Hunting Ground

by Meghan Holloway

  We turned off the main road before it crossed back over the river and pulled into the mechanic’s lot. I set the philodendron aside and reluctantly climbed from the warmth of my car, watching as the man unfolded his length from the truck.

  He was older, around sixty, I imagined, tall and whipcord lean. His face was weathered and lines were carved deep into the skin around his mouth and eyes. I did not think they were smile lines.

  He spared me a glance but remained silent as he grabbed a toolbox from the bed of his pickup and moved straight to unhooking my little car from his truck.

  “Thank you,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder as he knelt at the front bumper of my car. “Nothing.”

  I drifted closer, tucking my hands into the pockets of my borrowed coat. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  He did not respond, and the rusty tow truck pulled into the lot behind us. A man who looked even older than the truck and like he had just walked out of the mountains leapt down from the cab. He was small and wiry and wearing a trapper hat complete with earflaps on his head. “Haven’t seen a Honda that old in some time.” He let out a low, appreciative whistle and tugged off a glove to run a gnarled hand over the hood.

  “I take it you are Ed?”

  The tension between the two men was palpable, but the smaller man drew his hard gaze from the taller. His gaze softened, and he smiled at me. “Ed Decker. The one and only.”

  “Evelyn Hutto.”

  “Ev’lyn, you let me, I’ll take real good care of your ol’ girl here and have her up and running again.”

  “Really? You think you can?” I could not keep the catch from my voice. The 1980 Civic had been passed down to me on my sixteenth birthday, and it was the one thing I had managed to hold onto in the last months.

  Ed nodded. “You come back next week, I’ll have your ol’ girl in the best shape she’s been in for thirty years.”

  “Depending on the cost, I may not be able to pay you right away.” The sale of the house had only covered part of the medical bills. The life insurance policy I was left with had been drained down to three thousand dollars after Medicare took its cut.

  He shrugged. “Not hurtin’ for money. You’ll pay me when you pay me.”

  I swallowed. The last years had taught me that pride had very little place to reside if you wanted to survive. “Thank you.” I turned to the man working on detaching my vehicle from his truck. “Thank you as well.”

  He did not look up from his work. “Already thanked me.”

  “You need one of my clunkers to get around?” Ed thrust his grizzled chin toward an ancient Chevy truck in the corner of the lot. It may have once been white or perhaps blue, but now it was red with rust. It looked like it would break apart like a dry scab if it moved even two inches.

  I could practically see the town from end to end from where I stood. “I don’t think I’ll need it right now.”

  “If you change your mind, stop by anytime. If I’m not in the shop, my house is out back.”

  If the last months had not left me hollowed out, I thought my eyes might have burned at his kind voice and offer. I made an effort to smile at him. “I will. I appreciate that.” My entire life was packed neatly in the car, and it fit with room to spare. A backpack, a large rolling duffel bag, a cardboard box, and a philodendron that trembled to be exposed to the cold Montana air. I hefted my suitcase from the backseat and then moved to retrieve my backpack and philodendron from the front seat. “Are there any hotels in town I should avoid?”

  “Stay at The River Inn,” Ed said. “Faye makes the best breakfast in town for her guests. And sometimes for those of us who come begging at her door. Try her huckleberry pancakes.”

  The other man pointed down the side road that ran adjacent to the shop’s lot. “Her place is a couple blocks down the street.”

  A bark drew my gaze to where the poodle was leaning out of the driver’s side window of the truck staring at us. “May I?”

  The clink of tools paused, and the man glanced back, his gaze sliding past me to his dog. His face was set in harsh lines, but he smiled at the poodle. “Frank’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

  I moved to pet the tall white poodle. He stood watching me with a dark, limpid gaze that felt as if it saw straight through flesh and bone to the very heart of me. He leaned out the window and pushed his head against my hand as I reached out to comb my fingers through his topknot. Frank, the man had said. The name made me smile, and I stroked the softness of his ears.

  My arm was tired from dragging the rolling duffle, but I tucked my plant into my coat once more and tightened my grip on the handle.

  “Will you be in town for a while?” Ed called.

  “I hope so.” I hoped it would be home. There was nothing left of my previous one.

  ß

  Book Ends was located on Main Street. It was housed in a two-story brick building that looked like an old warehouse. When I stepped within, the rich perfume of paper and glue greeted me.

  The entryway opened up into a sprawl that was every book lover’s dream. A counter that resembled an antique bar was situated directly across from the entry, but no one stood behind the old-fashioned register, so I wandered farther within. The light was warm and bright, and the old plank flooring creaked and groaned underfoot. I roamed through the rows of books and into an adjoining room. There were desks and leather sofas and chairs in corners and alcoves, and lamplight created the ambiance of a study.

  “Hello. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  I turned to find a woman approaching me. “The place is gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “May I help you find something?”

  “Actually, I came to return this.” The borrowed coat was draped over my arms.

