by Landon Beach
Nolan stubbed out his cigarette. He did not reach for another. “You never get used to seeing an innocent life taken.”
Patrick was about to probe deeper when they were interrupted by frantic knocking at the door. He and Nolan were up in an instant, but before they could reach the handle, the head administrative assistant, Gabrielle Howe, rumbled through the doorway. She was out of breath, her normally smooth auburn hair looked like it had just survived a wind tunnel, and the armpits of her light blue blouse were soaked.
“Jesus, Gabby, what is it?” Nolan asked in a concerned tone.
She bent over to catch her breath. “The press is downstairs, and they want to talk now,” she said. “I don’t think I can hold them off any longer.”
Nolan looked at his Rolex and shook his head in disgust. “Fuckin’ bottom feeders.” He turned to Patrick. “Well, you ready?”
21
Sterling State Park, Michigan
2 Days Ago . . .
The golden sun was barely over the horizon, and Conrad Cranston and Stansie Russo made their way along the six miles of the Sterling-Marsh Trail. They were now on the 2.9-mile loop that circled Hunt Club Marsh. Conrad was feeling relaxed, strong. There were a few interpretive areas and an observation deck coming up where they could stop to rest and enjoy the solitude of natural weeps, chirps, and buzzes. Much better than the human-made machines that honked, blared, and beeped. The peaceful yet vibrant energy of the morning’s lush green surroundings, where everything was in focus and teeming with life, reminded him of his time with Brad on Lake Huron when they would sit in the stern of the boat, eating sandwiches and drinking ice-cold coke after a dive, feeling the sublime combination of the cool wind refreshing them while the sun warmed their bodies. Like those halcyon days on the water, there had been few words and much reflection on the trail so far today.
After a quick morning dip in Lake Erie to wake them up, they were now hiking with a purpose; working out was key to their physical and mental health—and to staying clean. Conrad had four Evian bottles in his backpack. Two were empty, and two had yet to be opened. They had started early because if they didn’t start early, then they risked skipping a day, and skipping a day meant breaking routine. Breaking routine meant that other ideas would begin to form as to how they might spend the day. And, from painful experience, when it got to imagining the possibilities for an unstructured day, the schedule always narrowed to one devastating event.
He was impressed by Stansie’s dedication, discipline, and focus. The moment they had left Don Russo’s mansion, he had started to wonder about life outside of the protective grounds. But it was Stansie who held firm every time he had pursed his lips and tilted his head to one shoulder and then suggested something out of the routine to try, always ending with, “Whaddya think?” She made sure they always had water and that they started every morning with a workout. While waiting for Nico Colombo to pick them up at the park, they had set up their tent and then had a sex marathon inside it next to the pile of black duffel bags—partly fueled by the excitement of their mission and partly fueled by their need to be close to each other. They had done push-ups and sit-ups on the sailboat while en route to the island, and she had asked Nico to lower the sails a few times so that they could swim around the boat for a few minutes. He had complied, albeit with a somewhat mystified expression. They hadn’t touched a single cold beer in the galley’s refrigerator even though Nico kept offering every time he went below to fetch one for himself. At the island, it had been more push-ups, sit-ups, swimming, and a stroll to the village of Put-in-Bay. They had wanted to recline in Nico’s sunroom that was built over the deck, but Nico had said that, unfortunately, they couldn’t because the decking was being repaired and refinished. There was also a strange smell near the sliding glass door that led from the house to the deck, but Conrad had determined that it must be some of the stain Nico was using. Anyway, the sex had been better than ever in Nico’s guest room, and they had followed the same exercise routine on the boat ride back to Sterling State Park.
She told him after the swim this morning that the baby she carried inside of her would be healthy, and nothing was going to stand in her way. Now that she had helped her father out, she would start making preparations for them to get their own place. Conrad had agreed in the way he always agreed with her: confident toothy smile on the outside, tornado of butterflies on the inside.
