The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  “Get back over that fence this instant!” Camille snapped, pointing to the center of the crosswalk.

  “Got a bet with Darlene,” Austin said.

  “I don’t care if you have a pact with the devil himself,” Jackson said, appearing around Camille. “If you don’t get onto the right side now, I’m repossessing your truck.”

  Austin reluctantly climbed back over.

  Camille grabbed Darlene’s wrist before she could give it a try. “Don’t even think about it.”

  * * *

  That attempt from the young adults put a damper on everyone’s good mood. The group didn’t stay long at the site. They were back into their vehicles when Camille noticed the stiff way Jackson carried himself. It was as if a cloud of unrest had wrapped around him, pressing in on him.

  “Are you okay?” She touched his forearm.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, getting into the car. They drove past several signs before Jackson said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was caught off guard.”

  “No, you were fine. I understand completely. I’ve had my times, too.” She wondered if she should push the conversation. Would he want to talk or would he resist her intrusion? “Sometimes it helps to talk. Maybe get an objective perceptive. I know my daughter was about to do it too, but I don’t think—”

  “It wasn’t what they did,” Jackson broke in. “It’s what it reminded me of.”

  “Do you mind if I asked what that is?” She waited, saw the muscles in his square, stubbled face flinch. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her voice lowered as she glanced at the sky. Clouds had started to spread over the blueness.

  “No, you were fine. I’m sorry. I’m normally not like this. I’m caught up in a memory and I can’t shake it.”

  Camille stayed silent, hearing the pain in his voice.

  “When I was young,” Jackson continued, “I wouldn’t listen to anyone, just like Austin. It hurts to realize how much of my foolishness he inherited. Stubborn one, that boy is. Very stubborn.”

  “Also like his father?” Camille ventured to ask.

  He turned his head so fast to look at her, Camille thought for sure she had said the wrong thing. She waited for his rebuke, but he surprised her by smiling. “Yeah, like his dad in both the foolishness and being stubborn. You hate to see your kids picking up the same problems you have. I hope Austin can avoid some of the pain I went through.”

  “I feel the same way about my kids.”

  Jackson seemed to like that connection, as though it gave him what he needed to open up.

  “I used to take swims in the canal. One day my mom said I couldn’t because it was Friday the Thirteenth. She was superstitious. Thinking that was stupid, I waited until my mom was out of hearing distance and challenged my brother to a race. He didn’t want to get in trouble. I called him a chicken, flapping my arms like wings and everything. He tried to defend himself, but I wouldn’t listen and took off running toward the canal. He followed, yelling that I cheated. When we got to the canal, we both jumped in, laughing and arguing about who had actually cheated. Then I got this bright idea to race across the river.”

  He took a deep breath and Camille felt trepidation, suspecting the story didn’t end well.

  After a long pause, Jackson continued, “My brother was possessed. He had to beat me, but I couldn’t let him show me up, so I swam faster and faster. When I made it to the other side, I looked around to see how far behind he was, but I couldn’t see him.” He swallowed once and then again. “The officials discover his body three days later. They said he’d been caught in an undercurrent and . . . and drowned.”

  “No!” Camille gasped.

  “I killed my little brother.”

  Camille gazed into his eyes that were so much like a vulnerable child’s, wishing she could take away his pain.

  Chapter Eight

  The last rays of sunlight shot through the graying sky. A few passing cars turned on their headlights, beams not yet cutting through the darkness. Camille and Jackson had driven behind their kids for over an hour, their conversation drifting into silence, leaving only the dog panting around the bed of Austin’s pick-up truck. It wasn’t until the dog began a round of insistent barking that Camille gripped her seatbelt, mumbling.

  “Beg your pardon?” Jackson turned to her.

  “Your dog’s yapping. That’s supposed to be a sign there’s an evil spirit around.” The car lights hit the rustling vegetation.

  “Nonsense.”

  “Maybe.” Camille drew her lips tight. “They say a dog howling at night is a sure sign.”

