Was someone watching Bradley and I after all?
Or was I going crazy again?
Twenty-Nine
A creepy chill ran through me as the sunrise crested over the mountain.
I stood at the only window in the trapper’s cabin, a thick, hand-knit blanket around my shoulders and a hot cup of grainy rocket fuel in my hands. The only thing that could put a smile on my face this morning after the restless night of sleep I’d had was the smell of his coffee. Thick as mud with bite as it went down, it seemed to call Bud from dreamland because as soon as the tiny pot bubbled on the stove, the snoring stopped and he was up and moving around a moment later.
I was planning my escape.
From the mountain or my life, I wasn’t sure.
According to Bud’s instructions, I was less than ten miles around the base of the mountain from the ice bridge that connected this island to the mainland. He assured me I could make it myself, as long as the weather held.
The problem was that he didn’t have a smart house to tell him the weather forecast. Bud had no access to the outside world and forecasted the weather outside of his window by what he could see with his own two eyes. I didn’t find it encouraging when he explained that weather changes in a blink up here, with sunshine one minute and a white-out the next.
“Sounds like you had a rough night by all the tossin’ and turnin’ happenin’ out here.”
I’d willed myself to sleep after discovering the faint shadow in the polaroid last night, but it shook me. I couldn't deny that.
“Thinking about snowshoeing to the ice bridge today.”
“Looks as good as any day this week.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and planted himself in the single chair in his kitchen.
“We had a blizzard two days ago.”
Bud shrugged. “That only lasted an hour. Best thing you can do in that case is find yourself a landmark, tie yourself to a tree if you have to. That’s how people die out here, thinkin’ they can make it just a few more feet, but looks are deceiving on these cliffs.”
I thought of the rushing water that churned below the Deception Gorge suspension bridge. I wondered how many lives had been lost to it’s unforgiving wild over time. I hoped I wouldn’t be one of them.
“Figure you might want this.” Bud gruffed, interrupting my thoughts.
I turned to find him setting a small manilla envelope on the table.
I crossed the room and picked it up.
“Just a few things I found in the car, threw everything away that didn’t have a name on it. I’m assuming you’re Freya?”
I nodded, almost wishing I wasn’t. I wished so desperately that all of the last few weeks weren't real, if that meant giving up my name and life, so be it.
“Got this good luck token for you too, it’s the last of my special breed.” He held something soft in his big palm. “It’s mink.” He sifted the small pelt in his fingers. “Warmest and softest you can get around here.”
I thanked him, tucking the pelt into my rucksack.
“Wrap that around your neck if the wind picks up, it can take the air out of your lungs if you don’t have something to protect yourself.”
The softness and warmth in his eyes reminded me of the way a concerned dad might look at his daughter. Something I’d never felt until now, I thought with a wry smile.
“Thank you, again. I can’t thank you enough.”
“My pleasure, Freya.” He waved once, then stood from the table, finished his coffee and dropped the mug in the sink, and then walked back into his room and closed the door with a soft thud.
I heard the shower kick in a moment later.
I finished my own cup of coffee, rinsing it and his out in the sink and then tidying the couch I’d tossed and turned on all night.
I had my stuff together and was strapping it all to my back five minutes later. A moment after that, I was strapping the snowshoes to my boots and driving out into the shadowy pink sunrise. The only thought on my mind was that it would be up to me to rescue myself.
One step at a time.
Thirty
I failed to recognize the crack that fissured Tav and I before it was too late.
I didn’t know when exactly was too late. Maybe after the miscarriage? Or before my mother had passed? Was it Bradley’s return to my life? Had the fracture between us began with a hairline crack long before that? It felt like it separated deeper than the gouge that cut through the mountains and severed this island from the rest of civilization.
Were Tav and I that far apart? Would I have met Bradley at the bar that night if we weren’t? Or was this all a matter of my subjective perspective to begin with? A medicated shut-in afraid to live life because life bit back too hard? Was I imprisoned on this mountain, or only acting entitled like Bud had not so subtly suggested? My thoughts when it came to Tav had a way of twisting upside down until I wasn’t sure which was the right way up.
If I’d been more open with myself and Tav, would I even be at Deception Gorge? If I’d acted differently, would I have stumbled into a different outcome? My first regret was not walking out the door with Tav that sunny morning. My legs were strong, my balance good and well-adapted to the snowshoes at this point. If anything, he was the one with a vulnerability. His twisted ankle put him at risk, so why would he ask me to stay back?
My mind spun away with every possibility.
I slumped against a giant boulder, leveraging myself up on a small edge that fit perfectly as a seat. I unzipped my pocket, pulling out a jerky strip and tearing it with my teeth.
Something inside of me felt spoiled then, always unsure of what I really wanted just like Tav often said. He’d told Bud I needed a break. It was true. I’d lost almost everyone that mattered, maybe raw solitude was exactly what I needed to find myself again.
I took in the iced-over suspension bridge in the distance, at least three cables whipping heavily in the wind. A fourth looked ready to snap any minute. I thought it was ironic that they’d tried to subdue nature with a modern arch of cables and steel when men like Bud relied on the ice bridge and boats to come and go in the years before they’d erected the bridge.