A few bikers whizzed by, and, as if Stansie was energized by the speed at which the bikes opened the distance between them, she picked up the pace. Lagging a few paces behind, he admired her strong legs and fit rear in her black stretch pants. He admitted that he drew strength from her determination, and that made him comfortable. His white t-shirt was wet under his armpits and underneath the backpack’s straps. One of the interpretive areas was coming up. He picked up his pace, and his long legs enabled him to draw even in half-a-dozen strides. She gave him a quick smile of approval and then focused on the trail ahead.
They stopped at the interpretive area, and he pulled two energy bars and both fresh water bottles out of the backpack. For a few minutes, they quietly ate and drank and looked out over the marsh. Stansie’s crinkling wrapper broke his attention away from a flock of birds that was flying low across the water.
He grabbed the wrapper and threw it in the open backpack that was at his feet. “You’re moving well,” he said, attempting to infuse a little athlete-speak into the conversation.
“Confession?”
“Please.”
“I’ve never been hiking before this trip.”
“Never?” he said, his voice flush with shock. “You must have gone camping sometime while growing up?”
She shook her head no. “We made trips all over the world to five-star hotels and beach bungalows but never any sort of hiking.” She took a swig of water. “I have been missing out. This is fantastic.”
“Always enjoyed the outdoors. Where I’m from, there wasn’t a lot to do, so you spent most of your time as a kid running through the woods or playing in a park.”
She took off her sunglasses and wiped them off with the bottom of her white tank-top. “My childhood was very controlled. As I got older, there was freedom, yes, but it was always with a few of my father’s men following at a distance.” She motioned to the trees, water, and trail. “I never had any of this.”
“Ever cross-country skied before?”
“No,” she said.
It amazed him. He felt closer to her than anyone he had ever met. But there was so much he didn’t know about her that would have come out in the first few dates had they gone that route. The explosion of emotions he had experienced as they had navigated rehab together had postponed the superficial, trivia-like information like favorite foods, favorite movies, and favorite places to shop for clothes. He had been somewhat fearful that once these details started to come out, they would find that they had little in common. And, for him, having little in common was usually a recipe for a short, sex-filled courtship with no future.
Fortunately, as particulars about their lives—interests, curiosities, preferences—emerged the past few days, he had realized that his fear was unfounded. They had many interests in common, and now he could add hiking to the list. In terms of drugs, they had tried everything on the menu, well beyond what most people would ever risk trying over a lifetime, and so anything outside of that realm felt new and exciting and worth a try. They admitted in counseling sessions back at Don Russo’s house that once drugs become the thing to do, all other options bow to the addiction first and then are eliminated by it.
“When this place is covered with snow in six months, we’ll get skis and hit these trails.”
“As good a workout as hiking?”
He exhaled in a laugh of defeat. “Yeah, just colder.”
She took a long drink of water and then looked up and down the trail. “What’s the name of that huge trail that ends in Maine? I’m drawing a blank. Starts with an A.”
; “The Appalachian Trail?”
“Yes.” She pointed to her stomach. “After this one is born, do you want to hike it?”
He looked away and didn’t answer.
“What is it?” Stansie asked.
He turned toward her. “Six years ago, I was supposed to hike the trail with my brother.”
She put her water bottle back inside the backpack and then rubbed his shoulder. “What happened?”
He told her about his wandering, his initial struggle with drugs, all of the planning and preparation that had gone into the hike by his brother, Brad, and his sister, Heidi. Then, he got to the morning when he was supposed to board the plane from Detroit to Atlanta.
