“Do you have The Professor’s House and O’Pioneers too because Cather tends to be under-represented amongst her contemporaries?” I ask as I scour the shelf he pulled the book from.
“Hemingway and Fitzgerald are some stiff competition.” I don’t bother to hide my shock. First, he happens to pull one of my favorite books of all time off the shelf. Then he knows Cather’s contemporaries? He steps next to me, smelling of cedar and wintergreen. “But I think you mean, ‘Do I have The Professor’s House and O’Pioneers?’”
He points to the lower shelf, where not one, not two, but all of Cather’s novels and short story collections sit waiting for a customer.
I shake my head, unable to believe my eyes. My finger stops at each volume as I read the title. Death comes for the Archbishop, The Song of the Lark, A Lost Lady… I can’t believe that even her obscure early novels nest among the well-known ones. Bookstores never carry all her volumes. Ever.
Jeb rests his hand on my hunched shoulder. A stray finger finds a small piece of exposed skin. The jolt snaps my attention away from the books, and almost into his lap. While I may not be completely myself, I am still a woman. “Would you like to see the rest of the store or do you want to start reading?”
He wraps his arms around me and brings me to his chest. His forehead and mine touch, a posture I feel will fast become habit. I glance at his lips, mere inches from me, then stare down at the book in my hands. How would Cather feel about a stranger gifting her a bookstore? I immediately know the answer, because it’s the same answer the very core of my being screams at me.
“No,” I whisper. His body stiffens. I pull away from him, afraid to meet his eyes. I don’t want to see the disappointment and hurt that must be floating around in the gold and green flecks or worse, the anger and frustration that might be there instead turning his eyes into scary black orbs. “Jeb, no.”
I back further away, still avoiding his gaze. “It’s too much. Too much, too soon. I’m sorry,” I cry. Without waiting for a response, I run out the door and sprint down the street. My heart races in my chest.
I climb the stairs to my apartment two at a time, shove the apartment key in my pocket, and lock the door behind me.
Jeb confuses me. I can’t make sense of who he is and who he isn’t. He’s a singer of local rock star status. He is an avid outdoorsman. He runs, bikes, hikes, climbs, kayaks. He probably skis and snowboards too. He leads expeditions around the world. He writes for magazines. He goes on digs. He is educated. He is caring and passionate. He is romantic and thoughtful. He brings me my favorite baked goods. He sings my favorite songs. He knows my favorite author. He knows everything I like.
He knows everything I like.
He shows up at the diner I work at in the middle of nowhere. He buys an outfitter in that same middle of nowhere, and now a bookstore with a writing nook. How perfectly planned, how perfectly perfect. And that store, those handmade wood shelves, antique hutches and cupboards, the collections of old books. It had to take him weeks and weeks, probably months to find everything—long before we started hanging out, long before I even knew he was in town.
Cassie’s warning comes rushing back to me. I think Jeb is developing an unhealthy obsession with you.
Cassie spent only a few minutes with him, yet she noticed something I failed too.
And what of his dark side? A shade lowers and the fun, loving, free spirit disappears into someone else, someone frightening, someone capable of anything. Images of broken bodies and spilled blood come rushing back to me—Isaac, the hotel bartender from the reunion that attacked me and was found dead the next morning, the tatted ogre from the club the other night that wrapped his meat hook around me, or the way Jeb exploded onto the dance floor and beat the crap out of those guys harassing Cassie. I remember ambulances running up and down the street all night. They were so loud I buried my head under the pillows, and Fischer crawled into bed with me, whimpering. Are they dead too? Did Jeb kill them? Is he capable of murder?
No, I don’t believe it. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He was with me—until he wasn’t, but even so, his violent outbursts were the direct result of protecting me, keeping me safe. That’s much different from taking someone’s life. Jeb’s not capable of murder.
I jump when the door knob twists back and forth.
Then a knock.
“Tiffani, let me in. I know you’re in there. You took the key. Open up so we can talk.” He waits a few seconds. “Tiffani, I’m sorry I scared you. It’s a lot to take in. Open the door so we can talk about it.”