I leaned back against the boulder, remembering Bud’s instructions: just over the pass, a few hundred yards beyond Deception Bridge, a large boulder is your map marker to hang a hard right. Follow the line of cedars, avoid the cliff path because of false bottoms and winter erosion, and come out right at the mouth of the ice bridge and the other side of the pass.
I groaned, calculating I had at least two hours left to hike before I cleared the far side of the island.
I dug deeper into my pocket, in search of the small bag of dried fruit and nuts I’d stashed inside, when my fingers found the edges of the envelope Bud had handed over earlier. I brought it into the light, flipping it once and opening the sealed edge easily. The first thing I noticed were the three loose pills shaking around inside. They must have fallen out of my purse in the car.
I shook them into my palm now, wondering if I needed them. If they did my head any good. Were my memories clearer or hazier with these tiny white marvels? I tucked them into the pocket of my hiking pants, zipping it closed for safekeeping.
Bud’s words about addiction came back to me then. I hadn’t expected that, and I wondered why Tav might say it. Was he right? Maybe he’d already discussed this with my therapist—she’d often mentioned a couples retreat would do both of us good. In the early days of our relationship Tav had made a joke that therapists feed off of lonely people, was he right then? He’d met me at my appointments on the rare occasion I’d asked—his drive from the city was always during rush hour and took him twice as long as it usually did. He’d always shown up with a smile, but now I wondered why. At one point my paranoid mind had conjured an affair between Tav and my therapist, stolen glances and flirty smiles as they whispered about my fatal flaws and fuck-ups behind my back.
Tav was my hero, so why did he haunt me too?
Looking for a distraction, I tore off another bite of jerky and pulled out an even smaller envelope stuffed with lined paper from a spiral bound notebook. Some of the edges looked singed by fire, but most seemed intact. I flipped them over, heart dropping when I recognized the generous loops of my mom’s cursive handwriting.
My stomach twisted as I began to read.
Freya,
I have so many regrets. There are so many things I wish I would have said.
I’m sorry I could never tell you the one thing you wanted to know.
I promised to die with the secret on my lips, and I will. Even if it tortures me. Don’t let it torture you. Please don’t let my next words alarm you.
I’m being followed.
Maybe I shouldn't send this letter, I’m certain this would put you in harm’s way. If anything happens to me, Freya, know that I love you.
I love you so much.
xo Mom
Thirty-One
I stuffed the letter into my backpack, wondering how it’d found its way to Bud’s cabin. I had so many questions. I strapped my backpack over my shoulders, hopped down on my snowshoes and headed for the opposite side of the clearing. Every towering tree and snowbank left me with a sense of vertigo, the edge of my shoe tripping on a boulder mounded under a few inches of powdery snow.
This place was a winter wonderland funhouse, the effects leaving my head pounding and my eyes blurry. I broke out of the clearing, the ridge and the ocean churning far below a welcome relief that helped balance my perception. I walked closely along the evergreen boughs, keeping clear of the cliff’s edge before the treeline edged around a corner. I looked up just in time to see a hunched figure ducking into a small trapper’s cabin.
Bud hadn’t mentioned neighbors. In fact, he’d specifically given the impression I was better off avoiding them.
I hovered at the edge of the trees, wondering if I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. I struggled to remember Bud’s exact words.
When a man used so few words, every syllable was important.
I took in the crumbling roof, shards of ice clinging to the edges and nearly touching the snowbank at the base. One dark window looked out like an eye over the tiny clearing. I shuffled back and forth, wondering if I could cross this clearing at the far edge and not bring attention to myself. The only alternative was tracking backwards and circling around the edge of his property through the trees. It’d be so much easier to follow the water, no way could I miss the ice bridge then.
A shudder passed through me as the smell of charcoal lingered in the air. Just as I was about to turn and head back, a series of yelps and snarls bounded around the trees followed by the long howl of a wolf. I froze, plastering myself against the tree, thinking civilization sounded not so bad right now.
A dark figure sprinted through the trees, shadows playing tricks on my mind as every muscle in my body bunched and surged with the desire to run.
Don’t run.
Don’t run.
Another shadow, this one fully black and with a longer gate moved closer. It darted between the evergreens like a ghost, almost as if it was playing hide and seek with me.
“Don’t run,” I hummed, fingernails clutching at the bark of the tree at my back. “Don’t run.”
A third wolf, this one tall and gray, bounded from underneath an evergreen, it’s eyes nailed with mine.
I yelped, swinging wildly with my ski pole and striking it once along the hindquarter. It must have scared it away just enough, because it yipped and spun back into the woods, running in the opposite direction of me.
Heart screaming with the momentary victory, I chose that moment to run across the clearing, making it just to the opposite treeline when the trapper pushed out of his cabin door, old rifle in his arms before he shot into the air three times.
Tears leaked from my eyelids. I tried to steady my breath, even though my lungs wanted to melt down into hyperventilation. I was the farthest thing from civilization out here. Wolves. People. Mountains. Wilderness. Life.