“I had my bag all packed, was in the best shape of my life—with the exception of right now—and was staying at a friend’s house in Detroit who was going to take me to the airport in the morning. So, I’m in the guest bedroom bed, aiming my new flashlight at the ceiling and turning it on and off. My backpack is leaning against the small dresser in the corner, and my hiking boots and socks are lined up neatly in front of it. I think about how tomorrow is going to be a big step for me. I had been sober for about a year at that point, filling my time with hiking, camping, and working out with Brad to get ready for the trail. Not an ounce of fat on me. I turn on the light and do a survey of the room. Nothing moves. There are some old stuffed animals in a net above a corner dresser, and the light from the flashlight reflects off of their glass eyes back at me like they all have headlights shooting out of their eye sockets. I turn off my light, and my friend’s house is absolutely quiet. I close my eyes and start to breathe.
“Then I hear this BANG!” he said, hitting his right fist into his open left hand. “And it’s like the front door has been opened and ripped off of its hinges. I sit up, listening. Then, I hear the door shut. The hallway light comes on, and I can see the light outlining the door. I start to ease my legs out of bed so that I can get at the revolver in my backpack.”
“You had a gun? What for?”
“The trail. I had read about some fatalities over the past few decades and got spooked. I wanted to be able to defend myself and Brad if we got into trouble. Looking back, it was stupid.”
“What about your friend? Were you worried about him?”
Conrad paused and took a sip from his water bottle. It was a bit too planned, and she seemed to pick up on it.
“Oh, it wasn’t a he, was it?”
He put the top back on the bottle. “No. We had dated before, but it was long over. She just offered me a place to stay for the night because she lived close to the airport. I wasn’t worried about her because she said she was going out that night, and I hadn’t heard her come in yet. I thought her place was about to be robbed, or it was the police doing a drug raid.”
“A drug raid!” she said, looking to him. Her voice was full of shock and concern.
Conrad shook his head in embarrassment. “Her place was my party central for about a year. Strangers coming and going, you know the scene.”
She took her eyes off him for a second, perhaps recalling a similar place in her own history, and then met his eyes and waited for him to continue.
“I should have just stayed in a hotel, but the truth is that I liked her company and hadn’t seen her in so long that I wanted to catch up.”
“Do you still have the gun?”
“I’ll get to that. So, my knees are on the carpet in front of my bag, and I’m trying to unzip the top as quickly and quietly as I can. Then, I hear giggling outside my door. I relax a little, no longer feeling I’m in immediate danger. I get back to my bed, and the doorknob starts to twist, real slow, like in the movies. It opens, and she is standing there with a woman I’ve never seen before. When I asked them what they were doing, they said that they had been doing lines off of her patio table and, well...”
“You don’t have to tell me this part,” Stansie said. “What about the next morning?”
“I wake up alone, the sun shining in through the blinds. I know I’ve missed my flight. In fact, I’m so afraid to look at my watch that I take it off and sit with my head in my hands for I don’t know how long. Finally, I look at my watch: It is two in the afternoon. I pick up my cell phone, and there are missed calls from my sister. I know that I could go to the airport, catch a later flight, make up some lame excuse, and that the hike could still happen. I’d take some shit from Brad and Heidi, but once we started, all would be forgiven. After all, they had invested so much in the adventure, they would trade a day for the damn thing to still happen.”
“But you didn’t go to the airport.”
He shook his head no. “I went to the bank, withdrew my seven grand in cash—told them I was purchasing a used car and that I liked to use cash—and left two hundred dollars in the account. They give it to me in a half-an-inch stack of hundred-dollar bills, which fit right into the top zippered compartment of my backpack. I walk over to a rest stop, and the next thing I know, I’m traveling with a trucker named Roland on I-94 West.”
“Did you ever say goodbye to the ladies?”
“They were still asleep in my friend’s room when I left. Haven’t seen ‘em since.”
“Where did you go?”
