Somewhere in the trees outside the cabin, an owl called out.
“Who cooks, who cooks for you?” it said.
No one, she wanted to say. No one. She’d been out at her grandfather’s cabin for two weeks. One more before her aunt and uncle arrived for their turn.
“Remember to change the sheets,” her aunt said when she called the day before. “Your uncle’s allergic to dogs.”
She’d slept on the couch, the stairs were too steep for her old dog to climb. Maybe she’d go into town tonight, see if the tavern still played the same old country songs.