Running Up the Score

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  They went back inside, toddled really, as they were both a bit on the heavy side. I was reminded of the Weeble Family; they wobble, but they don’t fall down. That was mean I told myself, not everyone was blessed with an overactive metabolism as I was, and not everyone considered exercise fun, as I did. I re-adjusted myself in the hammock, fitfully repositioning the canvas pillow for what must have been the hundredth time. I listened to the steady hum of the rotisserie as it spun and the chickens as they periodically hissed, and went back to my book.

  Not ten minutes later, I heard a car door slam somewhere behind me. Then I heard low voices arguing. A tall man in a business suit pulling a young girl behind him came into my line of vision. I watched as he hissed through his teeth at her then shoved her toward the mammoth RV. He had her by her elbow and it looked like he was hurting her.

  “This is all your fault, and this is how we’re going to fix it! Now stop whining and grow up!”

  The venom I heard in the man’s voice caused my blood to chill. His tone, and the way he gritted the words out through clamped teeth, reminded me of Jared and the way he would admonish me when he was angry, when I wasn’t cooperating, when I wasn’t being the ideal, biddable wife.

  “I don’t want to do this! It isn’t right!” The girl whispered harshly.

  “Well, you didn’t leave us any choice in the matter now, did you?” Again, his words were gruff and spoken with disgust.

  “We’re going to get caught.”

  “No, we’re not. You just do as you’re told. And I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  They were walking just ahead of me now, almost to the “staged” patio when the man saw me. I closed my eyes and tried to hold myself perfectly still, as if I was asleep. But not too many people sleep with a book held high over their head.

  “Shhh!” he hissed again.

  Then I heard them knocking on the door of the poultry farmers’ mini-mansion. The door opened, the man and girl were greeted warmly, then the door was shut with everyone inside.

  I let out the breath I had been holding and opened my eyes wide. Just what the heck was that all about? And then for the next twenty minutes I tried not to think of all the things that could be going on inside that luxury RV.

  Were they abusing that girl? She was being made to do things she clearly didn’t want to do, that had certainly been more than evident. My mind shuddered at what those things could be. Oh, good Lord! Who was the man who had pushed the girl ahead of him? Was he her father, or someone else? And those scholarly looking people, what were they up to that “wasn’t right” according to the girl?

  I hadn’t taken a good look at either the man or the girl, but the vague impression I had was that the girl was in her teens and that the man was in his forties. I strained to hear sounds coming from the Shangri-La on wheels but all I heard was the steady whir of the rotisserie as it spun on the spit and the sound of tires on gravel as some boys rode their bikes on the road behind me.

  I let out a big breath and told myself not to let my imagination run away with me. I tried to figure out scenarios where everything fit and made sense, and where no one was getting hurt but nothing I could come up with justified the words I’d heard. Nothing legitimized the conversation and explained away my fears.

  I went back to my book and re-read the same paragraph for perhaps the tenth time. I closed the book; there would be no more reading right now. My mind was jumbled. I felt just like I had when I’d seen Angelina’s face on a missing persons flier at Wal-Mart all those weeks ago—sick to my stomach, scared and unsure what to do next.

  The door to the chicken farmers’ hut opened and the tall man came out alone. He walked briskly to his car without acknowledging me in any way. I am a very attractive blonde, I am wearing skimpy cut-offs and a low-cut halter-top. I have fairly long legs, which are shapely and nicely tanned. If that man was ignoring me, there was a reason, and I almost didn’t want to know what it was.

  Scant minutes later a pickup truck pulled up, dropped another young girl off, and spun on gravel as it hastily pulled away. I watched as the girl almost trotted alongside the lengthy motorhome. She was focused on the door and breathing heavily, walking quickly as if she was late. The door opened before she got to it, and she was admitted without knocking. She didn’t receive the same effusive welcome the first girl had. She was unceremoniously pulled into the camper and the door was shut behind her. I heard the locks click.