Another long howl followed by a series of yips and snarls sang through the tree limbs then.
“I only have a few hours to get off of this island, I won’t let a few wolves stop me.” I clutched at both of my ski poles, prepared to use them for a weapon if I needed, on either man or beast.
I waited until the trapper disappeared inside of his house before I sped across another smaller clearing. I reached the opposite side that followed along the cliff’s edge, and sucked in a relieved breath when I saw a steep bridge built out of fallen trees and logs and evergreen boughs across what was probably a beaver pond.
That had to be the ice bridge.
It glistened in the sunshine, the ocean water that bubbled and pooled at the base was forced back out into the bay by a whirlpool motion of the water.
I had a few hours left of sunlight to get across that bridge, and what I’d find on the other side I wasn't sure, but surely it couldn't be too far before I ran into a village or town or convenience store or modern life.
I snapped a piece of jerky between my teeth and chewed, thankful that the worst of the trek was behind me.
Next stop, home.
And then after that, Tav.
Thirty-Two
“Help!” I shrieked. The wind caught my plea, flinging it over the edge of the ice bridge and drowning in the waves below. I waved frantically at a tiny fishing boat that trawled in slow circles. “Help me!”
I couldn’t make out whether the boat captain had seen me. I gave up, turning my eyes back to the narrow bridge of crested ice that shot out of the ocean. I gulped, thankful for the flimsy ropes that worked as railings to help me across. Two deep grooves, just barely the width of my feet, were worn into the slick ice. I wore my snowshoes on my back, criss-crossing them to try to keep their weight balanced on my body.
I swallowed past the fear balled in my throat and slid my feet along the ice. I didn’t dare lift my foot for fear of slipping, but sliding across the hundred-yard bridge, slick with warming ice and bright sunlight, was taking longer than I expected.
I heard the boat in the distance gun its motor. I paused, throwing my hand in the air in the hopes he saw me again, then groaning when they trawled in the opposite direction. I fought the tears at my eyelids, wondering if the wolves had ever crossed the bridge, and if they could smell my fear now and chase me down. My fingertips began to shake, with either the cold or the adrenaline, before the toe of my boot caught the edge of the ice wrong and sent me sliding. I cried out, holding on tightly to the rope.
“I need a drink. Oh, please, get me off of this bridge and to the largest alcoholic drink…”
I slid my boot another step along the ice, saying a silent prayer as I continued past my near misstep. My legs found a slow rhythm, my mind focusing out of sheer will. The next time I looked up, I found myself approaching the other cliff.
The mainland.
Tears of happiness hit my cheeks as the first toe of my boot landed on granite again. I took another step, pushing myself away from the ice bridge and the bay below. I wiped the tears from my face, determined to find a person before nightfall. If I could find my way into a town I could find a hotel or...what?
I thought of my phone then, praying for better reception than I’d had on the island. I needed a map, something to point me in the direction of civilization. I had two hours of natural light left, and that’s if I avoided the deep woods. Following the coastline would probably be safer but could also take longer.
I cringed, hating that I hadn’t gotten my bearings on the map in the chalet before leaving. I almost missed the warmth and luxury it provided, even if I hadn’t used either much. I thought of a warm fireplace, a hot drink and a soak in the jetted tub. I laughed at myself then, wondering what I would say when I checked into the first hotel I came across.
I paused to take a drink from one of the water reservoirs. I’d nearly emptied the first one, with any luck I wouldn't need the others. My tiny t
rek through the wilderness over in a single day, with the help of Bud and the bridge. I imagined coming back to Deception Gorge and thanking him at some point, but then shuddered at the thought of ever seeing this place again.
I took off down the path that followed the cliff, keeping my eyes on the horizon line as I tested each step with my ski pole. I paused after a few steps when the crusted snow gave way to powdery drifts near an open section of trees.
I saw the trawler in the distance, probably headed home for the evening as the first streaks of orange criss-crossed the sky.
I hurried to strap my snowshoes on my feet, regretting I’d taken the time to eat at the first bridge. Walking through these woods at night wasn’t a memory I wanted, but at least I knew there was life nearby.
I snapped the snowshoe buckles into place, picking up my pace when I set off through the snow again. I worked my ski poles, feeling my thighs burn after a few minutes. I trained my eyes on the coastline in the distance, imagining the tiny seaside village that might appear just around the edge of the next bend in the cliff. I moved faster, encouraged when another boat appeared on the opposite horizon, making its way slowly into the same port. It disappeared around the same bend, and tears of joy began to hover at my eyelids again.
Almost home.
I could feel it in my bones.
I broke around the bend then, the evergreens splitting to reveal a town, much smaller than I imagined, and far more charming. A few warm yellow street lights already twinkled at the end of a long dock, people and cars moving down the singular main street that curled along the bay.
“What is this place?” I hummed, smiling, turning my lips as I moved quicker across the snow, snowshoes no longer holding me back but shuttling me closer and closer to the hustle and bustle ahead of me. I reached the bottom of a small dip, catching the end of the street before it dead-ended at the rocky cliff.
The Sunday Wife: A Lockdown Thriller Page 10