Cover Your Tracks

by Daco Auffenorde

  She laughed. “Who cares about that traditional junk?”

  “I suppose you don’t want a ring either?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not a material girl. You know that.”

  “Every girl wants a ring.”

  She smiled. “Just don’t make it a diamond. I want a pearl so I can always remember how my little parasite burrowed his way inside my shell to make nature’s perfect little jewel.”

  He laughed aloud. “So I’m a parasite now?”

  “Well, I might call you my proverbial grain of sand.” She feigned a shiver. “Can’t stand sand in my bathing suit bottoms. It’s like being pecked to death.”

  “I’ll remember that for the honeymoon. No sandy beaches. Or maybe beaches but no bottoms.”

  She laughed. “I like both ideas.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Margo reached the snowshed sooner than she believed possible, a surprise, because she thought she’d traveled farther away from it. The truth was, she’d meandered back and forth across the terrain and hadn’t gone a great distance at all. There was enough daylight left that she could still see to build a fire. She’d watched Nick do it, and she could as well.

  Just before she entered the shed, a dark figure from within moved. She recoiled and raised her stick. God, no.

  Nick appeared at the opening. “Good job getting yourself out of that creek bed.”

  It took a moment for comprehension to set in. “You were following me? And you didn’t help? That is so fucked up.” This was the type of perverse game her father would play just to teach her a lesson.

  “You’re lucky you aren’t seriously hurt,” he said. If he’d even so much as smirked, she would’ve hit him with the stick. But his face remained as impassive as the tone of his voice.

  She laughed, surprising herself. There was nothing funny about what she’d been through. “You’re an asshole. I don’t need you. I don’t need your screwed-up games. And I certainly don’t need any more of your lessons.”

  His expression hardened. “You did need a lesson. And you still need someone out here who can take care of you.”

  “What I need is water.”

  When he took her hand, she burst into tears.

  “Come inside,” he said. “I’m starting up a fire. When it’s ready, I’ll boil some snow.”

  “I’m sorry. I …”

  His expression remained unyielding. He stood and waited for her to say more, but she couldn’t. What could she say? That she’d made a mistake? That she was a fool for not trusting him?

  “Apology accepted,” he said.

  She nodded and followed him inside the shed. Once seated, she wiped the tears from her face and watched him build the fire. Its warmth was a real comfort, but the sight of the leftover pheasant was an even greater treat.

  When the fire burned down a bit, he placed several pieces of the pheasant in the pan, along with the tail. “You need a little fat to keep the baby healthy. The tail is loaded with that.”

  Once she was settled, she began to consider Nick’s behavior. Why the games? Why hadn’t he just guided her down the mountain? Why sneak alongside her in the woods? The only explanation was that he wanted to keep her close, that despite his tough exterior, inside he feared being alone, dying alone. He wore no ring, said he had no family. He was a lonely soul. In this wilderness, the two of them formed a makeshift family.

  He looked at her as if again reading her thoughts. “What’s on your mind, Margo?”

  “You can’t really think I’m unhappy about my pregnancy,” she blurted out.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “Because it’s not true. I don’t know why I care what you think, but I want you to understand the facts.”

  No response.

  “Nothing to say?”

  He turned the meat over in the pan. “You seem to want to talk about this. So be it. You strike me as an unhappy person. If that’s the case, maybe you’re working your problems out in your dreams. It seems that something beyond our predicament has you worried. Probably been there a long time. And as I said, it doesn’t seem like you really want to be a mother.”

  She was momentarily speechless. Did this man really think of himself as some kind of armchair psychotherapist? “You have no idea what you’re talking about or what I went through to have this baby. This is my only chance to have a child. I went into premature menopause. My time was running out, and I had to make a choice. I chose to have a child. Did I want a husband and a family? More than anything. But sometimes you don’t get dealt a winning hand.”

  “Loneliness is dangerous. It’s dangerous for a soldier. I know. I think it’s just as dangerous for a mother.”

  Over the last several years, she’d maintained her own space. It hadn’t been easy, but being alone was better than getting hurt. It had been like a mathematical theory of opposites: the closer someone tried to get to her, the harder she pushed them away. Usually she pushed because of deceit—a foible characteristic of so many men in her life.

  “You’re alone too,” she said.

  He poked the fire. “You shouldn’t use a baby as a cure for loneliness. You have a full-time job. Who’s going to be the real parent? The child’s nanny?”

  The anger inside her burned hotter. How judgmental. The man was an arrogant jerk. Despite what he said, there was nothing wrong about wanting to have a baby to avoid being alone, or about wanting to experience the joys of motherhood with or without a husband. This was the twenty-first century. Single parenthood happened all the time, had throughout history. Parents died young, parents left. And so what if she hired a nanny or used a daycare? A lot of married couples did that when both of them worked full-time. She was no different than a divorced woman with custody of her children. Having a child was part of life, the natural order, and she for one knew that all too well, especially in her daily life at work. The hard, cold truth was that she didn’t want to have a baby alone, that she’d planned to marry Matt. The best laid plans.