I bite my thumb and watch the door.
“Tiffani, open up. I can explain everything.” His words sound desperate, but tight and clipped, too. I imagine his shoulders stiff and his jaw clenched—the scary side. As if in afterthought, he adds, “Please, Tiffani.”
I sit on the sofa and clutch My Antonia to my chest.
“Fine,” he snaps. “I’ll give you some time to think.” I hear him stomp away, but I know he didn’t go down the stairs. I tiptoe to the door. From somewhere down the hall, he releases a deep, frustrated grunt than takes a sharp inhalation. He wrestles with himself for several minutes to regain composure. When his breathing is less jagged, he steps back. “I apologize for yelling at you. I never meant to. I only want the best for you, Tiffani.” The sincerity I’ve come to know and long for returns to his voice. “I think I might be falling in love with you and that scares the hell out of me,” he confesses in a hushed whisper. I rest my hand against the door, imagining his hand touching mine. Our bodies separated by a mere two inches of wood. He lets out a heavy exhale, as if releasing all his tension and frustration in one mighty acknowledgement of defeat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I listen for his retreating footsteps down the rickety stairs before I let out a long exhale of my own.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I take off down the trail at a breakneck pace. I run to escape the mind-numbing emotions tumbling through my brain. The heartache. The loveache. The friendbreak. When tears start to pool at the corner of my eyes, I run faster. Fischer isn’t coming back. Gasp. I need to go on without him. Sigh. Drew and Cassie abandoned me. I am alone. All alone.
Black spots rim my vision, but still, I push. Still, I keep going. I suck in fresh air and release the frustration. The hurt. The pain.
But I’m not alone, am I? I have Jeb. Jeb takes care of me, my knight in shining armor. Hell, he bought me my own bookstore. His life seems to revolve around my own. He caters to my wants and needs much more than Drew ever did or could. But I think that’s the problem. I’ve always had someone taking care of me, safeguarding me from the cruelties and uncertainties of the outside world.
I’ve never been on my own. I’ve always had a boy waiting to care of me, to make decisions for me, to guide me down his path instead of my own.
Some female rights activist I am. Willa Cather and Gloria Steinem would be horrified. I push myself harder down the trail, running faster than I’ve ever dared to go before, faster than I probably should given the uneven terrain and the loose gravel, but I control the speed of my run, just as I control the forward trajectory of my life.
My tank top clings to my chest and back. Sweat pours off my skin. My racing heart matches the frantic pounding of my feet.
A huge deadfall blocks the path to the gorge. I immediately know the complicated bramble of thick trucks and downed limbs is too heavy to shove off the trail, so instead of stopping, I jump up and climb. A red-tailed hawk soars above me, the lone predator searching for its prey. I leap off the pile, but I don’t judge the height correctly or the steepness of the grade. I land hard and take off too fast. The loose gravel makes it impossible to slow down and catch my footing. My arms windmill to keep me upright, but my body tilts dangerously forward. Just as I’m able to slow down, another downed tree blocks my path. I’m moving so fast and so out of control that I can’t stop, so I leap over the tree. As I land, I realize another tree crisscrosses the one I just jumped, creating a com
plicated hopscotch designed to ensnare and destroy. I attempt to jump again, but Newton works against me. My right foot hooks under the fallen tree, as the rest of my body soars through the air like the red-tailed hawk until I plummet to the earth with no wings to save me.
I lay still for a long time without moving. The smell of moist, decaying earth permeates the air. When my lungs no longer burn from want of oxygen, I experiment with my eyes, opening and closing them a few times. The trail and the sky bleed together into a patchwork of blue, brown, and green.
I scrunch my face and purse my lips. Tiny stones bite into my chin and cheek, but all facial features seem to be where nature intended. Without further physical trials, I push myself up. Fireworks erupt behind my eyelids as sharp pains shoot across my chest, softened only by the searing agony in my right leg. I scream out as I collapse.