  I flipped over to the other side of the hammock, grabbed the lemonade in the sipper cup that I had barely touched, and carried that and my book inside. My new RV, which had seemed so big just an hour ago, seemed rather puny next to the Chicken Coop next door. I went inside to start my own dinner. The smell of chicken barbecuing had permeated my nose, but I knew I didn’t have a roasting chicken or a fancy grill to cook one on, so I had to settle for Stouffer’s Lean Cuisine Chicken Parmesan. That, and some Black Cherry non-fat yogurt for dessert would have to suffice for tonight.

  When everything was ready I took my dinner out to my tiny collapsible camping table. Even with a tablecloth, or should I say tablevinyl, I felt inconsequential next to the new neighbors’ set up. I noticed that the lid was now up on the grill and that the chickens had been taken away. Lights were on all over the RV, but as all the shades were drawn, there wasn’t anything more to see in that arena. I dragged my table over the lumpy grass until I was only a few feet from the ledge that overlooked the rising foothills. As far as I could see, I saw trees. Everything was a deep shade of green, the shadows of impending nightfall flitted as the sun fell. Streaks of pale yellow slivered between stands of trees, giving everything an ethereal glow. It was a view that cleansed my mind completely. As I watched the sunset spread its pastel palate over the entire area, I picked at my meal. Two thoughts played in my mind and I had to sigh out loud. One, was how unfortunate it was that I had no one to share this lovely view with, and two, what the heck was going on in that extravagant motorhome next door?

  Chapter Three

  A restless night had me waking at 5 A.M. As usual, the circumstances of my being on the run were causing me to have anxiety attacks that woke me with a galloping heart and an unsettled stomach. I was becoming accustomed to them and had a system: If one occurred before 3 A.M., I took a Lunestra sleeping pill to get back to sleep; if it happened after that, I got up, ate some crackers and cheese, and started my yoga or Pilates regimen.

  Not wanting to miss the opportunity to combine exercise with the visual of watching my first sunrise over the mountain, I grabbed my mat and went outside. The pastel tints of a new day were just beginning to creep around the edges of the horizon. I took deep breaths, stretched, and pretzeled my body while I watched the world around me come alive.

  I thought for a few minutes that I might be the only one awake in the Village, until I saw a sliver of light shining under the drawn shade in the Colossus next to me. Maintaining Downward Facing Dog, I watched as the door to the unit opened and the young girl I had seen yesterday slipped out and hurried to the road. I tucked my head under my arm, and upside down, I was in time to see her get into the pickup that had dropped her off yesterday.

  I didn’t think much of it, except that I thought she had been the one who had come with the tall man in the car. I went back to breathing, twisting and scanning the vista as I watched the shadows of night lift. My neck and shoulders weren’t cooperating with my loosening efforts, so I blamed Jared for that too.

  It had been a mistake to marry him. A woman swept off her feet by a man so sure of himself, so taken with the rapt attention he showered on her, she deserved what she got, I told myself. A smart, savvy woman did not commit herself to a man as quickly as I had. But he had fit the criteria most young, dating-to-find-a-mate women had: handsome, self-motivated, successful, confident, and with kisses that unsettled and threw caution aside.

  When Jared had discovered that I was still a virgin at twenty-two, he had produced a ring and proposed. I thought he was
perfect, so I accepted. Look where it had gotten me—six years of isolation, devotion so pervasive it bordered on obsessive, and verbal abuse I hadn’t recognized for what it was. I had been progressively stripped of my independence and coached into a decadent lifestyle I didn’t want before I finally opened my eyes and realized I had married a despicable, evil man.

  The fact that I had made a plan, bided my time, and followed it through in order to leave him, warmed me. I was coming back to life, to my life, to the person I truly wanted to be, needed to be—not the person he had been trying to turn me into.

  Had Helen Reddy been singing I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar, as the sun made its debut, I didn’t doubt I could have cartwheeled all around my campsite. It felt good to be alive again and I lived in the moment, cherishing the simple, everyday occurrence of night turning into day. The Stepford zombie Jared had been trying to turn me into was gone; she had been defeated by reserves I had finally mustered. I was always and forever going to be my own woman, no one was going to own me or use me ever again. I smiled at the winking sun as it filtered through the trees and made the dew on the grass sparkle. Yes, the sun was out, and so was I. I stood tall, grabbed my heel from behind and struck a perfect Natarajasana, or Lord of the Dance pose. It was going to be a beautiful day.