  “I don’t buy that superstition stuff.”

  “I really don’t believe most of it either, but, honestly, this one has never failed.”

  “Care to place a bet on it?”

  “I’ll put my money where my mouth is,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll bet you another date to Yellowstone. If I win, you’ll agree to go on the trip with me.”

  “And if I win?”

  “You can have my service as Mr. Fix-It for anything you choose,” Jackson said.

  “What makes you think I’ll need your services?”

  “Do you want to take that question back?” There was a hint of laughter in his voice.

  “Generous, aren’t we?”

  “I try to be a gentleman when I can.”

  “If that’s the case, then you’ve got yourself a wager. And don’t think I won’t be staying up all night planning what you can help me with. That’s exactly what I’ll be doing.”

  “Whatever. Let’s set a time limit to make the deal concrete.”

  “Fine. Two weeks.”

  He laughed. “Two days at most.”

  “Okay, if in five days an evil person doesn’t make itself known, then you win.” Jackson shook her hand. She noticed the strength of his grip.

  “When did you learn to bargain?” he asked.

  “One of my many skills.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Jackson was still thinking about their odd bet after dropping Camille off. When he arrived at his own cabin, Austin jumped from his truck and ran up to him. “I’m glad that’s over. I think.”

  Jackson smiled. He knew he should be relieved to have time for his own thoughts, but if he told the truth, he was anticipating the next chance he would have to see Camille. “It was a fun day.”

  “Yeah, but that lady’s a bit weird, isn’t she?”

  “Well, Camille sure is a different breed.” He wouldn’t exactly say weird.

  “Yeah, and the nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

  Jackson laughed. “You’re saying Darlene’s odd too?”

  “Oh, yeah!”

  Jackson hurried into the house and found four messages awaiting him. He picked up the phone so Austin wouldn’t hear. Beep. “Hey, Jaxy, call me now.” Beep. “Jackson I need to talk to you, ASAP.” Beep. Click. Beep. “Jackson, call me. This has to do with your son.”

  The muscles in Jackson’s chest tightened. What was she up to? That woman was capable of making his life miserable if he upset her too much, and he didn’t think divorce would have changed that. He needed to call Maggie. Now, before she became more uptight. She didn’t sound happy about waiting. His breath grew heavy as he dialed. The phone rang in slow, seemingly drawn out time. Ring . . . ring—one, two . . . five. Finally, after six long rings, the answering machine said, “Hello, you’ve reached Maggie Armstrong. Leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you.”

  He left the message that he was returning her call and would try again.

  * * *

  Camille collapsed on her bed, not wanting to move. The day had been a welcome change from Halloween, and Jackson had proved to be a wonderful help in outlining her course and book. Maybe she’d give him credit on the front page. Tomorrow promised to be quiet and restful, with maybe some sightseeing. Perhaps luck would be with them and she’d find an arrowhead. Not that she needed on
e—she’d already bought several at the Old Faithful store—but to find one on her own would give her work an added sense of authenticity.

  The bedroom door creaked, and in tiptoed Darlene. “Good night, Mom.” She slipped over to the bed and gave her mom a peck on the cheek.

  Camille kissed her daughter goodnight and soon fell asleep. She was not disturbed again until sunlight sparkled through the drapes. She rose and gazed out her window. Island Park was a completely different place in the early fall morning—more heavenly. It was as if a painter had dabbed his brush in a calming pale blue with a touch of gray and spread the color over the sky, air, and water. Next, the artist took grayish-white oil and painted fog rising off the water and white clouds fading in the background. The artist wouldn’t be able to paint the clean, chilled air, but he would add the finishing touches of fog clinging to the surrounding vegetation.

  They were getting ready for their trip down the Reservoir when Jackson and Austin appeared. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to go to Big Springs with us to feed the fish,” Jackson said. “It’s sort of a tradition around here on Sundays.”

  Not being one to break tradition, Camille agreed. “Sure.” She almost expected Darlene to protest, but she and Austin were deep in their own private discussion, looking happy to see each other.

