by Vivian Wood
One letter does stick out to my eye though. It’s a plain envelope, the address done by a computer. At the top left it says that it’s from the national park service.
I flush, though there is no one around to see. It’s obviously a response to the last-minute application I entered to be an environmental scientist in the parks, testing various water sources for pollution. I mailed it with little thought, right while I was in the middle of exams.
It just sounded so good and refreshing to be outdoors in nature. At least, I convinced myself of that while I was practically living in the library, cramming to finish my master’s degree.
Looking at the envelope, feeling how light it is, I know that they somehow figured out the situation surrounding my application and rejected me. I can just tell.
When I open the letter, I read the brief note.
Dear Ms. Black,
Congratulations! You have been accepted to work in our national parks program for the summer of 2018. We have openings at the following parks: Olympic, Everglades, Zion, Badlands, and Pinnacles. Please respond with the park of your choosing to the following phone number…
Stunned, I put the letter on the counter. I never thought that I would be accepted, not even when I was a stressed out student, dreaming of living a different life. But here it is.
My mouth twists. I will have to turn down the offer, of course. It’s barely a job, earning a paltry stipend. What this job makes in a month I earn in a day by doing absolutely nothing, due to my family’s complicated trust structure. Besides, I have a job already.
I’m lined up to step into a job at Civicore. On top of that, I have a place on the board that I’ve had since I turned eighteen.
Not to mention the fact that Clay, my boyfriend of almost two years, has dropped some unsubtle hints that he’s ready to put a ring on my finger and start a family. He’s a friend of the family and he has a strong job at Civicore.
I purse my lips, thinking of Clay. He’s handsome in the blandest way, forgettable at best. I know that. It’s why my mother recommended him and why I chose him.
I’m not in the business of picking unforgettable men anymore.
Clay and I are already living together here in this huge penthouse. We just have to make it official, according to Clay. I don’t really know that I’m super excited to be Mrs. Clay Attenborough but… everyone else seems excited. So I’m going with the flow.
After all, it has been well documented that I don’t make the best choices when I lead with my heart. It’s better if I just step back and let life wash over me, allow myself to be submerged in it.
Sighing, I leave the letter on the kitchen counter. I scoop up my heels and head toward my bedroom, already unzipping the pastel pink sheath dress I’m wearing. My pajamas are seriously calling me.
A few feet from my bedroom, I hear a noise. A muffled laugh, maybe. The door is open just a crack. I frown, slowing down.
No one should be here. It’s the middle of the day. I am usually not home either, but the charity meeting I was planning to attend got cancelled.
Maybe I’m hearing things.
But no, that laughter comes again, accompanied by a sultry, feminine moan. Then a man’s voice, saying something in low tones. What in the world is happening in my bedroom?
Stepping forward, I push the door open a few inches.
“I love you, baby,” the woman whispers.
“You know I love you too.”
I stiffen. That was Clay’s voice, talking to a woman that isn’t me.
For a second, it isn’t real to me. I just can’t believe it.
The penthouse. Promotions at Civicore. A snazzy corner office. All things that Clay got from being my boyfriend. My parents like him for me and they have been grooming him from the get go. All he has to do is make me happy.
I mean, Clay would have to be insane to do anything but dote on me. And yet here I am, walking in on something nefarious.
That absolute bastard.
Slamming the door the rest of the way open, I’m treated to a view of Clay’s bare back as he thrusts into a moaning brunette. They both pause for just a second before reacting. Then Clay turns and sees me, his eyes widening in his handsome face.
“Oh, fuck,” he mumbles, clambering off the bed. “Rachel…”
I’m so disgusted that I can’t even see straight. His brunette sits up, covering herself.
“Is that her?” she asks.
For some reason, the fact that she would address me so makes me go crazy.
“Get the hell out!” I threaten, tears already coming to my eyes. “Both of you!”
The brunette rushes to get off the bed, grabbing her things. She takes the sheet off the bed and I don’t say a word. She comes to the doorway and I step aside, allowing her to pass. She isn’t the problem here.
Clay grabs a pillow and covers his cock. He has the audacity to sound reasonable as he turns toward me. “Now Rachel, let’s not lose our heads here…”
I swear, if I had the power to just strike him down where he stands, I would do it. Bunching my fists, I imagine lightning bolts gathering at my will. I could kill him, here and now.
But instead, I grit my teeth.
“I let you live here,” I say, my mood threatening. “You had it so good. You just seriously messed up.”
Clay blanches. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t sweetheart me,” I growl. “You are lucky that I’m not the stabbing type. Now get out.”
He shakes his head. “And go where?”
That gets me. I was shaking mad before, but now I scream at him. “A hotel room, like you should’ve done with that… that woman you were just fucking!”
“If you would just listen to me—”
I’ve had enough. “You know what? I’ll leave. When I come back, you had better have packed your bags and left. Tonight, I’m going to burn anything I see that belongs to you.”
“Baby, wait…” he tries again.
But I’m not listening.