I take shallow gasps in and out as I lay in my bed of rock, dirt, and tree litter, now stained with blood flowing from the cuts and gashes on my legs, arms, and face.
I clench my teeth together and push myself up again. Excruciating pain seizes every square inch of my body. I crumble in a heap of broken bones and gaping wounds. Pieces of rib jab into my chest and lungs with every breath I take. I confine myself to tiny mouthfuls of air, exhaling as quickly as I inhale, but it’s not enough. My god, it’s not enough.
A shiver runs through me, as the tips of my fingers and toes start to feel cold. The sun is still high enough in the sky to keep me warm, but in less than two hours, it will set, and the temperature will drop. Then, I’m royally screwed.
I push up again. A loud scream escapes from me as I manipulate my right leg to unhook it from the tree. Bright flashes of white and yellow distort my vision. Blackness creeps in on the borders of consciousness.
I clench my teeth and work to free my leg. The pain overwhelms me as my foot crashes to the earth, my body collapsing with it. My lungs demand air, but every inhale feels like a knife stab to my chest. Each breath explores a new cruel and unusual method of torture.
Sharp stones dig into my face and arms, but this pain I welcome. This pain tells me I’m still alive.
A wooly caterpillar inches across my arm. It’s tiny legs suction cup and release my skin as it makes its way to some unknown destination. With all my attention focused on the inch of fuzz, I can almost transcend my present situation. I can almost forget the intense pain shooting through my body.
The caterpillar reminds me of those survival shows Drew and I used to watch together. The one with the seasoned military husband and the non-outdoorsy journalist wife inspired our own survival show, “College Grads Go Wild.” I smile at the memory, and a burst of warmth rushes through me. According to the experts, the keys to survival never change regardless of the situation.
The victim, I suppose that’s me, must keep a level head. Since my head is on the same plane as my body, that shouldn’t be a problem.
I need to avoid sudden movements, unless of course I want to pass out and leave my remains to the turkey buzzards that will circle overhead soon.
Okay, first, inventory your resources.
A phone would be nice, but silly old me doesn’t bring a phone when I run. Never needed one when I had Fischer. Poor Fischer.
Big fat tears plop to the ground. I blink a couple times to stop crying. My luck, I’ll cry so much I’ll dehydrate myself. I imagine the headline: 22-Year-Old Breaks Every Bone in Body but Dies of Dehydration as a result of Eyeball Fluid Loss.
Water and food would have come in handy. I thought about grabbing my water bladder and a handful of gels, but my desire to escape into the wild as soon as possible eliminated any and all preparation aside from my running shoes. I glance at the caterpillar crawling across my arm. I seem to remember that caterpillars provide a high source of protein, but the thought of biting into that hairy insect makes me want to puke. I’m not dying yet.
Goosebumps erupt across my arms. Another cruel reminder that in my hurry, I left my sweatshirt back at the apartment, and while it may be spring in Wellsboro, it’s still a typical Pennsylvania back mountain night. If I don’t die of dehydration, I’ll probably die of hypothermia. With any luck, I’ll pass out long before then. Although, the plunging temperatures should numb my broken bones and coagulate my blood. That’s consoling.
I could climb over the downed trees and crawl back to civilization. I twist backwards to assess the final deadfall that brought about my demise. My dark humor disturbs even me, but it’s better than what I really want to do, and that is cry my eyes out.
I can see at least two, if not three fallen trees, immediately behind me, followed by another cluster or two of dead trees, followed by five miles of trail to cover. Should be a simple crawl expedition.
I drop my head. Sharp stones tear fresh patches into my cheek, but what’s a few more cuts in the grand scheme of things? I do my best not to pant. Panting causes the broken ribs to jab into organs that nature never intended.
My eyes follow the curve of the trail downhill for as far as I can see. The path appears free of debris, except for the eight miles of rough terrain to my apartment.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I couldn’t run a short three-mile loop through town or at least the five-mile Rim trail loop. No, I had to take the longest, most remote trail this side of the Susquehanna River. Yep, that’s what I do. I fuck things up. I fucked things up with Drew. I fucked things up with Cassie. I probably fucked things up with Jeb. I definitely fucked up my job, and now, I fucked up my life.