  During the drive, the scenery changed little. Tall, thin pine trees were everywhere, and the Tetons sat majestically in the distance against a pale blue sky. When they arrived, Camille could see two wooden bridges crossed the Snake River at Big Springs. She was surprised at how shallow and crystal clear the water was, and she couldn’t believe the rich golds and blues of the rainbow trout. Pieces of bread floated by the fish. Amphibians bit some crumbs and ignored others. The water gurgled around the stones in the stream, forming a current. All this, and the fresh, pine-scented air as well. Camille climbed on the bottom pole of the bridge’s handrail to get a better glimpse of the fish, smelling Jackson’s pleasant cologne before he spoke a word.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked as he handed her a piece of bread. “The forest rangers protect them. Fishing isn’t allowed.” Seating himself on the handrail, he changed his tone by asking, “See any evil spirits?”

  She eyed the crowd around them. “Lots of suspects.”

  “Suspects for what?” Austin questioned, joining them.

  “Evil spirits.” Jackson winked at Camille.

  Darlene approached the group. She had been collecting wild flowers and slipped some yellow and pink flowers in her hair. She hovered close to Camille and tugged on her shirt sleeve. “Hey, Mom. Let’s go. I’m getting hungry.”

  “But you gotta see John Sack’s cabin.” Jackson pointed to a log home nestled into the hillside.

  “Ohhh!” Camille said. “A historical site.”

  “It’s just a stupid cabin,” Austin said.

  “The hike’s short.” Jackson tapped his son on the shoulder.

  “I’d love to see it. It looks like it was built in the early nineteen hundreds,” Camille said.

  “Good eye.” Jackson herded the group toward the path. “John Sack was famous for his craftsmanship. He designed rustic furniture from conifers. Inside the cabin, the logs still have bark on them. That’s not something you see often.”

  “You sound like a history buff.” Camille fell in line behind him.

  “Carpentry interests me. The bark logs are incredible because they have been cut to fit exactly. You can see the white wood under the brown bark.”

  “Artsy,” Camille said.

  “It is.”

  The hike to Sack’s cabin had a rejuvenating effect on Camille. Her eyes feasted on the idyllic scenery that looked like it originated straight out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. A brilliant display of color harmonized throughout, from the rich earthy tones in the rocks that formed a path across the sparkling creek to the ivory clouds compressed over the purple-blue sky, the jagged mountains, and the thick forest of vegetation. When the group made it to the cabin, Camille was convinced this home had captured paradise.

  Soon they joined a group of other tourists, listening to the tour guide give his spiel. One of the first rooms they came to was the guest quarters with an old-fashioned bed and quilt for a bedspread. “Did John have a wife and kids?” Camille asked, hoping to hear that John Sack had captured a dream life, giving her hope that someday she’d find the peace and fulfillment she longed for.

  “No. He was interested in a young lady named Estelle, but she married Harry Phillips. He was the founder of Phillips’ Lodge.”

  “How sad. To live in all this beauty and not be able to share it with someone,” Camille heard Darlene say.

  Camille peered around the tourists to catch a glimpse of her daughter. Instead, her eyes connected with Jackson, who towered in the back above the rest. The same electric volt shot through her as yesterday on the Yellowstone trip. A flush of understanding came from him then and now. She had the unnerving impression that he could read her thoughts or at least know about her search for completeness. His eyes said that even though Mr. Sack hadn’t achieved completeness, that didn’t mean she couldn’t.

  The tour guide broke into their eye exchange by leading the group into the next room. Embarrassed, Camille avoided Jackson’s eyes throughout the rest of the tour and during the hike back. Before the group reached the cars, Darlene started into her normal complaints. “I’m so hungry. It’s going to be forever until we get something made.” On and on she whined.

  Barely listening, Camille wondered why her heart beat so hard. Could it be from the hike? Her heart rate increased further when Jackson said to Darlene, “Why don’t you and your pretty mom come over to my place? I’ll fix the best grilled chicken sandwiches you’ve ever tasted.”