  CHAPTER 27

  For a long time Margo believed that the relationship with Matt would work out—or maybe she’d fooled herself into believing it would. Out of convenience, she bought a townhouse near Lurie Children’s Hospital and farther away from him. The distance kept them apart, although they promised it wouldn’t. But life got busy. They stopped meeting for lunch, no longer went out on weeknight dates. They saw each other a few weekends a month.

  On a late Saturday afternoon at Margo’s place, they sat in silence, gazing out at Lake Michigan. It was summertime, and plenty of people were out sailing and windsurfing.

  “I wish I were on a boat right now,” she said.

  “We should get a boat.”

  She laughed.

  “No, I’m serious. Sail around the lake, take in the breeze, drink plenty of beer. Of course, you’d have to earn your keep as a crew member.” He grinned.

  How appealing. They’d do something that didn’t involve medicine. They’d spend more time together. But where would they find that time?

  “It would give us a way to unwind on weekends, something to take us into retirement,” he said, then reached over and took her hands in his. “I don’t just want us to sail together, I want us to live together. We’ll get married, if that’s what it takes.”

  An odd mixture of joy and disgust raced through her mind. How perfect would that proposal have been if he’d left off that last bit. “Was that a marriage proposal? Because if it was, it wasn’t very romantic.”

  “I’m being myself, which is a good thing. You thought it was once. Look, we both have the same goals. We’re great together.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a jewelry case. “Marry me, Margo Pratt Fletcher.”

  The floor underneath her feet caved in. She stared at the ring and then up at that irresistible grin of his.

  “Yes, I will marry you, Matthew McCann.”

  They kissed, and he went to the refrigerator and opened a bottle of champagne that they’
d been saving for a special occasion.

  “I’d call this the perfect ending to a rough week.”

  “Why so rough?”

  She sighed. “A ten-year-old needed a kidney transplant, and he didn’t get it in time.”

  “Yeah, that’s rough. Exactly why I don’t ever want to be a parent.”

  She sat back and stared at him. “You’re telling me this now? That you don’t want children?” It struck her that when they’d spoken about kids, he had always been vague. But he’d never said that he didn’t want a family. And he was so good with the young patients in the hospital. They loved him.

  “You always say kids are great when I talk about my work,” she said. “Why haven’t you ever told me this before?”

  “It never came up. The truth is, I thought you felt the same way.”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “You’re so career oriented. Like me. And you never really talked all that much about having kids.”

  “True, but you’re wrong, Matt. I want children. And you led me to believe you did too.”

  He exhaled impatiently. “I wasn’t sure. When you’re young those possibilities seem to be so far off in the future, but now that we’re getting older …” He shrugged. “Children change everything.”

  “Yes. That’s the whole point.”

  “They swallow up your life. Margo, you have your kids at the hospital.”

  “That’s not a family. That’s a job, and they’re my patients, not my own children.”

  “The truth is, I wouldn’t be able to live without constantly worrying about whether my kid would show up at the ER on any given day.”

  “That’s absurd. Most kids grow up strong and healthy.”

  “There are no guarantees. Look at what you see every day in your job.”

  “The human race has been having babies for thousands of years, and the population is doing just fine. As far as injury and illness go, that’s everyone’s concern. Any of us could get hurt or become sick any day. We still live our lives.”

  “Maybe so, but do you want me to lie about my feelings?”

  “No, but …”

  “We’re not in our twenties any longer. Chances of birth defects rise with age.”

  Her face flushed hot. She was only in her early thirties—young for a professional woman. Or at least average age. “You’re a doctor, so you really can’t think this way, Matt. We cure sick people. My God, if you were this paranoid about driving, you’d never leave the house.”

  “I’m losing this debate, okay, I admit it. Is there any room for negotiation?”

  “No, it’s not a business deal. You either want children or you don’t. If you don’t, then we’re too different to be together for the long haul. Do me a favor and think about it.”

  He shrugged, said nothing more, and she left the ring on her finger. She convinced herself he would change his mind, that this was only their first real talk about children.

  Now, as Margo considered Nick, yet another man who was telling her that she didn’t need to have children, she couldn’t let it go. “What about the hand you were dealt, Nick? Did you get a bad one too?”

  “Something like that. The only thing you can do after life doesn’t give you what you want is make your own luck. You like platitudes, so here’s one you’ll appreciate—there are no guarantees in life. Ever.”

  She folded her arms across her belly and felt the baby move—that was no platitude. Inside, she was carrying life, all that mattered in the world. Nick and Matt were so much alike. She knew she should drop the subject and stop talking, but she couldn’t, so she asked, “I’m just curious, Nick. Were you able to make your own luck? Because I sure did.”

  He didn’t reply, although his silence was as loud as the wind beating against the sides of the shed or the sizzling and popping of pheasant grease spitting from the pan.

  Still she didn’t drop it, her questions almost taunting. “Just why don’t you have a family, Nick? Can you answer me that, or have I asked too much?”

  He looked away and then met her eyes. “It was stolen from me. The war.”

