Page 88 of One Last Shot

“You don’t know that.”

He frowned at Axel.

“That’s just how God got you into the place where you are today.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“That’s because you think this whole thing”—Axel moved his hand over the guitar, the notepad—“is because of your efforts. And in large part, yes, it is. But if you’re exhausted, it’s probably because you feel like you’re rowing the boat.”

“Rowing the boat?”

“When you row a boat, you’re in charge of everything—the work, the direction, going against the waves... You gotta learn to sail, bud. The sailor rigs the sails and puts them up, has to know how to use them, but he depends on God for the wind. You show up for your part, but God is in charge of the power, and the direction of the wind.”

“Moose again?”

“You can thank my coast guard instructor for that one.” He leaned up from the doorframe. “But this one is all me: Who is the king of your kingdom, Oaken? God or you? The answer to that question is everything. I’m going to make a sandwich. Want one?”

“Sure.”

Axel left and Oaken pushed himself off the floor, put his guitar away, took another look at the lyrics he’d jotted down just beforeAxel came in.

Haunted by shadows, his heart starts to race.

The past won’t let go; he can't find his place.

But Blossom’s smile, like a beacon in the night,

Guides him through the darkness, towards the light.

Still sappy, but maybe closer. He set the notebook on the bed and headed downstairs.

Axel had bread out, buttering it, the griddle on the stove behind him heating.

The front door opened, closed, and Moose came in, snow and ice littering his snowmobile suit. “I think the blizzard is dying. The weather report says it’s going to clear up by tonight.”

Axel turned and slapped the bread, butter side down, onto the griddle. “But there’s another one right behind it.”

Moose peeled off his gloves, his hat. His dark hair stood up on end. Then he pulled off his boots, set them on the mat. “I almost have the driveway clear. But who knows about the roads. Any cell service yet?”

“No,” said Oaken, who pulled his phone from his pocket, just in case. “This happen a lot?”

“That’s why we have the ham radio,” Moose said. “I can connect with Dodge with Air One over at Sky King Ranch. And the local state troopers, if we’re needed.”

He had worked off his one-piece snowmobile suit and now hung it on a hook to dry. Came into the kitchen in his stocking feet and thermals. “Whatchya cooking, Axe?”

“Toasted cheezers,” he said. “I know it’s not healthy, but it’s comfort-food time.”

“Amen to that. I’m going to build a fire.” Moose walked over to the hearth.

Oaken followed him, handing him kindlingfrom the copper wood bin. Outside, the wind seemed to be dying, despite the occasional rattle of the windows.

“I probably should start packing up. I really appreciate you letting me stay here.”

Moose looked at him. “You’re leaving?”

“Now that the show’s over... right? At least, that’s what Huxley said a couple days ago.”

Moose’s mouth tightened. “Yeah. Huxley emailed me this morning, asking for some wrap-up interviews.”