Hasty Resolution

by Mullens, Sam Taylor

  I gently rap my knuckles on the door. I swallow my fear as I gradually open the door, continually knocking and calling out for Jake. There is mud all over the floors of his bedroom, sheets, and walls. Strategically draped blankets hang over his bed, resembling a tent.

  I hear the sound of a gun cock from under the bed. I freeze. I call Jake’s name as the rain continues to pour down outside. Lightning brightens his room. Thunder follows as I step toward the bed in my bare feet, trying to step over the mud so as not to slip and fall.

  Avoiding any sudden moves, I crouch slowly on my hands and knees at the foot of the raised log posts of Jake’s bed. I slowly raise the sheet to discover Jake’s face caked in mud, and a rifle barrel is aimed at me. I say his name as I will myself not to shake and tremble, but I cannot help myself. I don’t want to eat a bullet and I know if Jake shots or wounds me, he will be mortified. One sudden click is all it would take.

  I try relentlessly to console him with a gentle voice.

  “Jake, it’s me, Liz. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re not in danger. It’s a rainstorm. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  Jake’s broken eyes are dark and alarming.

  I plead with Jake, “Put the safety on the rifle before someone gets hurt.”

  I should say before you hurt yourself, or me, but I refrain from mentioning that fatal fact.

  My breathing commences once I hear the click of the rifle’s safety latch and watch the rifle slide out from under the bed. Jake emerges, covered in mud from head to toe; it isn’t just on his face.

  Before I carefully pull Jake’s muddy shirt over his head, I tell him in a calm, quiet voice exactly what I am going to do. I untie his mud-caked boots, coax him to sit on the bed and slide off his boots one at a time. I untie his flannel sleep bottoms and pull them around his ankles. I tell him I am only going into the bathroom and that I’m not going to leave him. I toss Jake’s muddy boots into his bathtub along with his sleepwear. I grab a towel and wet it with water under the faucet of his bathroom sink. I quickly return to find Jake on the bed, shaking. The sweat on his forehead is streaming down the mud on his face. I tell him I am going to touch his face before I gently wipe it clean. I repeatedly return to the bathroom to rinse out the mud from the washcloth. I resort to getting out more washcloths and towels, not worrying how many I dirty. I continue to clean mud off Jake’s arms and hands, noticing the more I wipe, the calmer he becomes. I gingerly pick mud out of his hair.

  Mud smears cover his sheets and blankets; there is no way Jake can rest in this room tonight. I take Jake by the hand to lead him out of his room to the couch where he can sleep, but not before he reaches out to his dresser to snatch a small white pill, swallowing it down without water.

  I guide Jake around the mud. He follows my lead in the dark. Lightning illuminates the great room. Mud cakes the couch. Placing him on the couch for the remainder of the evening is not an option. I lead Jake to the loft room where I have been sleeping.

  As we walk up the staircase, thunder shakes the cabin.

  Jake screams, “Get down! Take cover!”

  I follow Jake’s command before I can continue gently urging him up the stairs. There is no way I could manage carrying his full weight. I have no other choice but to coax him toward the loft.

  I crouch down on the stairs, our eyes meeting. “Jake, everything is going to be all right. I need you to follow me up the stairs.”

  Jake nods his head in agreement as I lead him upward. I guide him into the room onto the king-sized bed, encouraging him to lie down. I slide next to Jake on the bed, as I don’t want him to bolt down the stairs to reclaim his rifle. Jake is restless as I lay my hand on his chest, willing him to stay.

  Tears roll down from the corners of his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jake says to me.

  I whisper, “It is okay.”

  I pull the quilt to his chin as rain continues to pour outside. My hand strokes his dark, wavy hair.

  Tonight, I don’t hesitate to wrap my arms around him as I have before during his night terrors. I feel as if he needs my arms around him tonight. As the storm calms outside, so does Jake. When the rain ceases, Jake closes his eyes and sleeps. I watch him sleep with more clarity, more understanding. I see the whole picture now. None of this is his fault. Not one part of anything is his error. This is the second time I have seen Jake’s reaction in a rainstorm. I no longer love summer rainstorms; I fear them because of what they do to this vulnerable man.