  She didn’t understand his vague response, but she realized that she’d gone too far. She muttered an apology and dropped the subject. They were back to their familiar silence.

  After they finished eating he said, “Time to get ready to go up the mountain.”

  Her stomach clenched. “How will anyone find us up there?”

  “The shelter up the mountain is our only safe haven. This shed exposes us not only to the cold, but also to more wild animals. Plus, we don’t know how sturdy this structure really is. It could go down in a strong wind or from the weight of the snow on top of it. We go up the mountain and wait it out. I’ll reconnoiter daily when the weather is clear, and we’ll meet the rescue squad when they arrive.”

  She nodded. This was no longer a plan she could argue with. “It’s late, so I assume we’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  “No, we set out right now.”

  “What? It’s dark outside, and soon it’ll be pitch black. We can’t possibly climb a mountain in the dark, not after what I’ve been through today. You wouldn’t go last night, so why now?”

  “The snow is accumulating—almost two more feet since the train wreck. If we don’t get moving, you won’t make it up.”

  “All the more reason not to go up. What if we get stranded on the way? It’s not just me. You have an injured leg.”

  He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I’m fine. The cold helps. I’ve packed the leg in some snow from time to time. You might not have noticed, but I’m getting around fine.”

  It’s true, he wasn’t limping as badly.

  “I’m too tired,” she said.

  “Pace yourself, and you’ll do fine.” He stood, gathered up the cooking implements, placed the leftover pheasant in his bag, and shook out the pan. “I’m going outside to clean up and get rid of the bones.”

  She waited, doing her best to regain her composure. When he returned, he sat down, keeping a formal distance between them, then said, “I didn’t say this right away because I don’t want to frighten you, but you’re entitled to know. Here’s why we have to leave now. During one of my tours in Afghanistan, our unit went on a search-and-kill mission up in the mountains of the Zabul Province, looking to take out some key Taliban leaders. We set up camp on a plateau for the night about thirty kilometers from our objective. One of our men left the group to relieve himself and never came back. We assumed some hostile fighters ambushed him. I wish that had been true.” Nick looked down and scuffed his boot on the ground. “I’m sure you’ve never seen the remains of a man eaten alive by a leopard.”

  “You’re not seriously telling me—?”

  “There’s a snow leopard near our location. I found the tracks.”

  Margo gasped. “Snow leopards in Montana?”

  “I’m sure the cold brought him down. A lot of animals move to lower locations when it gets this cold. That’s why I’ve been able to catch our food so easily.”

  “How do you know it’s a leopard?”

  “Smelled the markings of his strong urine spray where I dumped the coyote remains.”

  “Not a bear?”

  He shook his head.

  “So we’ll stay here and keep the fire lit.”

  “That cat’s hungry, and he’s ready to kill. Without a real weapon, I absolutely cannot fight off an animal like him, not a cat that weighs upwards of a hundred pounds. He can take down prey three times his size, animals like elks or boars. Our situation is far more dangerous now than facing a rabid coyote or even a healthy pack.”

  She stared into his eyes, hoping for some indication he was joking. He wasn’t.

  “Leopards usually shy away from humans, but we don’t want to take a chance. Like I said, you’re pregnant and hormonal. Which makes you vulnerable.”

  She began to shake.

  He rose and extended a comforting arm. “We have
to make for the shelter now.”

  She stood but remained in place. “Cats hunt at night. Your story about the soldier confirms that.”

  “When the fire dies down in the middle of the night, the leopard might get brave. It’s already sniffed out the coyote remains, and I’m sure he smells the pheasant.”

  “What if we get rid of the rest of the bird? We maybe could take shifts tending the fire.”

  “I plan on using the leftovers to get the leopard off our trail when we leave. It’s our only diversion.”

  He walked over to the woodpile and retrieved a stick about four feet long and three inches thick—far too large to stoke the fire. He gathered vines and twigs, secured them with sheets of bark to one end of the stick, and coated the binding with the fat left over from the pheasant. Holding up the staff with a flourish, he said, “A makeshift torch. The fat will help light the fire and keep it going.”

  She examined the torch. It was an ingenious contraption. “It’s like a giant match.”

  “Precisely.”

  He lit the stick, and they left.

  Don’t look back, don’t question the decision, just keep moving.

  He set the pace, and to her surprise, she kept up with him. He was a good guide, which she never doubted. He knew how to avoid the larger mounds of snow and the many pitfalls, like possible sinkholes and iced-over streams. That said, within an hour, she needed rest. Adrenaline had been her friend, but now the lactic acid was breaking down and her extremities were beginning to burn. Still, she forced herself to go on.

  When he stopped abruptly and reached a hand back to block the way, she stumbled forward but quickly righted herself. Waddling a few steps more, she walked up alongside him. What she saw made her heart sink. A massive, impassable mound of snow blocked their way—too high and too steep for Nick to climb even if he hadn’t had a pregnant woman in tow. To the right was a sheer drop-off. To the left was denser forest.

  So, Nick wasn’t perfect in his quest for survival. He could get lost too. She got no schadenfreude from this; she wanted him to be perfect.