“At first, I had no idea where I wanted to go—just wanted to get as far away from Detroit, and Brad, and Heidi, and the Appalachian Trail as possible. In hindsight, I was doing what I always did: self-sabotaging. The first half-hour in the truck with Roland was quiet, but then we started to chat. Tells me he’s been trucking for twenty straight years, working twenty-hour days and saving every dime, basically living out of the truck. Tells me he’s forty-two and going to retire next year. Got a college degree from Central Michigan University, no debt, was going to go into grad school but said the hell with that, the open road is a-callin'. It gets comfortable. I tell him I have everything but my dissertation in History done and that I just need a break from the grind. He doesn’t probe for information, and I don’t probe any further. I can’t explain it, but we realize that we both don’t need anything from each other. Then, I remember I’ve got a gun and seven thousand dollars in cash in my backpack, and I get a little nervous. But he’s got U2 in his disc changer, so I calm down. Says he’s heading west, all the way to Omaha, Nebraska to deliver a shipment, load up, and then bring it back east. I tell him that’s fine with me. Before we reach Battle Creek, we hit I-69 South and take it into Indiana, where we hit I-80 West. This is where Roland tells me, ‘Now we just sit back and enjoy the ride. Only highway we’ll need now.’ I buy us lunch and coffee, and then we spend the night in Illinois.” He took a swig of water. “Get an early start the next day. Well, we cross the Illinois-Iowa border, and he says to me, ‘Got a surprise for you.’ I start to sweat, not knowing what in the hell that means.”
Conrad paused to wipe his forehead, both because he was sweating and because it served the need of his dramatic rendition of the story.
“I had nothing to worry about. I see his blinker go on, and the next thing I know, I’m in trucker’s paradise: Iowa 80, Exit Two. Eight. Four, the largest trucker stop in the world. Good times, good times.” He toasted her with his water bottle. “I mean, they’ve got everything: a barbershop, a library, fresh showers, a better food court than the mall, a laundromat, a shopping center, a movie theater, a dentist, a chiropractor.” He smiled, remembering that this had been a good time in his life.
“So, what did you do there?”
“Ha. The better question is: How long did I do it? We have an incredible home-cooked meal at the Iowa 80 kitchen, then he says to me, ‘You ready for a Hollywood shower?’ So, I follow him into the gift store and we each purchase a shower ticket. I buy shaving cream and a razor—I hadn’t planned on shaving during the hike—and we head to the third floor where the twenty-four private showers are. I come out of there a half-hour later, feeling like I’ve been born again. We catch a movie in the theater, Roland introduces me to a few of his old driver buddies in the driver den,
and I sleep soundly in his cab.”
“Where did he sleep? Wait a minute, where did you sleep the night before in Illinois?”
“In Illinois, I told him I was fine sleeping in my sleeping bag outside the truck. He protested, but I didn’t want to be a burden. Now, the night I slept in the cab at Iowa 80, he was shacking up with his girlfriend in her cab. I guess they met there twice a week due to their schedules and made it work. The next morning, I hear the driver's side door open, and he asks me if I’m ready to get going. I tell him that I appreciate the offer, but just don’t feel like leaving yet. We shake hands, and he says that he’ll be back in a few days. I get my backpack, and he heads out.” Conrad paused. “You know how long I stayed there?” Another pause. “Two months.”
“How did you do that?” she asked, opening her eyes in wonder. Her voice had a beat to it that said, ‘Tell me more!’ Well, Brad had always said that he could spin a yarn. He agreed. Telling stories about past or even made-up events was sometimes more preferable than having to live in the present.
“I would just hang around, buy paperbacks at the gift store, take a hike during the day, stop and read, then come back, shower, and eat at my usual spot in the Iowa 80 Kitchen. Over dinner, I would scope out the diners, and after a week, I could spot who was hooking up with who, and I would follow them up to the driver den for a few nips of scotch. Then, I’d either get a recommendation of who to try and hook up with or one of them would offer me his or her empty truck cab for the night. Caught up with Roland at least once a week. Good dude. I met his girlfriend, Priscilla, and I’ve never laughed with anyone the way I laughed with them over dinners there. Even got invited to their wedding a few years after that. I never showed up.” He looked away. “I regret that.”