Meet April’s character:
Over a blue t-shirt with bread flour patches, John usually wore a light denim jacket until it was dinnertime and it came time to pretend he was a professional. Even his chef jacket had turned grey after so long out here, all of us stuck together in the paradise of an escape that executives paid tens of thousands of dollars for a week. “Not even Skype works out here!” they’d say, giddy into our satellite phone, as our world continued to feel smaller and smaller, and the executives more and more alike.
John and I didn’t talk much, though we worked together, just the two of us, every day while the others took the clients exploring. One day, as I cut sugar cookies into the shape of bears, John leaned up against the counter and watched the pine martens, the little weasels, scurry beneath the falling down staff cabin outside the lodge window. “Do you think they’d let me take them home?” he asked. “Do I think who would let you take what home?” “On the airplane. If I put one in my jacket. Do you think I’d make it back with one?”
Where will these two co-workers’ conversations lead them? Tell us through a story or poem!