I thought I’d clear him. I almost did, but just before I fell back into the bushes, I felt a bright stripe of pain slice beneath my left breast. When I staggered to my feet, the shirt below it was red. I ripped it open, buttons flying, and looked down to see blood streaming over the left side of my stomach before I stumbled to the pond.
I fell face forward. The icy water knocked the breath out of me, and I floundered to my knees, looking down again at my chest. The blood still flowed, but when I released a double handful of water over it, I glimpsed split skin and dared to hope the wound might not be too deep. But the bright red crescent scribed under my heart would leave a scar to remind me of the life I took—and the one that was saved that day.
49
Spilled Wine
I had to stop the bleeding. After washing the cut on my chest, I could see that it was shallow, but it was also long. Though I was soaking wet, shivering, and a half mile from the first aid kit and dry clothing in my pack, I dunked myself in Lost Pond again to let its icy water staunch my blood’s flow. I surfaced and stripped off my shirt, surprised to find something in my hand. My fingers were still locked tight around the bloody handle of my knife.
I plunged the remnants of my garment in the pond and watched the water turn pink as I twisted it to rinse the blood free. I wrung the thing as dry as I could get it and pressed it hard against my weeping wound. It was only then that I realized the woods around me had grown silent. The ragged remains of the Broken Bull were hidden somewhere in the brush I’d staggered from. I stilled myself to listen for any sound. The only answer was the wind.
I trudged out of the water, soaked from head to squishy boots and headed back on the trail.
When I reached the deadfall, I shuddered. The pine that had almost killed me was now tilted high in the air. I skirted the woods around it, glancing at the exit path through the smaller saplings that I’d failed to use. The jagged white edges of the split widow-maker crisscrossed the end of the path in front of the saw lying behind it, its blade buried in the dirt.
I walked over to my pack and slumped to the ground. The world spun, and when I took the shirt from my chest I found it damp with blood. After resting a few minutes, I felt stable enough to convince myself I wasn’t going into shock. Still, I had work to do.
I needed to work strategically to get the job done. I spread my thin poncho on the ground as a worktable and opened every package of gauze, sterile wipes, and butterfly bandages I had in my first aid kit.
Working from the top down, I dabbed each section of the cut with alcohol before blotting it dry, wincing at the bright pain that stung me with every touch of the pad. I pressed a fresh piece of gauze over the spot to absorb as much blood as I could before quickly stretching a bandage across the incision to pinch its edges together. I added a second one to make an X, repeating my work down the length of the wound.
After patching each pair of butterflies with a larger dressing, I stood up carefully, watching the wound. The bandages held, but I wasn’t about to chance it by putting a pack on my back. I rifled through the pack for my fleece, using its hem to mop my torso before slipping it on. When I saw the package of peanut butter crackers in the pack, my hunger roared to life. I scarfed them down with the rest of my gorp and three aspirin, drained my water bottle, and got back on the trail.
I walked slowly at first, trying to keep the upper half of my body as still as I could, and when I lifted the fleece to check my wound, I found it mostly dry. The longer I walked, the better I felt. The work warmed my body, and the food, water, and medicine I’d inhaled did even more to revive me.
When I passed the gray boulder under the birches, I thought of the specter I’d seen sitting on it hours before. Lupus never told me the story of his family. But I knew how a man could lose them by losing himself upon the trail.
Tommy had told me more than once, “You’re just like Dad,” and that’s what I’d always hoped to be. But as I walked in those woods, I saw that I’d been chasing my perception of him. The contrast between the image in my head and the man it stood for was the difference between a faded snapshot and the mess of flesh and blood the camera can never catch. My father was only a memory now; an image of him was all I had left. But there was still time to bridge the gap between myself and the people I’d drifted so far from.
As I walked, I thought of the history I shared with my family, then raised my eyes to look down the deep green tunnel of pines that lay ahead. For the very first time, I could see the future I might have with my loved ones and others—another—I might call family too.
I picked up my pace. It was time to go home.
***
I stood by my bunk in Loon’s Nest and turned in a slow circle, looking for anything she might have left behind. Cassie’s pack was gone. So was her duffel. There were no boots parked under the bed, and the faded black Pretenders shirt she slept in was gone from the hook on the wall. It took me a few more seconds to find her note, poking out from under an empty wine bottle on the card table by the stove.
Dear Paul,
This is the second time I woke up in this cabin alone. I could have waited for a third before I wrote this letter, but it would only make it harder for both of us. We’ve said a lot to each other here without talking. I think those conversations say more than the clumsy language of words, but words are all we have to share the other parts of our lives—the ones that happen outside this tiny room. I’m not sure when you’ll be ready to voice the feelings you form in that world. I’m afraid you never will be.
I’ve loved every moment we’ve spent here in our little nest, but those sweet, warm nights only make the bed I wake alone in colder the next morning.
I love you, Paul, but those nights aren’t enough.
Cass.
I laid the note on the table, sat down, and stared at the floor.
