudden blare of an approaching car horn made her drop the paper, steer back into her own lane, then grip the steering wheel with both hands as they sailed past their turn. They were almost there . . . and it wasn't dread but anticipation that had her stomach tied in knots, she lied to herself. For the first time in her twenty-five years, she was on her own, solely responsible for herself and Micahlyn. They were making a new start in a new town far from the wide spot in an Arkansas road where they'd both lived their entire lives. They were beginning an adventure. One that, according to her in-laws, was certain to end in disaster. So far, they'd been more right than wrong. Nolie and Micahlyn's great journey to Bethlehem, New York, had begun three days ago with a flat tire outside Little Rock and been livened up by a speeding ticket outside Memphis, a dead battery in the middle of Pennsylvania, and a second flat in New York. As if that wasn't enough, the farther they'd gotten from Whiskey Greek, the more resistant Micahlyn had gotten. She'd whined each night she'd had to sleep in a motel room and each morning she'd had to eat a breakfast that wasn't lovingly prepared to her specifications by her grandma. She'd fussed about the long hours in the car and had marked their crossing the New York state line by throwing up a Happy Meal, two jelly doughnuts, and a carton of chocolate milk in the backseat. Instead of asking, "Are we there yet?" she'd been satisfied with frequent repetitions of, "Can we go home now?" She'd heard her grandpa declare she would hate Bethlehem, and, by God, she was determined to prove him right. Fortunately, Nolie was more determined to prove him wrong. She turned around at the first chance, then headed back up the mountain. When she saw the yellow mailbox up ahead, she slowed and put on her left-turn signal. After an eighteen-wheeler blasted by fast enough to rock her car, she turned into the narrow dirt lane, then drew a deep breath. The lawyer who'd settled her great-grandfather's estate had warned her that the two houses she'd inherited weren't anything fancy. They'd been built at a time when money was tight, and the old man had never seen reason to improve on them when his cash flow improved. The smaller of the two cabins had been rented, though, nearly a month ago, to a woman from Boston, so at least they were livable and providing a little income. And as far as fancy . . . heavens, her best friend back home in Whiskey Creek hadn't gotten indoor plumbing until they were in third grade, so sleepovers had meant middle-of-the-night trips to the outhouse. She didn't require fancy. All she wanted was a place that was clean and in good repair, that provided a sense of security as well as shelter from the cold and rain, with running water and windows to open for cooling breezes in the heat. Oh, and this was important--it had to be hers. No more living like a guest in someone else's house, barely able to make a move without advice or interference. She needed her own home for her own little family. Follow the dirt road to its end, the lawyer had told her. They would come to the unoccupied cabin first, then fifty yards farther down the road was their Boston neighbor. Nolie hadn't thought to ask whether the woman used the cabin for a weekend getaway, or if she'Pappano, Marilyn is the author of 'Cabin Fever' with ISBN 9780440241188 and ISBN 0440241189.