  * * * * *

  Jake continues to sleep late the following morning as I clean the mud from floors, walls, and furniture. I wash the sheets, blankets, and clothes that were covered in mud during the night. The washing machine starts repeatedly with loads of muddy washcloths and towels. I try to clean as meticulously as Jake would. I leave the rifle on top his dresser drawers. It is already past noon and Jake is still asleep. I have mud on me from cleaning. I throw my clothes into the washing machine before I run upstairs to shower.

  Turning the shower off, I wrap the terrycloth robe around me. I look to discover Jake awake in bed, where the light of the afternoon dances across the sheets.

  “You always run around in your bra and panties when I am asleep?” Jake asks as he turns in languid movements before sitting upright in bed.

  I swat a towel at him with a sardonic, but sweet smile. “I thought you were asleep! I threw my clothes in the washing machine before I came upstairs.”

  He grabs the towel and pulls me closer.

  “Thank you,” he says softly and nuzzles his nose into my cheek.

  He cups my head in his hands. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that again. I’m starting to remember what happened in Grandpap’s old cabin. That probably really scared you.”

  “Yeah, it did. It honestly did,” I admit.

  I look at his sculpted chest, broad shoulders, and then his ink, the ink that explains everything; the details etch the pain he harbors, the pain he cannot escape. My fingers outline his beautiful face. We lean into each other. Our lips meet for the second time, but this time more passionately, uniting us in this kiss.

  My robe defies me to stay wrapped around my waist and slides open. I feel his bare chest against mine. Heat rises in me. It has been so long since I have been kissed the way he is kissing me, I can’t resist his rapture. I fall deeper into the kiss. Jake’s hand slowly slides from my face to my neck, down my chest and cups my breast. I haven’t been touched like this in over a year. I miss this. I need this. I want this. Jake slowly breaks off the kiss and uses his hand to pull the terrycloth robe back over my shoulder. I follow his lead by grabbing the sash and tying a knot. I bite my lip as I stare into his eyes.

  Jake clears his throat. “I’m going to shower downstairs.”

  I should feel guilty kissing a man while being a married woman, but I don’t. When my husband relinquished me, I too let go. My husband and I have fallen in and out of love so many times over the years. I have never turned to any man before; however, this time is different. This man is different. I am attracted to him, deeply attracted. I haven’t felt this way about another man. I never contemplated being with anyone except my husband. Suddenly, I am thinking in ways my mind has never drifted before.

  After dressing, I fold the towels and Jake helps me make the beds. I notice the stubble has been removed from his freshly shaven chin. He smells and looks clean, ready to start a new day.

  I don’t ask him to explain what happened the previous night or what he was thinking while it took place. I don’t question our kisses, our flirting, or his touch. We work in silence.

  “Let’s go for a ride. I need to introduce you to Benjamin and his son Marcus. I don’t want you to be mistaken as trespassing if you ever cross paths,” Jake tells me.

  As I follow Jake to the truck, I recall Benjamin is the former inmate of Alcatraz. In disbelief, I recall what Jake has told me. Shivers run down my spine as I remember the small flat boat full of tourists riding wit
h me to the island of Alcatraz on a murky spring morning in college with a friend to tour the island. The cold rock, the eerie breeze, and the headphones I used as a guide before following one of the former guards flashes into my mind. The tales told of former inmates and their notorious crimes now plague my thoughts on our drive along the main road.

  I reach my hand over to Jake’s forearm. “Maybe I don’t need to meet Benjamin and Marcus.”

  Chapter 21: Jake

  Liz attempts to finagle her way out of meeting Benjamin. Of all my neighbors, I hope it is not Benjamin left to help Liz. It will take thirty seconds for her to realize he will never be her ally.

  We drive through a grove of trees to a blue modular home. Liz is extremely fidgety in her seat. As we drive closer to the house, I honk the horn of the truck to make our presence known. Benjamin walks through the front door, rifle dangling from his left hand. Liz immediately notices he is armed and her eyes widen with fear.

