Page 54 of Sheltering You

She’d wanted to ask him where they were and why, but he’d gone straight into another bedroom and closed the door.

She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to talk to her after their discussion the night before.

She’d slipped back into her nightgown and, despite all the strange events of the previous day and night, had fallen immediately asleep.

Now, she took in the space. It was a corner room, and the exterior walls were made of horizontal logs, brown and rustic, laid one atop the other to create this shelter. Curtains had been pushed to the side of large windows so that only gauzy fabric blocked the sunny day. The bedspread was white, like the curtains and the other furniture in the room, which included a small bureau, a shelving unit filled with books, and a rocking chair. On the wall opposite her, a stone fireplace rose to the ceiling.

The effect was simple and elegant.

A clock on her bedside table told her it was half past nine.

She gazed at the empty bed beside her and sat up with a start. Where was Rabie?

She stood too fast, then paused, holding onto the bed as a wave of dizziness passed.

A noise came from the other room, and she tiptoed to the door.

“What’d I tell you?” Derrick sounded amused.

“Can I have another one?” Rabie asked.

“You can have as many as you want.”

Since they seemed to be doing fine without her, she washed her face and changed her clothes before following the voices out of the bedroom and down a narrow hallway, inhaling the scent of frying oil and something she couldn’t identify.

She stepped into a space she’d learned was called a great room, which had a living area, dining area, and kitchen with no walls separating them. It was decorated much like the bedroom had been—log walls, soft white sofas and curtains. The tables were not stark white but whitish with a little brown showing here and there. Antiques, or perhaps made to seem like they were. There were more shelving units filled with books of all sizes and colors.

Off the kitchen on one side of the house, three windows angled around a casual table for six.

There was a more formal table in the dining room on the opposite side, imposing, much darker brown than the log walls, and surrounded by twelve hefty chairs, the kind she and her sister could have shared as children—and probably could still.

Overhead, the ceiling peaked at twenty feet or more. The wall closest to her was all stone with a fireplace in the center. She stepped close, letting the flames warm her back, gazing through the tall windows on both sides of the room.

Nothing but forest all around—tall pines and stark, leafless oaks and birches and maples.

There were no other houses or structures in sight.

“You’re awake.” Derrick pushed up from where he’d been leaning on an island in the kitchen. He wore the pajama pants and T-shirt she’d seen the night before, along with a pair of blue slippers.

On the other side of the island, Rabie, still clad in his pajamas, sat on a stool, his little legs swinging beneath him, his curls a floppy mess. White powder rimmed his mouth. Funny how similar they looked, despite their different skin color—and facial structure. It was their matching smiles, she thought.

“Yasamin, you come try this. Derrick made donuts.”

“You are a baker?” She crossed the living area to the kitchen. The light wood cabinets matched the color of the log walls. The black granite countertop was dotted with sugar—or maybe it was flour—and cinnamon, she guessed, based on the scent she picked up as she neared. There were two bowls, each filled with small donuts, and beside them, plates, forks, and napkins.

On top of the stove, a black skillet held an inch or so of oil, and by the way it sizzled, it was still hot.

She stood beside Rabie but spoke to Derrick. “I did not know you baked.”

“I don’t.” He snatched a package from the countertop behind him and held it out to her.

She took the strangely-shaped paper, the remains of some package. She read the label. “Biscuits?”

“Canned biscuits. You know, Pillsbury?”

She didn’t know, so she just shrugged.

“You just stick a hole in them,” he explained, “and drop them in the oil.”