Fear of Frying

The other is John, who’s a glad-hander. I’ve only met him once and wasn’t crazy about him. Cheerful, but real brash and loud.“
    “Who else?“ Jane asked.
    “I’m not sure. Somebody from the school board and somebody from the city council. Ah, here we are.”
    They turned at another freshly painted sign. The drive was narrow and wound through a thick stand of pines. Autumn wildflowers bloomed at the side of the road. As they rounded the last curve, they saw a large building that resembled an overgrown log cabin. It was two stories high and had a porch across the front with some ancient rocking chairs set about in companionable groupings. The building looked old—as if it had been part of the landscape for decades. The logs from which it was constructed were covered with bark. Lichen and moss grew on the logs, and tender-looking ferns clustered close to the building.
    “Golly!“ Jane said as Shelley pulled the van up in front of the entrance. “What a neat place.“ As they stepped out of the car, Jane breathed deeply. “Real pine scent! And there’s a campfire somewhere. Can you smell it?“
    “Take a look around,“ Shelley said, rummaging in her purse for her paperwork. “I’ll get us checked in.”
    Jane strolled along the porch, testing a couple of the rocking chairs. “I could sit here for hours just drinking this air,“ she said out loud, startling a woodpecker who’d been tapping furiously on the building. This struck her as appropriately rustic, even though a woodpecker at her own house had once driven her nearly to frenzy.
    Shelley was back in a minute. “Nobody at the desk,“ she said, “but I found this on the bulletin board.“ She’d removed two keys and a map from an envelope. “Hop in the van.“
    “We’re not staying here?“
    “No, there are cabins down the road. We’re looking for Happy Memories.“
    “Sure we are. Isn’t everybody?“
    “Jane, don’t be a smart aleck. That’s the name of the cabin.“
    “The name of the cabin? Happy Memories? That’s so horribly cute I don’t think I can stand it!“
    “It’s on the right, but not for a bit,“ Shelley said, putting the van in gear and heading down a narrow, pine-shaded drive that ran at right angles to the road they’d come in on. Little rustic signposts identified the driveways to cabins, some of which weren’t even visible from the road. SUMMER’S END, HOME AGAIN, DEER RUN VIEW, and finally HAPPY MEMORIES.
    “Oh, Shelley!“ Jane sighed at the sight of the cabin. It was a tiny version of the main lodge building—neatly fitted logs with rough bark, a beautifully mossy wood-shake roof hugged by overhanging branches, spots of bright fall wildflowers in the surrounding woods.
    They pulled in and hopped out of the van. The surprisingly modern lock on the door worked easily. The interior was extremely “cabinish“ with knotty pine walls and a wood floor scattered with braided rugs in soothing, muted colors. The furniture—two single beds, a couple of tables, and a pair of deeply cushioned chairs with afghans tossed over the backs—was primitive. So was the stone hearth around the fireplace. But to Jane’s surprise, the entire far wall was all glass, floor-to-ceiling windows, with French doors leading to a back porch the width of the cabin. Three more rocking chairs like the one at the main building sat glowing in the late afternoon sun. There was fireplace wood stacked at the end of the porch, just waiting to become a cozy fire.
    Jane went out on the porch, which hung out over a steep incline. Below, a small creek burbled past, and above her, birds warbled. A squirrel leaped from one tree to another, swinging wildly on the branch. “Shelley, this is really heaven— Shelley?”
    Jane went inside, just as Shelley came in the other door laden with her belongings. “Which bed do you want?“ she asked.
    “The one nearest the porch, if that’s okay. What is all that stuff?“
    “The necessities of life,“ Shelley said, unloading a hair dryer, lighted makeup mirror, hot rollers, and coffeemaker.
    “Uh-huh,“ Jane said. “There might be a small problem, Shelley.“ She pointed at the small kerosene lamp sitting on the table between the beds, and the other one on the table on the far wall. “There don’t seem to be any electrical outlets.”
    Shelley stared at Jane blankly, then stared at the kerosene lamps, looked at the ceiling, hoping in vain to see an overhead light. Then she sat down on the