  "I'll just stay in the truck.”

  “It will be fine,” I assure her as I turn off the truck engine.

  Liz is inconsolable. I walk around the truck to open Liz’s door. She has locked it. I unlock it with the keyless remote, open the door, and place my hand on her leg. Liz bounces her leg up and down rapidly. My hand brings it to her attention and she wills it to stop.

  "You need to meet Benjamin. Trust me. It is better like this,” I insist.

  Liz reluctantly complies with my request. I grab hold of her waist and help her down from the truck. I lead her toward Benjamin's house with her hand in mine, feeling as if I am dragging her toward the house.

  "What have we got here, Jake?” Benjamin asks.

  I gently pull Liz's arm so she is standing next to me rather than behind me.

  "This is my sister, Liz."

  "Don't lie to me, Jake. You can lie to anyone but me. That lady is too pretty to be your sister."

  Benjamin turns to speak to Liz, his rifle perched on his shoulder. "Let's see what we got here. You look small enough to be able to slide right under a security detector. Or crawl right through a ventilation system. You may even be light enough to hoist into something that would be otherwise hard to reach. Those eyes, those innocent eyes, well, you could fool anyone with those blameless-looking eyes."

  Liz retreats to the back of my arm and grips my bicep tightly.

  "I'm only teasing you, little lady; there is no reason to be afraid and I'm not going to make you my next partner in crime. I’ve got other plans," Benjamin speaks around me. "You are one lucky guy, whoever she is, Jake."

  "Okay, you got me. She's my girlfriend,” I lie again. “I want to introduce you in case she is out driving around. I’d like you to help her, not scare her with your rifle, or shoot her down.”

  Benjamin slaps me on the back. "Sure. Anything for you, Jake. Come inside for some lunch. Marcus is away, taking care of some business. He won't be back until next spring. Hope your gal is still around to meet him.”

  I hope she is too, but I do not say that aloud. Liz squeezes my hand in hers. I nudge Liz to follow me into the house behind Benjamin, but she shakes her head furiously, her blue eyes glistening as if she is going to cry. I cannot bring myself to torture her any longer. I kiss her on the forehead to help calm her.

  I holler to Benjamin, "Hey, can we take a rain check on that lunch offer?"

  "Of course, but only if you promise to come back."

  "You got it," I say, giving him an empty, yet friendly promise.

  Liz feigns a smile and waves good-bye to Benjamin. I help her back into the truck.

  Driving through a grove of trees, then turning on the road in the open field, Liz bursts into sobs.

  "If I kept running from the old cabin, would I have eventually run into Benjamin?"

  "There was a fifty percent chance by the direction you were heading that you would have run into Benjamin. That wasn't a chance I was willing to take, so I tackled you to the ground. He most likely would have held you captive, not knowing who you were. He likes his privacy, not trespassers. Now that he knows who you are, he won’t bother you if your paths cross.”

  Liz wipes her face with the sleeves of her hoodie.

  "I'm pretty sure he would have trained you to get through the electric fences without getting burned by the electric wires," I try to joke with her.

  "Not funny, Jake!” Liz says, unclasping her seat belt. "Thank you for tackling me," she then says sweetly before leaning over to kiss my cheek.

  “Anytime,” I reply, completely content with her by my side.

  I didn’t expect we would become like this. It’s all unraveling before me with the flirting, the kisses, the touching. I don’t want to stop any of it. Liz and I are growing closer with each passing day. She is becoming so much more to me than a pair of eyes and a smile.

  * * * * *

  Since Liz has been at the cabin, I don’t fiddle with things in the garage or pace around the porch, antsy to busy myself with something useless, and I no longer stare at the television, hypnotized by the screen for hours. When she sleeps, I sleep. When she eats, I eat with her. When I walk into the cabin to find Liz on the couch, I eagerly join her.

  "You said the bruises would vanish by today. Your wrists and legs look better, but I'm afraid I do not believe you about the rest."

  Liz rolls her eyes as she pulls off her hoodie to reveal her bare arms.

  "They're at least better," Liz says, stretching out her arms.

