Stormer’s Pass

by Benjamin Laskin

  Ed Boswell made his fortune in real estate and owned his own investment firm as well as a number of smaller enterprises. He viewed the world as mechanical, a mindless machine, and believed that those who refused to read the instructions got squashed between the cogs. He was not brutal, nor was he excessively greedy or power hungry. Ed had a knack for business, and for him business was an end in itself, like a favorite hobby. He lacked political ambitions and turned down many invitations to run for office. He was registered as an Independent, and liked to boast that he always voted according to the quality of the candidate, not the party he or she belonged to.

  “Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions, Nan?” her brother said, struggling to maintain his composure.

  “About what you teach your daughter?” Ed said, twisting the cap off a bottle of beer. “Or about reality?”

  “Let’s just drop it,” Hardy said, the futility obvious in his voice.

  “Typical, typical,” Nancy sang.

  “What?” Hardy said.

  “Rather than dealing with something, you pretend it’s not there,” Nancy said.

  “That’s right,” Ed said. “That’s what we’re trying to say. You don’t live in the real world.”

  Hardy said, “What is real, Ed?”

  Ed laughed victoriously. “See what I mean? In the real world people don’t ask that question!”

  Hardy Thoreson groaned.

  11

  Cinderella

  The following morning at breakfast, Nancy announced that she wanted to do some shopping in town, and that she wanted Aidos to show her around.

  Aidos indicated the beautiful day outside, and said that it seemed a shame to forsake the forest and its solitude for the sidewalks of Pinecrest and its crowds of Sunday tourists. Nancy frowned and replied that it was her only opportunity to check out some of the Pinecrest’s newly praised art galleries, which were becoming a second drawing card for the town. She added coaxingly that she needed Aidos’ “expert opinion” in case she decided to purchase something.

  Hardy knew it was pointless to object on Aidos’ behalf. He praised his daughter for her bravery, and gave her his blessing. He joked, “And while you’re there, see if you can find one righteous man in that wicked place.”

  Aidos laughed, but Ed and Nancy, who were oblivious to the Biblical reference and didn’t know what he was talking about, ignored the jest, as was their habit.

  Nancy was thrilled to get Aidos alone. She had been aching to lure the girl away from her brother’s protective eyes so that she could tell her niece of the wonderful life that existed beyond Camelot’s woodland walls. As soon as they pulled away, the floodgates opened and she poured out her pent-up convictions.

  Nancy spoke of all the advantages of city life, and the multitude of things one could do in a city that were impossible while “living like hermits in the woods.” She began by commending Aidos on her brains, beauty, and maturity. She pointed out, however, that it was imperative that she move on and begin putting into practice the talents she possessed so that she could continue to grow and evolve as a human being. She spoke of the girl’s potential; about the changing role of women; about her duty to her fellow sisters; and the demanding but necessary climb to the top. Aidos could have it all: the choicest profession, money, travel, respect, and—with a wink—love.

  Aidos listened patiently to her aunt’s ramblings, all the while conscious of the beauty of the tree-lined highway and the formations of the white, billowy clouds that dotted the sky. It seemed that her aunt spoke in fireworks, and that the smoke didn’t clear until they arrived into town and got out of the car. Aidos placed her palms flat on the ground and stretched her legs. She remarked that it felt so nice to touch earth again.

  Nancy suggested a tour of the local shops, including visits to a few of the town’s dozen or more art galleries. Aidos was unimpressed by the modern art paintings, which she considered uninspired and self-indulgent. Cheerful and optimistic by nature, she felt that the artists were calling life bad names. She also thought that paying hundreds, even thousands of dollars for such pieces was crazy. Nancy was impressed enough to purchase three such paintings, shelling out a check for forty-five hundred dollars. She mumbled some hocus-pocus about how she expected the pictures to triple in value within the next ten years. Aidos thought it odd that people like Ed and Nancy—who were so skeptical of the existence of an invisible world—could at the same time practice such magic as this. Where, she wondered, did her aunt learn this strange form of alchemy in which the addition of time could turn ugly art into big profits?