  I heard a door slam and watched Mr. Tall guy of the BMW sedan get out of his car and stride over to the Mega RV. The door opened before he got there and the young girl of the day before slid out to meet him. A few words were whispered, then he led her to the car.

  Hey, wait a minute, my mind screamed. Wasn’t that the same girl who left not an hour before? I made slits of my eyes, straining to take in her appearance. The girl had the same build, same hairstyle and color, same porcelain skin with freckles, same pointed chin and pert nose. The girl who had left this morning had been wearing an identical headband and bracelet as this girl. This girl even carried the same purse, tightly clenched in her fist. Even so, I did not think she was the same girl who had arrived with this man late yesterday afternoon. And just why was that? Why did I think that?

  Manner of walking, tilt of the head, something had clued me in, but right now I couldn’t place it. Of course, I could be mistaken. But I didn’t think that I was. Were they twins? I hadn’t noticed any resemblance at all yesterday in the two girls. What was going on here?

  My presence and avid attention didn’t go unnoticed. The man and girl could be heard arguing in loud whispers as they scurried to the car, hurriedly got in and sped away. How odd I thought, as the one word I deciphered easily from their tirade echoed in my head: “Caught.”

  Chapter Four

  I laced up my Garmont Flash XCR boots and grabbed my REI Venus backpack. It was full of all sorts of handy things: a Leatherman multi-tool, Kashi Honey Almond Flax snack bars, my cell phone, which was technically Brick’s, a Highgear TrailPilot 2 Compass, two bottles of citrus-flavored water, an ultra light Packtowel, and my iPod. I was taking a hike, my very first solitary hike, and I was as excited as a kid on summer vacation. Of course, I wasn’t leaving anything to chance; I wanted to be prepared for whatever came along.

  I could not wait to go exploring, to see the Wild West in all its glory. I had a map in my hand and a camera around my neck. The only thing I wished I had, but didn’t, was a set of binoculars; but I figured the zoom on my camera would do in a pinch. I locked up the Dolphin and made a beeline for the hiking trail beside the camp entrance and headed into the woods. Classical music was playing through the earpieces of my headset and I couldn’t think of anything better than listening to Rachmaninoff, while inhaling fragrant pine and walking on cushy beds of spongy moss.

  I had read that as the nation’s sixth oldest national park, Crater Lake National Park had a lot to offer other than the lake itself. I had an activity planned for each day, and today was all about hiking and enjoying the view from different vantage points along Rim Drive. I wasn’t up to taking on the whole thirty-three miles, but I knew I was good for at least three out and three back. The trail was marked on the map I had received at the Rim Village Visitor Center on my arrival and was rated as moderately difficult, so I plodded on.

  Mountain hemlock, noble fir, and too many varieties of spruce and pine to name, gave the air a heady, tangy fragrance that intensified the further I walked. The day was sunny and a balmy sixty-eight degrees so I was removing my vest not twenty minutes into my hike.

  Cobalt, sapphire, indigo, navy and azure came to mind as I looked to my left and tried to think of words to describe the bluest blue I had ever seen. The lake was breathtaking and, as I snapped branches under my boots and left them in my wake, I felt at peace for the first time in years. I was refreshed and euphoric as I climbed, and I knew it wasn’t all due to the endorphins of the rigorous exercise. I was losing some of the worry I had been carrying around and I was excited about what the future held for me. In short, I was energized. Like a kid on her way to camp, I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for me when I got there.