  "Yes, but what about your stomach and back?”

  I glance at the neckline of her shirt to examine her skin. I cannot see her backside very well, so I motion her to turn around so I can lift her shirt. Liz doesn't swat me away as I continue to examine her back. Heat runs through me as I run my fingers along her spine, the small of her back, then around to the bareness of her tummy. Her shirt is a limitation in my examination. She removes it, leaving Liz sitting in her white lace-trimmed tank.

  Liz’s chest rises and falls as she breathes heavily and I cannot look away. I run my hands over her shoulders, looking for bruises. I can’t resist touching her. I kiss the bruises I find, my lips brushing her body with my apologies. I lift the hem of her tank up to her chin to kiss the bruises that remain on her tummy. I roll the waistline of her sweats down to kiss the ones on her hips. I'm waiting for her to push me away, but she doesn't. I look up at her eyes, those blue, irresistible eyes, the ones that take me away every time.

  Her hands find their way to my hair and our lips meet. She shudders and contracts as my lips remain on her and I hear her moan. Her fingers tenderly wrap around mine. I love the way she tastes. I cannot get enough of her like this.

  Chapter 22: Liz

  “There are some trails beyond the lake that extend pretty far above to the property line. I haven't been there for a while. Would you like to go up on the ATV's with me?” Jake asks.

  "Yes, but can I ride on the back of yours? I think I need a pair of steel toe boots to shift the smaller ATV."

  "I was hoping you would suggest that.” He smiles, quite pleased with my request.

  Jake drives the larger ATV out of the garage with a rectangular bag strapped securely to the back rail. I hoist the backpack, which contains our lunch and water, on my back. I straddle myself behind Jake and wrap my arms around his sculpted waist. Tightly wedged against Jake, I feel warmth flow through my veins as I kiss the back of his neck. He smiles before we take off on the dirt trails.

  Jake follows the trails, elevating above the lake. The ride is quite rugged. I bounce and hang on tightly to Jake. He suggests we take a break from the ATV and hike. I do not argue with his suggestion since my inner thighs burn and my backside is numb from the bumpy ride.

  The ATV remains parked on a leveled-off area by a large rock. I cinch the backpack containing our lunch over my shoulders while Jake unhooks the bag secured to the back rails of the ATV, converting the bag into a backpack. With a pack on my back and a pack strapped to Jake’s back, we make our way through the open
ings of the trees with Jake leading the way. I trust he knows where we are going within the confines of his property. As I hike uphill, I feel the positive effects of my medication working. I am not winded or dizzy. Jake takes hold of my hand, constantly checking if I am all right. I am not sweating or panting. Jake realizes I am not lying about my condition when I say I am doing fine.

  We stop in a small clearing of trees to eat our lunch. As we sit on large rocks, Jake detects a noise in the trees. He signals me to be quiet by pulling his finger to his lips. I hear it too. It’s a rustling sound made by an animal, not a small varmint on the ground, but a large animal making its way through the trees. I follow Jake’s eyes. He quietly zips open the black pack that was once on his back. He pulls out a pistol and I am not scared or surprised by what he has retrieved; guns are simply who he is.

  I look closely at the animal in the heavy foliage of the trees. It is not a whitetail or mule deer; it is an elk, a large elk. Jake doesn’t need to tell me these are just as dangerous as a moose; I already know. However, the elk is more afraid of me than I am of him and any sudden moves will send him bolting away. As I inch my way closer with Jake, gun cocked in his hand, the elk belts out a cry, not a cry to warn us to stay away, but a cry of pain. The elk stays unmoved as we creep closer.

  “Jake, something is wrong with this animal. He should have taken off by now.” Jake agrees with me.

  The elk’s legs unexpectedly buckle under his weight. He collapses to the hardened earth. When we step within a foot of the animal, we discover his hind legs are drenched in blood.

  Jake shakes his head. “He must have tried to jump the fence to find food. He probably didn’t have enough clearing for his back legs to make it completely over the fence without mangling his legs. I don’t think the jolt in the fence did this. His legs couldn’t get high enough to jump the fence.”