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There’s some logs by the back door, but not enough to get you through the winter. Plenty of folks around here to sell you some. Also, there’s a small water heater in the bathroom. Runs on fuel oil. You can get that at Brooks.
    “You’ll probably want to get that truck out of the shed. You’ll need it for the winter. We get a couple more inches on the ground, and that little coupe of yours will be in a snowbank somewhere.”
    “My car is out of commission,” I told him. “Will the truck start?”
    “Probably not. It’s been sitting about a year.”
    “Is there any way you can get someone to look at it, and drive it over to the inn when it’s fixed?”
    “I’ll take care of it.” Rich jotted a note on his pad.
    “Fine. I’ll see you May fourth. Early.”
    “I’ll be waiting,” he said. “Smile, Sarah. You may like it here.”

chapter SIX
    Brooks Variety Store had just that—everything from potato peelers to winter coats. Unfortunately for me, the coats only came in two styles of ugly—for the men, a swampy brown-green army surplus getup, and for women, ballooning nylon fuchsia. Two other shoppers watched me, whispering behind a tower of $1.49 disposable tin pie pans. One wore the bright pink parka.
    I wasn’t ready to tackle the house just yet, and I couldn’t move in without certain necessities—winter clothes, shampoo, food. Not surprisingly, I would not find what I needed in Jonah.
    The shopkeeper approached me, her crinkled bouffant stiff with hair spray. “Ms. Petersen, is there something I can help you find?”
    “It’s Graham,” I said, “and no.”
    “I’m Nancy Brooks. Can I just say that I am so sorry about your father?” the woman continued, cannoli-shaped fingers on my arm. “He was such a wonderful man, and we all miss him so dearly. He was always willing to come over here and fix whatever was broken when my husband was sick with cancer. Carl’s better now, praise the Lord, but when he was sick and the shutters were falling off, all I had to do was call Luke and he’d be right over with his toolbox and a—”
    I turned away. “Lady, save it.”
    On my way out the door, I heard one of the pie-pan ladies say, “How rude!”
    I remembered the diner woman telling me the nearest mall was a couple of hours away. Maggie did say I could use her car as long as I needed it.
    I started down the mountain, stopping for directions in four towns. Finally, I pulled into a mall parking lot. Not the biggest I’d seen, but it had the basics. At the pharmacy, I stocked up on toiletries and cosmetics, Tylenol and flu remedies. It would be a long, cold winter.
    Clothes next. I bought two pairs of boots, insulated work boots and rubber duck shoes. I also got running sneakers, fleece slippers and an armful of wool socks, long underwear, gloves, and mittens. I tried on flannel-lined corduroys, dismayed at the extra bulk they added to my hips and middle, but bought them anyway, as well as two pairs of tight, low-rise jeans and one impractically sexy dress. A green down parka, twelve turtlenecks, heavy sweaters, and blanket sleepers—with feet—brought my bill to over nine hundred dollars.
    I’d never make it six months without an ample supply of peanut M&M’s. After loading my things into the car, I asked directions to the nearest grocery store.
    Fluorescent lights bounced off the frozen food coolers, shiny and modern. I found the candy in aisle eight. After layering the bottom of my cart with yellow bags, I threw in my favorite garlic potato chips, instant hot chocolate, ramen noodles, canned spaghetti. And Diet Coke, six-dozen cans.
    During the ride back to Jonah, I listened to the radio; the stations, one by one, cracked and fizzled with the increased elevation. By the end of the trip, I was left with a choice between honky-tonk and NPR. I refilled Maggie’s gas tank and returned to the inn, nearly crashing into the three vehicles parked on the driveway—a small SUV and two battered pickup