“Jake!” I yell, yet I know my voice is not carrying far past the rain coming down in thick sheets all around.
The falling water blurs my vision. I cannot see far ahead. I feel visually impaired as I stay on the path.
“Liz!” I hear Jake call for me.
“Jake! Jake!”
Jake runs to me and I wrap my arms around him. I pull away from him to look into his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was worried about you. That storm came in from nowhere.”
“You’re okay?” I ask, relieved.
“Yes, I’m fine Liz.” A smile slowly widens across his wet face.
I feel myself breathe again. “Jake, you’re okay!” I cry tears of joy and squeeze him tightly. “You’re really okay,” I say into his neck.
Jake picks me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist, he holds onto me tightly. In this moment, we both realize this is the first time in long while Jake has been okay in a rainstorm. He doesn’t think he is being ambushed; warfare is not taking over his mind. He is able to act rationally to make sure I’m all right.
“I left the box full of meat on a tree stump uncovered. It’s not far. I’m going back to get it real quick,” I say.
“I’m coming with you this time,” Jake hollers with rain spilling down his face.
“Okay.” I take his wet hand in mine to lead him to the box.
Jake picks up the box and carries it back to the cabin. We slosh through puddles, past the axe propped against the cabin, and into the back door. Jake sets the box on the counter as I take off my sopping wet jacket; we are freshly showered in rainwater.
When his hands are free, they cup my face. He kisses me as if he has just been freed from something, something he could not escape on his own. His emerald green eyes gaze upon me as if I am his prize.
“We have to get you out of these wet clothes,” Jake says with a provocative smile.
He peels my shirt over my head and I peel his off in turn. He tosses my wet shirt in the kitchen sink and I follow his lead by tossing his in the same place. He undoes my top button and unzips my jeans. He is able to get the denim down to my knees and then sets me on the counter to get the wet denim down around my ankles. My shoes and socks are soaking wet; those, too, are thrown into the sink. The counter is wet and slick and so are my bra and panties. Jake takes off his jeans and socks and tosses them into the sink with my things.
“Now we need to dry you off.” He grabs a towel from his bathroom on the main level before he gently picks me up off the counter. Jake carries my wet body up the stairs. He places me gently on the bed.
Jake unclasps my bra and tosses it aside so he can dry off my shoulders, my back, my chest, and my tummy. My lace panties are sopping wet. He rolls them off my hips and down my thighs. He dries off my thighs, my knees, and my feet.
Jake takes off his jockey shorts and pats himself dry with the towel in his hand. I am heated with eagerness for him to join me on the bed. I grab hold of his waist and pull him toward me. I wet him in a way that makes him moan with desire. I twirl my tongue around him, grab hold of his tight butt, and press him harder into my face. He is stiff and warm in my mouth as my bared breasts tickle his upper thighs. He pushes me away from him.
“Liz, you’re getting me there too fast.”
I slide onto the bed and pull him on top of me. I pull the quilted blanket over us so we wrap together tightly. Jake slides into me and we roll around together in the blanket. I land on top of Jake, grinding my hips into his. My hands intertwine, clasping in his above his head. He lifts his head and suckles each of my breasts until I moan. When I am on top, I feel him deep inside of me. I roll my hips around as if I am dancing on top of him. I lean back and arch my spine, taking in the sensation Jake brings to me.
As I lie on top of Jake, I see him now as my solid rock. His green eyes are the spotlight on a dark rainy day, showing me the way. I feel as if I could never go on without him, but I will have to soon, just as he will have to do the same without me.
Chapter 51: Liz
Spring came and went quickly. Everything is green now; it is summer again. Wild geraniums and asters bloom at my feet as we hike around the property. I watch birds skip from treetop to treetop. I notice painted ladies have popped out overnight. Last summer, Jake lived every day as if it was his last. It was as if any moment, our utopia could come under siege and I will be taken away from him.