And sadly no one will even notice if I’m gone. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to either one of my parents—gin and scotch runs once a week, sure. Conversations with their daughter? Uh, never. Mrs. Sullivan may eventually notice, but she’s been in the hospital with some heart trouble. Walter harassed me the first time I skipped work without calling, but then he hasn’t been up—either my flirting turned him into a big softie or the more likely, he decided the climb up the stairs wasn’t worth a trip to the ER. Drew’s not talking. Cassie’s not talking. I’m all alone.
There’s no point of waking up every day if life’s so shitty, so fucking shitty. Let the crows peck out my eyes and the maggots devour my rotting flesh after I’ve succumbed to a blissful state of nothingness instead of the torture twisting and wrenching my body.
A twig snaps.
Tears spring to my eyes at the cruelty of it all. Some bear will tear me apart and make me his dinner while my heart still beats and my lungs still pass air. I suppose it’s fitting that in the end I shall be bound to the wilderness I’ve come to love.
I try to locate the source of the noise, figuring its better to know what’s going to eat you, and what I see takes my breath away.
A brilliant yellow, almost white sun hangs low on the horizon. Dazzling shades of orange, red, pink, and purple stretch across the sky. Never in my life have I witnessed such a rare moment when the Earth orchestrates all her elements into a symphony of triumph. I realize I alone determine my fate.
I shift back onto my elbows and heave myself over the first branch. My body wars with me. Pain returns with a vindictive brand of vengeance, but I refuse to be daunted. Today will not be my end.
I lunge for the first downed tree and crash hard against it. My ribs splinter into teeni-tiny pieces. My last whisps of air are knocked out of me. I lean heavy against the tree, feeling the gnarled bark in my torn palms. I take the shallowest of breaths and focus on the next hurdle—a pine tree riddled with jagged wood stakes that would frighten the most powerful vampire.
I ease off the tree and try to balance on my good leg, but my knee buckles. The movement sends me flying toward the sharp spikes. I know this is how I will die.
My tank-top wrenches to the side as something razor-sharp slices my stomach. Fresh blood spills from the gash. My screams fill the air, as I fall, fall, fall to my death. Flashes of Fischer, Drew, Cassie pass before my eyes, and I smile at the memory of them all.
Time stands still, and I realize I’m n
o longer plummeting to my death. My tank-top caught on some broken limbs, stretching the fabric tight, but not tearing it. My shorts however, didn’t fare so well. Tattered strips of nylon hang from my waist.
I made it.
I actually made it.
Then everything goes dark.
Part Three
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I try to lift my eyelids, but they’re so heavy, so impossibly heavy. I try again. This time, I can see the tips of my eyelashes before they slam shut.
Everything in my head is blurry.
Vague images appear just below the surface. I can’t make sense of any of it. I dive deeper but thoughts whirl inside my brain on a ferris wheel without a stop switch.
My lids feel like dead weights. I struggle to open them, but it’s no use. I can’t fight it.
And I’m cold, so freaking cold.
“Sleep Tiffani, I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” a man’s voice coos. A voice I think I know, but I’m not sure. “Sleep Tiffani, sleep.”
I decide to listen.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A blinding white light pierces my eyeball. I pull my head back, fighting the obnoxious beam of torture.
“Tiffani, I am Doctor O’Neil. You had quite a fall the other night,” a woman yells at me.
Fall? Fall. I fell? And why is she being so loud? Doesn’t she know my head is killing me? I try to open my eyes, but everything is kind of fuzzy like a pair of binoculars just out of focus. My eyes slam shut.
“She should regain full consciousness soon,” she shouts to someone. “It’s lucky you came upon her when you did. If she had spent the night in the canyon, she probably would have died from hypothermia.”
“I’m glad I found her,” the male says. The voice sounds too high to be Drew, but it reminds me of a song: a slow, seductive melody. A tiny voice inside my head whispers Jeb.
And Then He: A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel Page 12