  “You know,” Aidos said as they strolled down the sidewalk towards the next gallery, “what you spent on those paintings dad and I could live on for months.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing,” Aidos answered. “Just stating a fact, that’s all.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be that way, you know,” Nancy said. “You don’t have to live like paupers if you don’t want to. Your father knows that too.”

  “We have everything we need. I can’t think of anything else that I would want.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Nancy said. “You only say that because you don’t know what all there is to have. And look at you—” She tugged on Aidos’ sleeve and brought her to a halt. “You look like a refugee. My brother wore that shirt when he was in high school! It’s a rag. Your shoes are tattered, your shorts are stained…” She shook her head in disgust. “You’re the prettiest girl in this whole town, but no one would know it by the way you’re dressed. You should take a little pride in yourself, missy. In fact, I’m taking you across the street right now to buy you some new clothes.”

  “That’s really not necessary, Nancy.”

  “Humor me, okay?”

  She grabbed Aidos’ hand and led her to a newly opened clothing boutique. An hour later they reemerged with their arms full of packages. Aidos was now wearing a blue pastel peasant skirt with a white, lacy blouse that showed off her smooth shoulders.

  “I think I chose a fine compromise,” Nancy said as they ambled down the sidewalk. “Earthy, sweet, but sophisticated. A pinch of the Bohemian.”

  Aidos looked herself over and giggled. “Really?”

  “Yeah, Cinderella.” Nancy smiled, very pleased. “I wish I had such beautiful skin. And those broad shoulders and the way that gorgeous hair of yours falls over them… Mm-mm, you’re going to drive the boys crazy.”

  “What boys?”

  Nancy grinned. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Don’t you ever wonder about boys? How it would be to know some? Or, say, one in particular? You know, to have a boyfriend? Haven’t you ever thought about what it would feel like to kiss a boy?”

  “I suppose,” Aidos answered bashfully. “But not too much. Not really.”

  “Oh, come on,” Nancy said, giving Aidos a playful shove. “You’re fifteen now, right? I know I thought about such things when I was your age. Every normal girl does.”

  Aidos lifted her big, puzzled eyes to her aunt. When Nancy beheld the two crystal orbs in their milky white world of innocence, she regretted her choice of words and wanted to scoop Aidos to her chest. She adored the girl, and her presence strummed a deep chord in her breast. It sounded of motherhood, nurturing, and selflessness. Nancy couldn’t have children. It was difficult to accept at first, but she sublimated her disappointment through her work. Ed and Nancy considered adopting, but now they thought only of Aidos.

  “I need a cup of coffee,” Nancy said. She flagged down a passerby and asked where she could get a bite to eat. The Pinecrest native said that if she turned right at the next block she would see The Pinecone Cafe, and to order the apple pie, the best in town.

  12

  One Bright and Shiny Moment

  A jingle of bells hanging from the doorknob of the Pinecone Cafe announced their arrival.

  Nancy scanned the premises, and frowned. “Kinda dumpy,” she said. “You should feel rig
ht at home. Where do you want to sit?”

  Aidos pointed to a booth next to the window. She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “In a place like this, one can never be sure,” Nancy answered. “Bacon grease, I think. Or used motor oil.”

  Aidos peeled open the menu, which was stuck together by maple syrup. “I’ve never eaten in a restaurant before,” she remarked.

  “You’re joking.” By the way Aidos looked around the establishment and inspected the table, menu, napkin holder, and paper place mats, she knew the girl was serious. “You poor thing. Ed and I eat out all the time. Practically every day.”

  “Dad said people in the city eat out a lot, but I had no idea it was that often.”

  Nancy was about to justify her lack of cooking, when a young man in faded blue jeans and a dirty apron walked up to the table and perfunctorily set down two glasses of ice water. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and drew out a pad of green tickets from his apron. “Can I take your order?” he asked.

