“I Know This Sounds Crazy.” She Laughed Soaking Wet Asking To Use My Bathroom…
The orbital sander vibrated through the thick leather of my work gloves, kicking up a fine mist of walnut dust that smelled like old earth and burnt sugar. I kept my focus locked on the grain of the dining table. I was finishing letting the repetitive motion ground me. Outside, the Colorado wind was already howling, stripping the last dead pine needles from the branches and throwing them against the thick glass of my cabin’s front window.
A storm was rolling in fast, dropping the temperature 10° in the last hour. Then a sharp, frantic hammering cut through the drone of my machinery. I killed the power to the sander. The sudden silence in the workshop was heavy broken only by the aggressive rattling of my heavy oak front door. I pulled off my safety glasses, wiped the sawdust from my gray t-shirt, and walked out of the shop space into the main living area.
People didn’t just drop by this far up the mountain ridge, especially not when the sky was turning the color of bruised iron. I turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open. The freezing wind immediately whipped into the entryway. Standing on my porch was a woman. She was shivering violently, her bare shoulders exposed to the biting air.