  Camille tried to ignore the word “pretty” and the renewed wash of heat on her face as she said, “We could stop by my cabin first and grab ice cream. It’d make it a feast.”

  “Deal.”

  Camille went faint in the knees. What was Jackson thinking when he looked at her like that? Perhaps acting like an authentic family for a Sunday was like a nibble of normalcy, the ideal family they’d both lost since the breakup of their marriages. Filling the void for a day was a relief, a taste of heaven. Or course, she couldn’t forget this was just a substitute. She still craved to have the real thing with real love, not just go through the motions. Maybe he had similar feelings.

  Camille looked at the growing trees as they drove past. They had suffered a beetle infestation in the 1980’s. It had nearly wiped out the area. In an effort to recover, the forest rangers and locals actively worked at planting more trees to replace the loss. Someone had posted brown signs with yellow numbers painted on them, signaling when this batch or that stand of new trees had been planted. The land was starting anew, just as she and Jackson.

  She continued to gaze at the trees until a solitary black bird swooped down through the sky, catching her attention. The bird shot high in the air and then dove downward like a descending missile, landing on the telephone wire. There it perched as though it were a sentry. Camille couldn’t help but be amused. A bird landing in front of a person was a sign of an approaching enemy—so perhaps she would win the bet with Jackson after all. She’d better start thinking about the fix-it jobs she could have him do.

  By the time they pulled up to the reservoir, the sun had risen high enough to cast a golden glow on the flourishing life of birds, fish, and a multitude of creatures stirring in the surrounding forest. A satisfying contentment settled in Camille’s heart.

  At Jackson’s cabin, he and Camille set to work preparing lunch. They talked about their favorite dishes as Darlene sulked at the kitchen counter. Austin hung farther away, hands in front pockets, his face showing no emotion.

  Camille didn’t comment on their children’s obvious dismay, nor did she show any hint that she knew they were around. If she ignored their attitudes, it would do one of two things: either make the children’s pouting d
issolve from lack of attention, or escalate their disapproval. Either way, she didn’t have to worry about it for now.

  Hardly a word was spoken during the meal until Camille said, “This chicken is great, Jackson. You can cook for me any day.”

  “I’m at your service,” Jackson said with a nod.

  “Gag.” Darlene stood to take her dish to the sink.

  “Double gag,” Austin said, following behind.

  “Looks like we’re being typical parents,” Camille said. “Our young adults don’t approve of us.”

  “That’s right. We don’t,” Darlene said.

  “Then I guess you don’t approve of having ice cream,” Camille countered.

  “I wouldn’t take it that far,” Austin said, pulling the two containers of chocolate from the freezer.

  After they devoured the dessert, the group sank lazily into chairs or onto couches in the red and blue family room near the back of the house. Camille studied the masculine cowboy decor and must have fallen asleep when an angry exclamation erupted in the room, snapping her to attention, dazed and confused.

  It took her a while to realize where she was and that Jackson was staring out the back window, turned away from her. The exclamation had apparently come from him. She sat up to get a better glimpse of what he was seeing. Her movement seemed to startle Jackson, and he jerked around, looking almost surprised to see her sitting there watching him, but he quickly recovered. “I’m sorry. This might be awkward. I promise, though, it will definitely be a show.”

  “Wh—?” was all she choked out before her words were chased away by the sight of a stunning, china doll lady standing on the deck. The woman was a man’s version of perfection—curves, flawless skin, silky hair, and confidence.

  “Where are you going, Dad?” Austin mumbled sleepily from the couch. Then he jumped up, rushed to the door and threw it open. “Mom!”

  Camille walked over to Jackson, who offered his arm to her. Surprised at the gesture, she accepted. Then she knew why he had offered his arm: for her to support him. He was shaking. She grasped his arm more firmly. The tightness of his muscles steadied her, and she gave him a wide smile. She whispered, “Jackson, going anywhere with you is an adventure. I admire your free spirit.”