| Directions By Jim Correale At first, when the small gray car emerged from the dirt road and rolled to a stop in the open area in front of her home, Lisa wasn�t sure who the visitor might be. It didn�t look like the vehicle of anyone she was expecting for dinner that Saturday night. Likely, it was someone who�d gotten lost out here and wanted to ask for directions. Then, as a man rose from the driver�s side door, it came to her: he wanted to look at the cabin. He had seen the ad and called yesterday and said he�d be out at seven. Lisa looked up from the carrots she was slicing and saw that he was right on time. She put the knife down, wiped her hands on a dishtowel and went to the door. �Hi,� she said, standing in the doorway. The man, mid-30s, average height, dark hair, paused and tensed up slightly as both dogs, retrievers, squeezed past her and ran toward him, but they were harmless and ran by him nuzzling each other. �I told you I�d forget. Give me a second.� �Sure,� the man said, nodding. �Or you could come in if you like,� she said as she turned and went back inside. She left the door open a few inches and he took that as a sign that he should go in. He walked across the front yard, which had thin blades of tawny grass poking out haphazardly all around. Children�s toys�a basketball, a bicycle, a bright orange and yellow plastic kitchen set�were scattered about. He climbed the steps and pushed the door open. The kitchen was crowded: two or three woman were slicing or mixing or stirring, a young girl was loudly asking a question and a short, red-faced man was leaning against the counter, a beer in his hand. The man smiled and said, �Hi there. I bet you came in here to see all the women!� The red-faced man laughed, so the visitor followed suit. Lisa then reappeared and said, �OK�let�s go.� She had thrown a pair of shoes on her previously bare feet, and she led the way outdoors. �Doug�right?� she asked. �Yup.� �I�m Lisa.� She put her hand out and Doug shook it. The dogs came running toward her, and he noticed that one of them looked pretty mangy. It had lost tufts of hair and was thin. He tried to avoid letting it touch him as the pair ran by. �Inside, you two! Leo, Otis�inside!� The dogs headed to the house. �We could walk back up there if that�s OK.� �Sure,� he said. The cabin was back up the dirt road he had come down. He had stopped there before going on to her house, took a quick look around and had already decided that he wasn�t going to rent the place. However, he had driven out there and had nowhere else to go except back to the motel, so he followed Lisa. The mangy dog came trotting along seconds later. �Oh, Otis,� she said, �I knew you�d find a way to come along.� The summer sunlight fell in a slant and on the tree-sheltered road the beginnings of twilight were already developing. Despite the season, temperatures were expected to fall below fifty that evening. �So�what brings you to this area?� �Well,� Doug said, exhaling, �I interviewed for a job in Ellsworth and I�m sure they�ll offer it to me. I was hoping to find someplace with an easy commute.� �Sure. We�re maybe twenty minutes from Ellsworth.� �Yup. And, well, I�ve always wanted to live in rural Maine�for years. I live in Boston� grew up there, but ever since I can remember I wanted to live out in the woods.� Lisa chuckled. �Well, you�re in the woods here,� she said. The cabin sat a few yards off the dirt road, roughly halfway between the house and the quiet asphalt road ran past there from Ellsworth. There was somewhat of a clearing before the cabin, though it wasn�t as open as the area before the main house. There was a picnic table over to the side and, beyond that, an outhouse. �Here it is,� Lisa said as they approached. �Did you stop by here on the way in?� �Yeah, I did.� �Good,� she said, her hand reaching for the screen door. Just then a pick-up truck came bouncing down the road and continued on to the house. �Hey Tanya,� Lisa called out and thrust a hand in the air. Then she turned to Doug, feeling the need to explain. �We like to have people over for dinner on weekends, so you might see a bunch driving in tonight.� |