The Cypress Trap

Chapter 6

The sun had already dropped behind the trees when Rayanne and Owen returned to the boat ramp. The tent settled near the truck, casting a long shadow in front of it that nearly reached the lake. A stack of firewood piled up beside it, ready for a campfire. Owen grabbed a couple of logs and stacked them within a makeshift fire pit that was little more than a circle of stones in the sand. 

“You gett’n hungry?” He lit a crumbled paper towel and tossed it on the kindling around the logs. 

“I’m famished.” Rayanne carried several long sticks in her arms and that seemed to amuse him.  He pointed toward the log pile by the tent, and she dropped the sticks among several larger pieces of wood. Turning back to him, she asked, “So, what are we having?”

Owen didn’t answer. He struggled with the kindling, achieving no more than a faint flame and a little smoke. He cursed and kicked the sand. 

“I think the wood’s wet,” she said. “It’s been raining.”

“We need lighter fluid.” He wadded another paper towel and lit it. He tossed it in the fire pit.

Rayanne smiled and walked to the truck. Opening the back door, she pulled out a canvas bag and Owen’s guitar, carried them to the wet fire pit and sat down beside him. She handed him the guitar.

“You want me to sing to you?” he asked, taking the guitar.

“I thought it would be romantic,” she said as he set the guitar down against the log. She looked at it as he lit another paper towel. Shrugging it off, she grabbed a green box of granola bars from the bag.

“Forget the fire. We can just have one of these for dinner,” she said, handing him a bar. He threw the smoldering paper towel onto the kindling and took the granola bar from her hand, never taking his eyes off the fire pit. They watched the flame flicker and die.

“I can get these logs to light, I’m tell’n you.” He tore open the wrapper and chomped down on the granola bar. Turning to Rayanne, he talked while chewing. “I got dry wood. I just need lighter fluid.”

“You want to know what really goes with granola bars?” She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Merlot. She held it in her hands as a waiter would present it in a fancy restaurant. “They go very well with this.”

Owen nodded. He took the bottle from her and popped the cork. “Now it’s a party.”

Rayanne laughed and, grabbing two solo cups from the bag, poured him a drink. “And we’ve got the whole lake to ourselves,” she said.

“Maybe you were right.” He gulped his drink and set down the cup. “But I’m still gettin’ this fire started.”

“We don’t need it.” She put an arm around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. She felt the warmth of his body as she looked over at the last remnants of the sun over the lake. When his should shifted, she moved her head to see him reach for the guitar. He picked it up and strummed the chords. 

“Anything you want to hear?” he asked her.

“Country Roads,” she said, barely waiting for him to finish asking. She brought her hands together and rested them on her lap.

He laughed at her. “You always want to hear Country Roads.”

“It’s my favorite,” she said as he began playing the first chords. 

“Take me home,” he sang, “Country roads.” They sat on the large round log for a while, watching the woods grow dark and listening to his voice grow soft. Finally, Rayanne picked up the cup he had thrown on the ground and poured more wine into it. She handed it to him.