After a while I got up, dipped a rag into the basin of water on the nightstand and got down on my knees. I scrubbed slow circles over the dried red splotches of spilled wine on the floor, but no matter how hard I rubbed, those stains wouldn’t disappear.
There were a few tiny curls of shaved yellow wood that she had missed. I picked them up one by one, laid them in the center of the note, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the pocket on my chest. Later that night, after I forgot all about it and my wound started to sting, I would pat the place it hurt most and find that thin package lying there.
50
Nothing but Sky
When I got to the field, Tyler was running across it. The wind had picked up and sent the piece of paper he was chasing pinwheeling across the grass. I ran to intercept it and waited while he hustled over to me.
“Thanks,” he said, catching his breath. When he looked at my face and arms, he frowned. I’d changed into fresh clothes, but my body still bore the bruises and scratches I’d earned that day.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
“I’m okay. Had a little trouble with the deadfall over by Lost Pond. You’ll have to do without the chainsaw till I pick it up tomorrow.” He looked at me uncertainly. I couldn’t blame him. After all my family and I had put him through this week, I would have been wary of me too.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the note in his hand. He looked down at it, shook his head, and put it in his pocket before replying.
“That,” he said with a sigh, “is a complaint from one of our less satisfied customers. He left with his wife and two young kids this morning, and I found it tacked to my door. His daughter chased a ball into the woods yesterday and found a dead rabbit. The guy came to show it to me; it was pretty bad.”
“I take it Bugs didn’t die a natural death?”
“Nope. Some animal had gotten to it. If the thing had been out in the open, I would’ve moved it. But it was in the brush. Anyway, the little girl was in the field crying while her mom tried to settle her down, and the guy started asking me what I was going to do about it. He was pretty belligerent. I got it�
��his daughter was upset and Daddy was trying to fix things for her. But these woods are wild. I told him the best thing was to leave it alone and let nature take its course.”
I stuck out my hand. His eyebrows rose in return, but he clasped my hand in his. I gave it a shake and smiled. “Tyler,” I said, “you really are starting to get the hang of this job.”
***
As I headed for Sentinel, I saw that somebody had left the damn canoe lying on the beach again. I thought about going over and racking it, but changed course when I heard soft clangs coming from the cabin’s back porch. I found Mara working on her needlework while Aaron struggled to put a new canister of propane on the camp stove. I helped him with it, and he put water on to make a cup of tea for my mother. “Can you watch her?” he whispered. “I want to go join Mom and Aida down by the bridge where Uncle Tommy’s fishing.”
He kissed my mother before he left. I finished making her tea, placed it on the table beside her, and sat down. She kept her eyes on her work as she spoke.
“Guess you got stuck babysitting.”
“I’m happy to spend some time with you, Mara.”
“Well, Kim wasn’t.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
She dropped her work in her lap and looked at me. “She’s upset because I wouldn’t leave. I better warn you, you’re not exactly at the top of her list either.”
“What else is new? I hoped she cooled down.”
“Is that why you took off today? Where were you?”
“I did a little trail work to clear my head.”
She pointed to the scratches on my face. “Looks like the trail did a little work on you.” She looked at the teacup sitting next to her in surprise. “Is this for me?” I nodded, sure she had asked for it. I watched her blow across the top of the cup, remembering her doing the same thing every time she handed me a mug of cocoa when I was small.
“Mara,” I asked, “what happened between you and Dad? I mean, after . . .”
She took a sip of tea before she set it down. “You mean after Jordan died.”
“Yeah.”
“You never liked Campbell.”
“Mom,” I said patiently, “we were talking about Dad.”
“I know,” she said waving her hand quickly, “it’s not the Alzheimer’s. I just thought that talking about the man who came into my life after your father was the easiest way to tell you about what happened before he died.”
“Okay . . .”
“I loved your father, but after Jordan died, everything changed.”
“You mean you didn’t love him anymore?”
“No, I still loved him, but when everything else changed, had to change, he didn’t. He just wanted to pick up the pieces and put the rest of us back together again.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It didn’t work. It couldn’t. The space Jordan left when she died couldn’t be filled. People talk about the family circle, but that metaphor’s wrong. A family is a web. Everyone’s connected to everyone else. It’s no wonder ours collapsed.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I moved my chair back a couple of inches to stretch my legs out in front of me. I heard a clink and looked behind me to see a bottle of Robert’s pricey scotch tucked against the cabin wall. I picked it up and took a long slug. When I lowered the bottle, I saw my mother holding her teacup out to me. I laughed and poured her a measure, then took another swig before I spoke.
“I still don’t get what that has to do with Campbell.”
“Campbell never tried to fix us,” she said.
“He never fixed anything.”
“You see that as a weakness. But back then, it was just what I needed. I needed someone to accept me without trying to reshape me into a person I couldn’t be anymore. I didn’t know who I was after Jordan died, I only knew that I could never be the woman I was before. Campbell understood that. Your dad didn’t.”