  “The woman from the road. Jeff told me about you. I’m glad Ed found you. It is not exactly walking weather out there.” She glanced over her shoulder, hair swinging about her chin. “I think Jeff is in the back office. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” I was drawn back to perusing the shelves and pulled a coffee table book down to flip through the pages. The photographs were taken throughout the national park in varying seasons, and it showcased the wonder of Yellowstone in vivid detail. The striking hues of the hot springs, the explosive power of the geysers, the beauty of new life in spring. A photo of a wasteland after a forest fire caught my attention. In the photograph the landscape was a charred, ashen scar, and all that remained of a large animal—perhaps an elk or a bison—was the husk of fire-bleached bones. It was a desolate scene, wrenching and poignant. But in the foreground the photographer had captured a coyote and her pup roaming between the trees. The pup had grabbed onto the tip of his mother’s tail, and she was frozen mid-step, glancing over her lean shoulder at the photographer. And at her paw, straining through the soot and scorched earth, a shoot of green shrub, startling against the stark gray and black landscape, forced its way into the light. It was capped with budding, bell-like pink flowers.

  The floors groaned underfoot, and I caught the faint aroma of cologne before he spoke. “Striking, isn’t it?”

  “It reaches out and grabs you.” I touched a finger to the pink of the delicate, hardy flowers, and then looked up at the man who stood beside me. He was even more handsome up close and now I could see more clearly just how startling the blue of his irises was. I offered him the garment draped over my arm. “Thank you for lending me your coat.”

  His smile was all suave, practiced charm. “I would have preferred to give you a lift.”

  I closed the book. “A woman cannot be too careful these days.”

  His gaze searched my face. “Indeed. Since we’ve been introduced now, though, will you let me buy you dinner tonight?”

  I arched a brow. I had assumed he and the woman who had greeted me were married. They were a perfect matching set. But a quick glance at his
hands showed his fingers bore no rings. “We haven’t been introduced.”

  “Jeff Roosevelt.”

  He offered me his hand and clasped mine a moment too long before releasing my fingers. “Evelyn Hutto.”

  “Well?”

  I tilted my head and studied him. He was perfection. The symmetry of his face made him classically handsome. His hair was thick with no hint of gray even though I put his age closer to fifty than forty. His smile was practiced, though, and the blue of his eyes was almost painful to study. I glanced away under the pretense of placing the book back on the shelf. “Perhaps another night,” I said.

  “Then you’ll be in Raven’s Gap for some time?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Perfect.” His perusal was as intense as mine, and when I pushed my glasses up my nose in an automatic gesture with my knuckle, something in his gaze sharpened. “I’ll look forward to seeing you around,” he said.

  The woman at the counter looked up and smiled as I crossed to the door. I lifted a hand in acknowledgement and then pushed out into the cold.

  The sun was setting, the sky stained like a fresh bruise, the last light bleeding across the sky in deep red and orange hues. I stood on the walk and took a moment to just breathe, the air so sharp and crisp in my lungs that it made me cough. I tucked my chin into my scarf and my hands into my pockets and ambled down the sidewalk.

  A restaurant with a sign labeling it Maggie’s Diner stood at the corner of the street, and the door opened as I strode past. The smell of food wafted out alongside the family of four exiting, and my stomach tightened and protested the long hours it had been since I had last eaten. I veered inside and claimed a seat at an empty booth.

  “Good evening.” The woman who approached with a glass and pitcher of water smiled warmly. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu yet?”

  Food had been tasteless to me for so long that I rarely even thought about what I ate any longer. It was simply sustenance to keep me going. “What is your favorite?”

  “The club sandwich,” she said without hesitation. “You won’t find a better club sandwich than mine.”

  Her apron had Maggie stitched across the front, I realized. “I’ll take that, then. Thank you.” When she walked away, I turned to study the dinner crowd.

  There was not much of one to speak of. The patrons appeared to be largely locals save for a family in the corner whose winter jackets looked like they had just clipped the tags from them and a group of young women laughing and chatting animatedly in the opposite corner. The other tables and booths were mainly occupied by older men who tucked into their dinners with the determination to fill a belly carved hollow by long days of tireless work.

  I was surprised to hear my own stomach growling by the time my order was placed in front of me. The club sandwich was thick, and the fries served with it were crispy and well-salted. The smell made my mouth water, and I polished off the plate entirely. I was not certain if the food was delicious or if I was simply ravenous, but Maggie was right. I had never eaten a better club sandwich than hers.

  It was fully dark when I left the diner. Night came early in the winter mountains, but the sidewalks were not empty and the old-fashioned street lights were set close together. Where one pool of light faded, another took up its vigil. I moved around a couple strolling together hand in hand and took a deep breath, the exhale like a ghostly spirit escaping my body to drift up into the night.

  Raven’s Gap was laid out in a grid on an incline. The state road meandered into town alongside the river and ended half a mile farther over the bridge at a campground that abutted the boundaries of the national park. The hotels and tourist shops were located off of the state road, but small local shops and businesses populated the three streets that ran parallel to the main thoroughfare. Raven’s Gap was built into the hillside with Main Street the highest point overlooking the town and the river. I turned down one of the two streets that bisected the town and descended toward the river.

