Disconnected

“Dead.” Meghan sighed and tossed her phone on the old sheet-covered sofa, beside her purse. "Even if we had power, there’s no signal.” She turned back and closed the door behind her husband, watching as he dropped the load from the car onto the table in the middle of the room. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Kyle looked back at her, still bundled in her winter coat, and waited for the ball to drop. He’d forgotten; the cabin didn’t have any electricity.

Meghan ran a hand through her hair and finally looked around the single-room structure. The only light came from the tall windows, as well as a good amount of cold air. The bed was in the loft above, up a homemade wooden ladder. The kitchen was just a corner, and the bathroom? Well, at least they’d moved the outhouse into the only closet and gave it running water a few decades ago.

“We’re free." She shot Kyle an amused look and moved to the grocery bags he was emptying on the heavy wooden table at the center of the room. "All right, Merlin. You go work your magic and make a fire, I'll figure out dinner."

"Really?" It was the nickname she’d given him in high school, back when they first started dating, when he took her to see one of the Harry Potter movies. He hadn't heard it from her in years. Not since before the kids were born.

“Really, really.”

Kyle pulled his own phone from his pocket and shut if off before tossing it with hers. They were in the middle of nowhere, his family’s cabin on a frozen lake in the Upper Peninsula.

And his wife was smiling. He could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders.

He had been skeptical, but the Holidays would never be the same again. Not since they spent last year’s in a hospital waiting room, his father passing away as his heart seized in intensive care.

This year, Mom handed him the keys to their cabin. The directions were battered, the ink fading on the stained notebook paper she'd pulled off the refrigerator where they rested under a magnet. She’d pushed them into his hands with a demand to spend the Holidays alone with her grandchildren. Meghan agreed.

He hadn’t been here since he was a kid. It was his parents’ retreat, their personal place away from the world. They had never bothered with smart phones or laptops. Mom had only just made her Facebook page a couple months ago, marveling at all the pictures from their family. No surprise, the cabin was the same as he remembered it. The calendar hanging up on the wall still said 1963. The green glass cups and plates from the Depression Era were still propped up in the corner hutch. Jigsaw puzzles and books lined the wooden shelves.

Shoving his glasses back up his nose, Kyle went back outside. The snow crunched beneath his boots as the crisp air hit his lungs. He had to stop and take it all in: the setting sun, the scent of the evergreens, the near silence as the wind swept through and brushed the glittering drifts. It was as if it took his life with it. The worries, the work, the world he knew disappeared and left him dwelling in the now, his mind as clear as the world around him.

There was plenty of firewood on the stack and he ignored the prick of slivers threatening as he carried it inside for the fireplace. Some tinder, half a book of matches, and Kyle soon had a fire lit.

“Tonight, we feast like kings.” Meghan teased as she held up a package of bratwurst and a couple of long metal forks she’d found.

“Ah, the healthy option.” He met her smile as he rose and dug in the crate they’d brought with them, retrieving a bottle of white wine. With a mischievous grin, he also dipped in and grabbed the bag of extra-large marshmallows he’d bought.

“No wonder I love you.” Meghan laughed and let him lead her to the hearth where they dropped a couple old cushions to sit on in front of the fire.

That night, they roasted their dinner and toasted dessert, passing the bottle between them. They ate like kids and cuddled like lovers, bundled beneath a pile of blankets in the loft. And in the morning; books, ice skating, and a vibrant sunrise were waiting for them.