Today’s prompt: “You sit by a campfire with a few others — locals and travelers like you, sharing stories of the day. What’s the conversation like?”
Today’s music: In You Arms (sic) by Aisake. 🎧 Listen on SoundCloud.
The Fireside Chat
The rest of the next day passed me right on by. I slept in and didn’t regret it. Couldn’t find my phone and didn’t panic. Ate breakfast for lunch, and no one died. All in, it felt like I was on holiday, but… that couldn’t have been why I’d been invited to Hearthlight. There was something I was missing—something this place wanted or needed from me.
I guess I wasn’t going to find that out by sleeping until noon each day.
I spent most of the day ambling about until the sun eventually started its slow trust fall behind the hills surrounding the valley. A deeper huddle of oranges and reds beckoned me from outside the hamlet’s cluster of homes. I set out to see what was afoot. As I drew closer, I could see the remains of a massive bonfire with a few familiar faces gathered around it. There was the kid, of course, and his dog. His mother was there, and she was not anywhere near Mike, who looked like he’d prefer to change that but wasn’t sure how. Hollis was there, of course, as was Trudy.
I realised they were all in non-work clothes. I was so used to Trudy in her white apron or Mike in his red one. Hollis was always Hollis, of course, but I wondered if I might spot his cat out of its black and white attire, a ginger all along. I’d seen stranger magic here.
It was about this point that I realised that I had failed to learn the kid’s name, or his mother’s. They were ‘the kid’ and ‘his mother’ in my mind. Hell, the dog was just ‘the dog’. I thought about fixing that. Hollis waved me over. He was standing guard over a keg of beer and offered me three empty paper cups. I looked into them. “I feel like even I’d be pushing it to drink from three cups at once.”
Hollis filled the cups using a hose winding from the keg. “You seem like a smart man. I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
I hmm’d as I juggled three quite full cups. I charted a course towards the kid and his mother. She looked at the cups, then at the kid. “Sam doesn’t drink.”
“I figured.” I handed her a cup. “You figure it’s too early for him to start?”
She snorted. “I’m Dorothy.”
“Richard.” We cheers’d with our cups.
“Richard? Not ‘Rich’?” She eyed me over her cup. I noted she wasn’t wearing the wedding ring I’d returned.
“Eh. I’ll answer to almost anything if you’ve got ice cream, beer, or smallgoods.” I frowned. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
She watched me go as I charted a course toward Mike. He looked at me, my two cups, and smiled. “You here to rescue me from dehydration?”
“Why not?” I handed him the spare cup. “Thanks for the tenderloins the other day.”
“Hollis’s cat doesn’t like the thigh.”
I eyed him over my cup as the firelight danced around our feet. “You knew it was for a cat?”
“All butchers are oracles,” he confided.
“Well, oh oracle, why aren’t you talking to Dorothy?”
He just kind of stalled out for a second. “Because she’s someone else’s wife?”
I sipped more beer. It was quite good. Not too hoppy, with a slightly nutty aftertaste. “Uh huh.”
“And, you know?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“And the thing is,” Mike said. “There’s that.”
“There is.”
“And of course, it wouldn’t be right.”
“I get you.” I sipped. “But what if it was?”
“I don’t get you.”
“Mike, I’ve been here ten days, and I swear before God and the universe I’ve never seen a single human buy so much meat from a butcher as Dorothy gets from you. There’s a reason she’s going into your store other than the excellent tenderloin. And I say this as someone who appreciates a good tenderloin.”
Mike blinked. “There is?”
I smiled. “Or there isn’t. I mean, she’s someone else’s wife, although as I understand it, he passed. And that means the other thing, and the one after, and that part where it’s not right?” He nodded along as I spoke. “It might be okay.”
Mike looked into his cup. “I’m empty.”
“I think Dorothy is too.”
Mike glanced at me, then admitted, “I’m terrified.”
“It’s just beer.” I swirled the remains in my cup. “Right?”
“Right.” Mike squared his shoulders and charted a course for Hollis like a man going to the gallows.
I watched him go, then turned to find Sam lurking in the shadows. “How long were you there?”
“The whole time,” Sam said.
“Uh huh.”
“It’s not eavesdropping if you’re not hiding,” he said.
“Is that ten-year-old logic?”
“It just makes sense,” Sam said. “How am I supposed to know if people can see me or not?”
I thought about that as I watched Mike wander toward Dorothy with two cups. “It all seems fair to me.”
“I like Mike.”
“So do I,” I said. “Sam, how do you feel about showing me if your dog can play fetch?”
“I’d prefer to listen to—”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why we’re going.”
Sam led me off, and I caught Hollis’s knowing smile as we headed out. A boy, a dog, a stick—just the right recipe to create a night of possibilities. Maybe the dog would fetch the stick. Maybe not. But I’d bet my next beer that Mike would find his courage, and Dorothy would remember that hearts can flutter, even after everything.
Roll result? The fire burned low, but the sparks were all human.
XP gained: 1 brave step forward, 1 eavesdropping accomplice, and 1 stick yet to be thrown.
Ready for Day 11?
If Hearthlight has brought you a little calm, comfort, or curiosity, consider buying me a coffee (or a bribe for Hollis’s morally flexible cat):
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