I got up and stamped my feet. I’d been cold all day. Though I was wearing dry clothes now, the wind blowing on the other side of the cabin had found its way around the edges to the porch. I went over and looked at the square of needlework lying in my mother’s lap. The scene was almost complete. There was still a blank spot in the middle, and the space above the mountains and trees was unfinished as well.
She picked up her needle and slipped blue thread through its eye. “I gotta make hay while I can,” she said quietly. “I’ve probably ripped out more stitches than I put into this thing, but you know what I always say . . .”
“Practice makes perfect,” I answered. She smiled and continued working.
I thought about her Sisyphean sewing, pushing the thread through all those wrong holes when her mind was muddled, pulling them out again when it was clear. “I’m sorry, Mara.” I told her, “that you—well, that it’s so hard.”
“It’s all right, Paul,” she told me. “I’m almost done. The end is easy. There’s nothing left but sky.”
51
Tight Quarters
When the cold wind finally drove us indoors, I took the bottle with me. I built a fire in the woodstove and was about to offer Mara another shot when the whole crew came tromping through the front door. The cabin was still cold, but it was about to heat up quickly.
Kim came in first. I saw her eyes go to the whiskey bottle and cups. She barely looked at me before she started rooting through the pots and pans in a box in the corner. I got a nod from Tommy but nothing more.
“Aida,” Kim said as she clanged through the box, “I need your help with dinner.” When Aida looked at me, her brow creased. “Are you okay, Uncle Paul?”
“Yeah, I just got a little busted up in the woods.” Kim muttered something while she rummaged, but the noise she was making drowned her words. Aaron handed the fishing rod in to Tommy, who placed it on the nails high on the cabin wall.
“Uncle Tommy showed me how to roll cast,” Aaron said.
“Good skill to have.”
“Aida, now!” Kim said, holding a frying pan out to her.
“Okay, Mom. Sheesh,” Aida answered, taking the pan from her mother.
“And don’t sheesh me, I’m not in the mood.” Kim turned back to the box and began banging again.
“I think I’ll take a little walk,” said Mara, easing out of her chair.
“I don’t have time to go with you now,” Kim said.
“I can take her,” Aaron said quietly, but I don’t think anyone heard him.
Mara sat back down. Tommy took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and headed for the porch—just as Kim turned around holding a saucepan and a pitcher. When Tommy ran into her, she bobbled the pan and caught it, but the pitcher took a quick flip in the air and crashed to the floor.
“Dammit, Tommy!” Kim said as she bent down to pick up the pieces. “If you’re going to kill yourself with those things, do it somewhere where the rest of us don’t have to breathe your poison. Shit!” She dropped the shard she’d picked up and put her finger in her mouth, leaving a small, red streak across her chin.
“I’ll get the dustpan,” said Mara.
“Mother, will you please stay put!” Kim yelled.
“Kim—” I began. She spun to cut me off.
“What?! Now you decide you have something to say? The invisible man suddenly decides to put in an appearance and I’m supposed to listen?” She shook her head.
“I must’ve been crazy to ever agree to come back to this place.” She kept her eyes on me while she pointed out the cabin’s window. “Every time I look at that goddamned pond I see Jordan under it. I don’t know how you can spend your life in this place.”
Kim froze for a second but then continued. “Actually, I do. It’s because you didn’t come back here to live in a different place than the rest of the world, you came to live in a different time. You’re so busy trying to resurrect the past you miss everything happening in the present. Well, I’ve got news for you. The past is gone. Jordan’s dead
. Dad’s dead. And the only family you have left is alive and kicking, but for all you care, we may as well be dead too.”
I kept my voice level. “Kim, I’m sorry. What can I do to make things right with you?”
She laughed. “You’re a little late there, don’t you think? My husband’s gone. But you’re still here, aren’t you?” She turned quickly to Mara and Tommy. “You’re all still here. Did any of you stop to think how unfair that is? Let’s take a minute to take account of things, shall we?” She turned to Mara. “Starting with you, Mom.”
“Since you have some problems with your memory, let me refresh it for you. Never mind the food and shelter he provides, it’s Robert who pays for all the time I spend with you. Without him I’d be in some office in Boston all day trying to make ends meet. And you’d be in just the kind of place where Nanna ended up.” I glanced at Mara, expecting tears, but her eyes were soft and dry. Maybe Kim was surprised too, because when they didn’t come, she started again.
“I’m there to make sure you take your pills three times a day. I’m there to take you to lunch, to the movies, to the doctor, the grocery store. I’m there to answer the same questions you ask me for the third time in a row. I’m there for all of that, thanks to him. It’s funny how your memory seems to fail when it serves you. When the shit hits the fan, you forget everything my husband has done for you and go and hide the ugly little piece of evidence that would have kicked the right person out of this park.”
She turned to Tommy.
“And you. You wanna know what you owe my husband? Thirty-two thousand dollars. I did the math, Tommy. Not because I wanted any of it back, and God knows Robert knew he’d never see a dime of it again. He said I could have the money, but only if I tracked every cent of it. He said one day I was going to wake up and want to know where it all went, and when I did, he wanted me to know just how much of it disappeared into that little black hole in your arm.”
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