LESSON ONE
Deal With Your Shit
SORRY, THERE’Sno wading gradually into shallow water here. We’re jumping right in at the deep end.
Of course, this step assumes that you know what your shit is. I’m talking the real stuff—the tragic backstory, the deep-seated insecurities, the broken emotional bones that healed without being set properly.
To fix your shit, you have to know what it is.
For me there was a lot of shit, and I wanted to tackle it all at once. I wasn’t connecting with Trix, Max, and Joe, my bandmates in Howl. I felt stifled by our management team. The idea of writing another album, going on another tour, or even staying in the same city with them made me want to run screaming into the wilderness.
And one day, after a brutal breakfast with Max and a rage-inducing phone call with Trix, that’s what I did. I rented a cabin in the middle of a provincial park, packed up a couple guitars and some clothes and my laptop, and I left. I needed space to figure out what I wanted to do about the band, my future, my life. But really I just wanted to get away from it. Rock stars have responsibilities too, and I wanted to avoid them.
And that wasn’tallthat I needed to deal with. I showed up at this cabin in the woods expecting to leave all my shit behind for a few weeks. I should’ve known better. I rented a cabin twenty minutes from where I grew up.
When I showed up, all my shit was there waiting for me.
Motherfucker.
Chapter One
JEFF HADmisgivings right up until he turned into the driveway and the water of the Sound surrounded him on three sides—a solid, grounded, gorgeous blue, with the sky above it bright and clear. This close to the shore, the trees were sparse and the claustrophobia of the rest of the park didn’t encroach. The air tasted like relief.
It was probably a good thing he was mostly there for the scenery, because the cabin wasn’t much to look at—a solidly constructed square log A-frame, with a wooden porch along the front and a steel chimney out the back. Lots of windows for natural light, and a stack of firewood that’d last him ’til Doomsday. He parked the truck in a carport that also housed a bearproof garbage box and a huge plastic bin for gravel. With a little luck, he wouldn’t need that in the next few months.
There was still time for everything to go spectacularly wrong, obviously. Case in point, bear box. Jeff sat in his truck with the windows down, cut the engine, and listened as the waves crashed against the rocks and Gord Downie told some unknown person to shut up about poets.
It didn’t feel real yet—no hotels, no bandmates, no studio time, no practice, no interviews. This far out into the middle of nowhere, he might not even run into anyone who knew his name.
Well, not if he hadn’t grown up here.
As the song faded out, a green park-ranger vehicle pulled in next to him and Jeff opened the door and got out to meet the driver. She was a young woman, midtwenties, with pin-straight dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and an easy smile. “You must be Mr. Pine?”
God,Mr. Pine. She didn’t recognize him. He couldn’t place her either. He’d probably been a few years ahead of her at school, if she’d grown up here. “Just Jeff,” he corrected. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
They shook hands. “Kara. And it’s all part of the service.”
She showed him around the cabin—a single room with a bed, table and chairs, and a kitchenette with a wood-burning stove set against the wall that led to the bathroom, presumably to keep it toasty in the winter.
God, Jeff could imagine staying there through the winter. His balls tried to crawl up into his body at the mere thought.
“GPS can get a little spotty,” Kara warned as they made their way back to the cars. “What with the tree cover. Cell signal’s only so-so. You probably won’t get much data either. I’ve got a couple extra maps in the truck if you want.”
Jeff smiled. “I think I remember my way around. Thanks, though.” Sure, they’d probably changed things since he was fifteen, but where were they going to move the grocery? Willow Sound wasn’t that big.
“Oh, are you from here?” Kara leaned back against the ranger vehicle.
He’d opened himself up for that one. “Ah, sort of.” He shrugged. “We moved away when I was a teenager. I haven’t been back.”
Mercifully, she didn’t ask him about it. Thank God, because he had no idea what he’d have said.It’s complicated? It was actually just sad and kind of pathetic.
“All right. Well, I get the impression things don’t change too fast around here.” She pursed her lips around a smile in an obvious tease. “At least judging by how much people are still grumbling about the Tim Hortons that went in ten years ago.”
Jeff barked a laugh. “Some things will never change. Small towns’resistanceto change being one of them.”
“So you’vedefinitelybeen here before.” Grinning, she reached into the truck and pulled out a park pamphlet. “You probably got one of these at the gate, but just in case.” She turned it over and pulled a pen from her ranger cap. “Not saying the solitary life won’t suit you, but if you feel like you need some company, there’s a pretty good set of programs—learn to fly fish, identify plants and animal signs. There’s a stargazing one, and if you’re going to be around in August, you should definitely come to that because the meteor shower puts on a good show every year. And of course there’s campfire night.”
She handed him the pamphlet.
