Page 9 of The Spiral

“1872. She’s a beauty.” She is. If one calls a building a she. I’m not actually sure I’ve got words for how the building looks, especially at this time of day with the light cascading over the roof. The whole frontage is dappled with flecks of sunshine, almost ridding it of its darkness, and somehow oozing power and luminescence in the dark covering of the trees.

“I guess the redwoods are nearly as old?”

“The books have all the details. Mr. Caldwell will know.”

“You’re not Mr. Caldwell?” I snap out, shocked and also mortified once again at my stupidity as I gawp at his face. Why didn’t he say? Oh my god, could this day get any worse? He just chuckles and nods as he pulls us to a stop outside the main doors.

“Go on out. I’ll get to pullin’ that Range Rover out for ya, and then get it cleaned up before I bring it back.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” I reply, sliding as best I can from the rickety old truck and dropping my feet to the floor. “Just out is fine, really. Thank you.”

He hands me my bag and nods again, so I close the door and repeat my thanks over and over again until I feel utterly inane and stop my mouth moving. And then he just leaves me standing here as I watch the truck disappear up another small dirt track to somewhere.

Guess I’ll go fine Mr. Caldwell then.