This summer, I initiate returning to the hooks left on the enormous rock to rappel. I suggest Jake hooks the zip line so we can soar down it again like eagles. I am the one who asks Jake if he’d like to go fishing. Now I am living each day as if it were my last at the cabin. Every night, I embrace Jake has if it were my last time with him.
When Jake checks the drop box for incoming letters, I always peek around his shoulder to see if there are any letters from the Marine Corps. He may not get deployed any time soon, but he is still not immune from reporting for mandatory training.
When Jake does report for training, I’m certain there will be little or no outward evidence he suffers from anxieties or stresses of war. He’ll always battle his demons. His memories will always haunt him. He’ll never completely shake those. Today, they don’t control him as they did when I first met Jake a year ago. He’s much stronger and braver than ever before. Jake doesn’t see himself as broken anymore. I don’t believe he’ll put himself or others in harm’s way if he returns now. I’d like to give myself credit for it all, but I can’t. Jake did it all by himself, one day at a time.
Jake and I are on the lake waterskiing, swinging from a rope, and swimming until the sun goes down every summer night. We lie together in the hammock at twilight, naming off stars and cuddling next to each other next to the campfire. The girls come to fly kites and we go down for dinners with Doug and Jennifer.
I never want this to end. I want to keep living like this with Jake until I grow old, but I know our days here together are numbered. I just don’t know when the countdown will begin.
Chapter 52: Mike
Another school year started without Liz. Instead of raking the leaves littering the yard, I had all but one tree removed. Liz’s sisters and parents do everything with the kids, which means the kids spend little time at the house. I see the kids on the weekends; sometimes it’s every other weekend. I suppose this is the way it would have been had Liz and I divorced. However, it just wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
The women in the area are still alarmed by Liz’s disappearance. They no longer walk in the neighborhood as they used to. When they walk, their husbands accompany them in the mornings or evenings.
Neighbors wave as they pass me with pity in their eyes. They ask about Liz, but I am tired of hearing her name. The sound of it makes me want to vomit.
I arrive in sunny California at the annual banker’s convention. This was the only business trip Liz attended with me. She fit in with the other wives who were joining their husbands. This is the second year Liz has missed. I set up my booth with my lovely, yet sultry, assistant, who attracts men to the booth with her long legs.
“Mike,” a man says before extending his hand to me.
“Bob, from Florida? How are you?” I ask.
“Good. Is your divorce finalized?”
“I’m not getting a divorce, per se. It’s complicated under the circumstances,” I explain.
“Oh, last winter while I was snowmobiling in Calgary, your wife told my wife that you were separated.”
My mouth drops to the floor. My eyes pop as he tells me about talking to my wife - my wife who vanished into thin air. I had no clues as to where she went until this moment.
“When I didn’t see your wife at the conference this year, I assumed your divorce was finalized,” Bob says.
I am shaking with anger. “You talked to my wife? She said we were separated? Where did you say you saw my wife again?” I ask with hostile curiosity.
“Outside
of Calgary. It was at a winter resort. Our friends recommended the place. She said she was with old college friends.”
I scramble to find a paper and a pen.
“Draw me a map of how to get there,” I demand. I push the paper in front of Bob and click on a pen.
“Draw me a map of how to get there,” I repeat. I insist he use my booth to draw a detailed map.
“Mike, this isn’t usually the kind of paper you push my way. It’s usually a plan or a pending contract for the upcoming fiscal year.”
I am biting the inside of my cheeks to control my anger. I cannot believe Liz has placed me in an embarrassing predicament with a client.
“I’ll get the papers you are used to seeing soon enough,” I say as I urge him to continue drawing the map to this remote location.
I’ll get this man the papers he needs, but I first need to excuse myself from this conference to go kill my wife, who has put me through hell this past year while she went away; my legal and lawfully wedded wife, who is hiding in Canada. In Canada? I don’t know how much longer I can contain my rage for her right now. I don’t hear a word from her and now a client who lives in Florida had an amiable conversation with my wife. How could you do this to me, Liz?