Tears prick my eyes as I turn and walk down the hallway. I zip my sheath dress back up and when I get to the kitchen, I put my heels back on. I grab my phone off the counter, and the note of congratulations from the parks service.
Sniffing, I march out of my penthouse apartment, heading downstairs mindlessly.
How dare Clay do this to me?
And what’s worse is I don’t even know where to go with this information or who to tell. My heartless mother will just tell me to ignore Clay’s behavior and go shopping. My father will say that boys will be boys.
All my friends, if you could call them that, are too jealous of my apartment and my lifestyle to be any help.
My heart beats painfully. I wish like hell that I knew someone real, someone who would react to this news like a human being.
Today is one of those days that I really, really miss Grayson.
Wiping away my tears, I look at the paper I’m clutching. The National Park Service acceptance letter wavers before my eyes. And before I really even think it through, I dial the number listed at the bottom.
A woman picks up right away.
“National Park Service, Tina speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi,” I say tearfully. “My name is Rachel Black. I would like to officially accept…”
Chapter Two
Grayson
Thwack. Heave. Thwack. Heave. Thwack. Heave.
There is a rhythm to driving a pole deep into the ground.
Thwack. My axe lands on the top of the pole, flat side down.
Heave. I go through the motion again, a lurching reach over my head. Then I bring the axe back down.
Thwack.
It’s soothing, the rhythm. Or at least it doesn’t allow for thought outside of this moment. That is the best thing that I know how to do.
Find a million of these little activities, these things that need to be done with little or no talking or thinking. Do them all day long or until I think my back will br
eak or my legs might give out.
And it is the easiest thing to do in this job. As a park ranger, I find enough tiny jobs, filling my days with them. Move rocks. Dig trenches. Drive poles.
Do menial, slave-driving tasks from sunrise to sunset.
It numbs the pain at the moment, which is all I can ask for. Hell, I might even be so tired that I sleep a handful of hours tonight with no dreams.
Maybe.
A muscle in my left shoulder twinges, slowing the motion of my arms. I stop for a moment, straightening my spine. The muscle starts to spasm, growing more painful with every second.
I close my eyes and take off the work glove I’m wearing, swiping at my sweaty forehead. Then I rub my shoulder in tiny, concentric circles, just like my physical therapist at the VA used to do. The VA hospital where I was treated after leaving Iraq may be all the way back home in New York, but at least some of what they taught me rubbed off.
I grimace at the pain throbbing low. It spreads through my arm and reaches out so that I feel it in my side and my upper back.
Fuck. I must’ve really aggravated my shoulder.
Whipping the other glove off, I drop them on the ground and lean my axe blade up against the post. Grabbing my canteen, I wander a little up the wooded path until I have a view of the river winding its way down to a little waterfall.
From here, I have a pretty decent overlook down onto the mountains below, spreading out wide. Everywhere I look there is a pine tree, rising here as nowhere else in the world. Everything is so damn green here, probably because it’s actually a rainforest climate.
It’s actually pretty majestic. And here, closer to the waterfall, the sound of rushing water is louder. There is less room for my thoughts when there is a lot of ambient noise like that.
It’s one reason why I came here after I was booted from the Navy SEALs on a medical discharge. The solitude of being out on my own, under these great big open skies… it is comforting to me in a way that nothing else can be. Add the fact that I get intensely restless when I’m indoors, feeling like a tiger pacing its cage…
There is nowhere else I could be that would be better for me.
Not even New York. At least, that’s what I tell myself over and over, every single godamned day. I left behind my girl, my family, and my whole entire life.
And for what?
But then inevitably there will be something that sets me off, an engine that sounds like one I heard back in Iraq or even just a desert scene on the television. And then I am right back there, in the middle of all the chaos, trying desperately to get out of that Humvee for the millionth time.
The sound of gunfire and explosions in my ears.
The feel of hot blood mixed with tears as they pour down my face.
The tang of fear, cold and metal, in the back of my mouth.
The feel of the hot sand as I slither through it on my belly.
The look of my best friend in the unit, his eyes wide open for the last few seconds he is alive. He tries to say something to me but I can’t hear it…
I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart clangs against my ribs. My muscles are rigid. My breathing turns harsh. The memories threaten to overwhelm me. Automatically I go into my mindfulness meditation, leaning my head down and repeating my mantra.
“It is the year 2018. It is the fifth month, the month of May. It is the second day of the month, a Tuesday. I’m currently in the Olympic National Park. My name is Grayson James Sellwood and I am okay.” I suck in a shaky breath then start again. “It is the year 2018. It is the fifth month, the month of May. It is the second day of the month, a Tuesday. My name is Grayson James Sellwood and I am okay.”
On the third repetition my muscles start to unlock. On the fourth, my breath comes easier. I repeat it six times in total before my heartbeat slows.
Then I open my eyes, guzzling the water in my canteen.
I’m better, I swear I am. Not good but better.