  His manner lacked the superficial enthusiasm and smile that Nancy was accustomed to receiving at the restaurants and cafes she typically visited. “We heard so much about your apple pie,” she said in an attempt at allowing the young man to demonstrate a little courtesy. “I guess we’ll just have to try it.”

  “Apple pie,” he repeated.

  Nancy studied his face indignantly, then looked across the table at Aidos, expecting to see a similar dissatisfaction, but Aidos was looking out the window, a faint smile about her lips.

  “Anything else?” the young man said, tapping the end of his pencil impatiently on the book of tickets. He was studying Nancy now, and when she turned back to him she was taken by surprise by his brilliant blue eyes. She did not like him. He was rude and undeserving of being so…handsome. She wanted to think him mean, but his eyes belied her resentment.

  “Coffee for me,” she said. “Aidos, honey? Milk? Soda?”

  Upon hearing the girl’s peculiar name, the waiter snapped alert, as from a trance. Aidos? He repeated the odd name in his head: ‘A’ as in ‘hay’…dose. He admired her long, wavy, shiny black hair. She turned suddenly and caught him gawking. Busted, he blushed.

  “Just water,” Aidos said, looking straight into the young man’s eyes—looking for something, finding it, and then smiling discerningly and sweetly.

  “Thank you,” he said, wondering if he had fumbled the words. He turned and headed back towards the kitchen.

  “Oh, and waiter,” Nancy called out. “We would like that pie heated and à la mode, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with new alacrity, and hustled to the kitchen.

  “Do you know that boy?” Nancy asked.

  “His name is Maxwell Stormer.”

  “He is rude! He acted as if he didn’t even know you.”

  “He doesn’t. He goes to Pinecrest High. Beowulf and I sometimes go to a hill that overlooks the ball field. We sit and watch. I know all the kids but none of them knows me.”

  “Well, that’s…sad. Why not introduce yourself? Wouldn’t you like to have some friends?”

  “I have friends—you, Dad, Ed, Ms. Winters, and Beowulf.”

  “Kids your own age, Aidos.” Nancy shook her head pitifully. “You don’t know what you’re missing, and I think it’s a shame. Really, I think it’s sad and I feel sorry for you. That brother of mine, I could just—” She glared out the window as if she saw him standing in the street, hands in his pockets, a smug grin on his face. Nancy blurted, “Come stay with us this summer, precious. We’d really love to have you. You’d have such a wonderful time, I promise. There’s so much we could do together, so many new things for you to experience. Won’t you?”

  She took Aidos’ hand across the table and looked pleadingly into her eyes. Aidos gently squeezed Nancy’s soft, warm fingers. She felt the large diamond ring she wore, and toying with it, twirled it slowly about her aunt’s finger.

  “You don’t understand, Nancy. I love it here. And I couldn’t leave Beowulf.”

  “Bring him. We have a big back yard. He’ll be fine.”

  “As big as our mountain?”

  “Then leave him. Your father will take care of him. He’s just a dog.”

  “Not to me, he isn’t.”

  “Okay, okay,” Nancy said, exasperated. “He’s your friend. But something could be worked out, I’m sure. It’s just for the summer…”

  The young man returned with their pie and drinks, setting them carefully down on the table. He moved slower than usual in the hopes that by lingering an extra moment or two something interesting might happen. The lady picked up her fork.

  He stepped back from the table, waiting for a thank you, but Nancy was too wrapped up in thought. He glanced furtively at the girl. Her hands were clasped on her lap, her head slightly bowed. He wasn’t sure if she was whispering grace or just waiting for him to leave. He mustered the courage to look at her pretty face. Aidos picked up her fork and cut into her pie. Self-conscious, the young man turned to retreat back into the kitchen.

  “Thank you, Maxwell,” Nancy said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

  He spun back around. “You know my name?”