  Foot traffic fell away as I left Main Street, and I tilted my head back as I walked, studying the broad expanse of the sky above me. Even the street lights could not obscure the clarity of starlight here. Walking downhill with my head tipped back made me dizzy, though, and I focused on the walk before me.

  The scuff of a footstep behind me had me glancing over my shoulder, and I paused when I saw no one. Turning back, I studied the shadows along either side of the street. I kept walking, taking more caution to study my surroundings, and when the soft tread of footfall came again, I stopped. I knelt on the pretense of tying the laces of my boots. The tread immediately stopped when I did, and when I snuck a glance through the screen of my hair, I saw nothing but the empty street.

  Fear pierced me, splintering through the sense of peace I had struggled to rebuild in the last five years. The first time I had heard footsteps following me through the parking lot at the museum in Atlanta late in the evening, I had thought nothing of it. I had thought it unthreatening, simply a matter of innocent timing. It had proved to be anything but.

  I slipped my hand into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the canister in my pocket. I straightened, grip tight on the defensive spray, and strode purposefully down the street. Keeping my gaze from darting around was challenging, but I kept my ears pricked. I could not make out footsteps over the sudden cacophony of my heart in my ears, but the tight, familiar sensation between my shoulders confirmed my suspicion. Someone was watching.

  Three

  I always had a desire to inflict pain

  on others and to have others inflict pain on me.

  I always seemed to enjoy everything that hurt.

  -Albert Fish

  JEFF

  She was perfect. The lamplight glinted on the lenses of her glasses and gleamed on that long, straight fall of hair. The color reminded me of the fields back home. Some rich shade between brown and gold, threaded with deeper auburn as the wind stirred the wheat and the sun passed overhead like a watchful overseer.

  She had reminded me of home the instant I saw her and the wind caught her hair as she turned to watch my approach. She struck a chord with me, and seeing her striding purposefully down the deserted road…so strange and yet so familiar.

  That strange hunger beginning to gnaw at me was familiar as well. It had been a dull ache for so long, I had forgotten its true ravenous intensity. The claws took my breath away. It had been years since I felt it this sharply. I thought it was in remission, but now I realized it had just lain dormant, like a beast hibernating. To feel it once more was as repelling as it was delightful.

  It was as if she were a sign, a good omen letting me know that this was no sickness I needed to treat by starving it into submission with only unsatisfying, periodic bites to sustain me. This was simply my nature, and it would always come back to this, no matter how long I bided my time. All men wore their civility lightly. For some, perhaps it was a ruse entirely. The realization was such a relief that I almost laughed, but I managed to refrain.

  She already knew I was here, though. I could see it in the tense, cautious line of her shoulders, the quickened steps, the strategic glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner onto the state road at the bottom of the hill.

  I stopped at the corner and saw her duck into the gas station across the street. It would be easy enough to find out where she was staying and meet her there. But no, there was no need to reveal everything to her. Not so soon. There was time, and the game was half of the bright joy in this. I learned in the past that drawing out the chase only heightened the satisfaction in the end.

  She was different, though, and the memory of Rose once again crept from the recesses of my mind. I needed to see her. To sit in her presence and remember how it had all started.

  My hands were trembling with anticipation by the time I reached the old ruins.

  I had never needed much sleep. Two or three hours sustained me, and the dark of night wa
s the best time to tend my roses. I had built the greenhouse fifteen years ago, soon after moving to Raven’s Gap. Rose would have hated being left behind, but she needed a place to rest.

  The combination of the geothermal springs, the rocket mass heater I had built, and the long, deep compost trench dug through the center of the structure kept my roses safe from the frigid winter just beyond the walls. The underground construction added to the year-round sustainability and to its concealment. In the winter, it was almost invisible.

  Few people ventured this far into the wilderness. The ruins of the old hot springs resort were not on any map. But this was a hallowed place, a sanctuary that needed to be guarded and protected. I disarmed the electric current as I approached and deactivated the security system after I unlocked the door.

  The air was thick with the scent of roses and the pungent smell of earth. I breathed more easily when I stepped inside. Dim lanterns lit the stone path through the labyrinth to the heart of the greenhouse.

  I sighed as I sat on the bench I had placed close by. This could not be like the others, I decided. She would not appreciate the subtlety of my rose garden until I gained her attention. I needed her to know I had a story to tell her. And then, once she understood, she would help me write the conclusion.

  I collected my pruning shears and approached, smiling when she made me bleed as I stroked her lushness. “Rose, Rose,” I murmured. “Remember what I’ve told you. This is for your own good.”

  Women were so like roses. They needed to be groomed, trained, and ruthlessly pruned before their true beauty appeared. It was a promise they made to you. If you tended them, they would bloom for you. Deadheading was just a reminder she had promises to keep.

  Four

  One rose is enough for the dawn.

  -Edmond Jabès