It’s only been the last three years that I have been even remotely able to control my panic attacks, to shut off the valve by repeating my mantra. Even two years ago I would’ve spent the rest of the day trembling and worrying about my mental stability.
Afraid of falling down that dark hole again, being committed to a facility like I was when I first returned. Well, okay, I spent three months total in Bellevue Psychiatric Facility, in four different stays.
But that’s all behind me now as long as I stay calm and keep my mind occupied.
Looking behind me at the four poles whose tips I’ve buried in the ground so far, I wipe away another sheen of sweat. I have about another hour of work to do here and then I have to get myself cleaned up for the tour group that is coming in.
Leading the tour groups through the main base camp and telling them about what we are working on is definitely my least favorite of my tasks. I don’t even try to pretend like I like it anymore, not since I had a panic attack last month.
The National Park Service and my boss Nate don’t love my attitude, but they like having a 6’3 former Navy SEAL in full panic mode even less. Or that’s what I figure, anyway.
All I know is that I’m great at every other aspect of this job. I hope that’s good enough for the NPS because I cannot lose this job. It’s basically all I have left.
As I finish my break and walk back to my axe, an off-roading Jeep pulls up, filthy as the original sin. My best friend since we were kids sticks his head out, his short dark hair falling in his eyes. Aiden grins.
“Just the man I was looking for!” he declares, sliding from the Jeep.
Aiden’s as tall as I am and built like an absolute machine. With those dark green eyes, that particular kind of charm, and that hot temper, he is the polar opposite of me. While we might have some physical similarities like our height and our muscular builds, our personalities suit because we are so far apart in temperament.
I glance at him. Aiden might be fine now, but his anger is always right below the surface, touching everything in his life. That quick temper of his makes me look positively blissed out sometimes.
Aiden is also the reason I got this job.
“I thought you were in some town in east Washington. Wasn’t there a barmaid there that you were wild about?”
Aiden shrugs. “The novelty wore off.”
My lips tug down into a frown. “What are you doing all the way down here? I thought you were assigned in the Okanogan, almost in Canada.”
He pulls a face. “I was coming down from the border anyway, so Nate asked me to stop and check on you. Apparently you aren’t doing so well taking the tour groups around.”
Annoyance floods my veins. Aiden has come over to the Olympic National Forest to babysit me. Again. He’s a full-time ranger too, but wrangling me has become his side project over the last three years.
Fuck, I really did think I was doing better…
I just want to feel like I’m getting better and still somehow be left the fuck alone. Is that too much to ask?
Only I know it is, because my boss Nate is having Aiden drop by. If I could just be left the hell alone with my thoughts for a few years, at least…
“Grayson?” Aiden prompts.
“I see,” I reply, my expression as stony as I feel. Emotions swirl just below the surface, but I keep a tight lid on them.
Aiden just continues on as if he never heard me. “Look, who else gets an excuse to hang out? No one, that’s who. Knock off whatever you are doing here for the day and come with me. It’s been a while since we chilled. I grabbed some beers…”
It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice. So I shrug and agree. Climbing in his Jeep, I stare out the window as we snake down the mountain path, heading for the National Park Service base camp that is nestled in what we call the Big Valley.
Heading into the camp from here, we almost come upon it by complete surprise. One second, we’re looking at more hilly terrain. And then the camp appears as if by magic, the big wooden mess hall standing pr
ominently, a whole host of smaller buildings behind it. In the distance, there are little cabins sprinkled here and there for the staff and a huge ropes course leading up into the trees.
Aiden parks his Jeep by the mess hall but doesn’t try to force me to go in. Which is good, because I don’t like to be inside anyplace for more than a couple of minutes. Instead he grabs a cooler out of the backseat and heads to the outdoor lounge area where a few hammocks are strung up.
“This cool?” he asks.
“Yep.”
He opens the cooler and grabs a beer. Tossing it to me, he cracks open one for himself and makes a satisfied noise as he tastes it. Then he jumps into one of the hammocks, making a pleasured noise. I roll my eyes just a little at the amount of contentment he’s getting from this whole exercise.
Climbing into a hammock and kicking back, I eye him as I open my beer. He sips his contentedly but I am not particularly interested in mine right at this moment.
For a couple of minutes, there is silence between us. Aiden pulls out his phone and fiddles with it. No doubt texting someone blonde and buxom, if I know him at all. Then he puts the phone away and looks at me.
“Sooooo…” Aiden begins. He looks antsy, tapping his fingers against the can. “You talk to Olivia lately?”
I nod. “She is coming out here full time soon. I mean, assuming that she finds a job.”
He shifts, seeming to try to broach something. I wish that my stays in the mental hospital hadn’t made him so cagey. Then again, if wishes helped anything we would live in a different world.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound too testy.
He sends me a look. “You are going to be mad about this.”
I grimace. “Go on, then.”
“Since you don’t want to lead tours, Nate found another job for you.” He gets a pinched look on his face. “We are getting a geologist sent out here to test all of the water sources for pollution. And since you don’t want to lead tour groups—”