  The caldera below kept me centered and acted as a lodestone as I ventured on and off the path to sigh at the beauty of meadows filled with wildflowers, to watch adventurous chipmunks and to seek out views of the neighboring Cascade Mountains. I stopped to sit on a boulder to pick out the volcanic spires shown on the map and looked up just in time to see a bald eagle soar right past me. I was so stunned that it took me a few seconds to remember my camera, but he was kind enough to take a second pass and I got a great shot of him winking at me. I was thrilled beyond belief. The only thing that could have made the day better was to have had someone to share it with. I thought of Brick and the Great North American RV Rally he was attending in hopes of finding his little sister.

  The way his voice had cracked when he had spoken to me about her made me close my eyes against the sadness, just as I had then, on the last day we had been together. He had told me about the tragedy of her kidnapping four years earlier in a mall food court. She was his stepsister and he was watching her for his parents while they were on a cruise celebrating an anniversary. She had only been five when she had been taken right from under his nose. He’d been standing in line for Asian food, and had looked away from where she was sitting eating a cheese steak sandwich to pay for his meal. When he’d turned back to their table, she was gone. He’d been looking for her ever since.

  As an officer of the law, specifically assigned to a federal task force that was dealing with issues relating to just this kind of thing, he had quickly become frustrated with his inability to find her. The one clue he had came to him in the mail months later. A paper plate folded into an envelope with a realistic-looking stamp drawn in the corner had begged him to find her. She had written that the man who had her went by the name Snooks, and that he had one blue eye and one brown one. That had been four years ago, and he’d told me that not a day went by that he didn’t feel guilt like a heavy cloak weighing down his soul. It was the reason Brick and I couldn’t be together now. As attracted to each other as we were, we both had things we had to settle before we could concentrate on us. There’d be a time for us, he had told me, and I was happy to wait.

  I gave a great sigh, grabbed my water bottle, tucked the wrapper from my Kashi bar into my backpack, and pulled myself up from the ledge. From the angle of the sun, I figured it was time I started heading back—it would not do to be lost out here in the dark. Even though it was summer, the temperature could go as low as the 30s at night, and the animals who owned these forests were a lot bigger than the chipmunks I had been watching.

  Two hours later I walked up to my Dolphin and put my key in the door. I noticed that all was quiet next door, but the faint light coming from under the large window shade on the slide made me confident someone was home. Turning my back to go into my RV, I thought I could feel whoever it was watching me.

  I took a nice long shower, my elbows thankful that my new shower had a bit more room than my other one had. In my Atlantis, I’d had to remember to turn sideways to shampoo my
hair or bump them on the sides of the shower each time I moved. The Dolphin, although not spacious by any means, was quite an improvement.

  After drying off, I dressed in a jogging set and went to the kitchen to fix a snack. As I sat at my dinette eating my PB & J on Ezekiel Sesame Bread, I noticed a rather obese young man puffing his way to my neighbor’s door. He had short dark hair, an obvious acne problem, and he was perspiring heavily. I could see sweat soaking the back of his shirt. His thick-framed black glasses slid down his nose and he swung his arms as he walked heavily onto the faux patio. He reminded me of a tuba player in a marching band. He was certainly big enough to carry such a large instrument and he was already puffing as if he was practicing a Souza march. He knocked and the door immediately opened for him. He managed to squeeze his way inside and the door quickly closed. I saw the madam look over toward my RV, but I didn’t think she noticed me sitting in the dark, several yards back from the window, watching. But I thought it was interesting that she’d bothered to look.

  Half an hour later, another young man went to the door and gained entry. He was medium height with a wrestler’s build, he had big shoulders and muscled arms, with a nipped in waist. He had a cute button nose that looked like it might have been broken somewhere along the line. This was certainly curious, I thought as I took my plate to the sink.

  I decided to jog over to the camp store to see about renting a DVD to watch so I grabbed a peach from the fruit bowl along with a Handi-wipe from underneath the sink and headed out.

  Kim Bassinger was hugging her young rescuer in the movie Cellular, and the ending credits were just beginning to pop up on the screens of everyone’s cell phones during the finale, when I heard a car pull onto the lot next door. That was odd, the lot was one of the largest the Village had, but it didn’t have room for ancillary parking. I slid over to the bedroom window that fronted my neighbor’s RV and lifted the edge of the blinds so I could look out.