  “I told her,” Aidos said, giving her aunt a disapproving eye.

  The interesting moment he hoped for had arrived! “You told her?” he said, astonished. “But we’ve never met…have we?”

  “Not face to face,” she said coyly.

  “Huh?” He was enjoying every intriguing moment.

  “I’m the person you and your friends were hunting for a couple of weeks back.”

  Nancy put down her fork and listened with keen interest.

  “That was you?” He laughed with abandonment.

  Aidos nodded, her infectious smile putting the young man instantly at ease.

  “Where did you disappear to? We looked all over for you.”

  “Nowhere,” she said. “I was with you boys the entire time.”

  “What? That’s impossible.”

  “Hardly,” she chuckled.

  “She thinks she’s an Indian,” Nancy said, only half joking.

  “This is my Aunt Nancy,” Aidos said. “She’s visiting for the weekend.”

  “Hello, Maxwell,” she said, extending her hand. “Delicious pie.”

  “Thanks. I made it myself. From scratch.”

  “Oh, I can tell. It’s very good.”

  “And please, call me Max.” He turned his attention back to the girl. “So, um, why have you been spying on us?”

  “Not spying. Observing.”

  “But what for?”

  “For fun.”

  “Fun? Where do you live? What school do you go to?”

  “In the woods outside of town. I don’t go to any school.”

  “No way,” he said.

  Aidos smiled. “Yes way.”

  “How long have you been living there?”

  “Most of my life.”

  “No kidding?” From the kitchen came a commanding—ding! Max glanced over his shoulder and saw a table of impatient customers. “I have to get back to work. Say, are you planning on doing any more ‘observing’?”

  “Maybe,” Aidos answered, an impish smile across her lips.

  “Well,” he said, “I’m going to keep my eyes peeled.”

  “You do that.”

  The next time he came out into the dining room the woman and girl were gone. They left the money for the check on the table, along with a generous tip. Max noticed that the girl had only eaten half of her pie. He plopped down in her place, picked up her fork, and finished off the rest. He felt certain that he would run into the girl again, though he would never have guessed it would be that very same day.

  He felt something else too—a vague suspicion that his life was about to change. It was a happy thought. There was something about the way the girl had searched his eyes. It wasn’t passive, but intentional, as if she had sought and discovered something within him that
he himself did not know existed.

  For one bright and shiny moment, Max Stormer actually believed that within him somewhere was another Max, a Max who knew something that he didn’t. It was a strange thought. Nevertheless, he was struck by it, and with the sense of freedom that seemed to accompany it. Oddly, it made him feel indescribably alive. He wished he could maintain the feeling, but it soon dissipated and drifted away, as if back out to sea.

  13

  Bad Habits

  “Hey, Thoreson!” Ed Boswell shouted from the back porch. “I’m starting to like this mutt of yours. Come here and watch this.”

  “…What?”

  “Come out here. I wanna show you something.”

  “Hold on, would ya?”

  “What?”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming…”

  Hardy kicked open the screen door, two mugs of steaming coffee in his hands. Ed sat on the back steps, a week’s worth of rolled up New York Times newspapers by his side. Hardy told him to scoot over, and handed him a mug. Beowulf, who was sitting at the bottom of the steps, observed Ed with expectation, his tail thumping on the ground.

  “I always wanted a dog who would do this,” Ed said. “Watch…” He picked up one of the papers and flung it. The paper smacked against a pine tree and fell onto a cushion of needles. Beowulf made an about-face, but remained in place. “Beowulf, my good fellow,” Ed addressed the pooch with aristocratic pretentiousness, “would you be so kind as to fetch my morning paper?”

  The dog sprang, bounded over to the paper, snatched it up, hustled it back to Ed, and dutifully dropped it at his feet.

  “Thank you, good sir,” Ed said, petting the dog daintily on the head. He flashed Hardy a triumphant smile. “What do you think, Thoreson?”