I want to kick down all the booths and chairs around me, I am so furious. I want to tear down customized presentation boards standing before me and rip them to pieces. I want to throw the paraphernalia sitting on tabletops everywhere in this conference center, I am so enraged with Liz.
I swiftly leave the booth and the remainder of the conference in the capable hands of my assistant. I run to my hotel room to throw my things into my suitcase. I stop at the small business center in the hotel and retrieve a copy of Liz’s missing persons report from my laptop before checking out of the hotel. I drive to the nearest copy center to make one hundred colored copies that I plan on posting in that small resort town outside of Calgary.
Damn it, Liz! Why did you go north? I can understand warm beaches in Mexico, but not Canada! C’mon, Liz! You must have done this on purpose to hurt me, to embarrass me!
I speed to LAX and book the next available flight to Calgary, not caring about the cost. Fortunately, I have my passport in my wallet, so that is not a hindrance.
I have to wait in the busy, crowded airport. While I wait, I pull the copied pictures of Liz’s missing persons report. I write all over her face with a pen from my carry-on bag:
“Kids Miss Their Mom!”
“Bring This Mother Home To Her Children!”
“This Mom Needs To Come Home!”
If Liz sees these signs, it will pull on her heartstrings. She will come right home. No scene, no police, no messy public embarrassment. Even though it’s been over a year since I have seen Liz, I still know Liz. I know how to manipulate her without physical force. She won’t come home for me, but she will come home for the kids, especially if this message is plastered everywhere.
I am enraged and agitated the entire flight to Calgary. Bourbon served by the flight attendant doesn’t begin to calm my nerves. When I land, I do not check in at a hotel. I throw my luggage and carry-on bags in the back seat of a rental car.
I stop at an office supply store to buy a heavy-duty stapler, two boxes of staples, one hundred pushpins, and multiple dispensers of durable packaging tape.
I drive hastily away from Calgary city limits, diligently following the handwritten map precisely. I arrive at a resort-like town that looks abandoned for the off-season. I come to a screeching halt at the gas station.
I step out of my rental car, papers and tacking supplies in hand. I slam the car door and look around. Here? Why here? What’s here? Nothing is here!
I forcefully swing open the convenience store door. I want to rip off its jingling bells as I storm though the threshold. I stomp over to the cashier.
“Have you seen this woman?” I roar, shoving Liz’s picture in the man’s face. There is no reply, only a blank stare.
“Take a closer look!” I demand, pointing at her picture.
There is still no reply.
“Can I leave this here?” I ask with rage.
Still no answer, only silence. I slam the paper down on the counter and place a piece of tape to hold it in place. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, yet no one makes eye contact. No one makes a sound.
A quaint bulletin board hangs next to the doorway exit. I plaster a dozen pieces of paper all with Liz’s face and the handwritten inscription. I staple them securely to the board, covering all other local announcements. Pound! Pound! Pound!
Once I leave the convenience store, I do the same in the drug store, the repair shop, and continue to tack fliers on every wooden electric pole and tree within a ten-mile radius of the abandoned resort town.
When I peel away in my rental car to return to the airport, it suddenly dawns on me: What if Bob was mistaken? What if she came with old college friends and then left with them? Did I just overreact for nothing? Oh, Liz, I hate you more and more each day!
Chapter 53: Jake
A year has passed since I snapped and made the hasty decision to bring Liz to the cabin. One idyllic year. I cannot recall the last time in my life where I lived in utter bliss for an extended amount of time.
Liz and I ride the ATVs to the drop box to check its contents. The air is nippier, as we are on the doorstep of autumn. There are not many things to gather. As I check the mechanisms on the main gate, I hear a truck approaching us. It is Benjamin with his son, Marcus.
“Jake,” Benjamin says with his head lowered, stepping from his truck.
I am concerned with his sullen tone of voice and his sluggish mannerisms.
“Here’s your mail.” Benjamin passes me a white envelope with a U.S. Marine Corps emblem as the return address.
Liz sees the return address before I can conceal it. Her eyes stay glued to the envelope. Marcus steps out of the passenger side of the truck. He holds in his hands a stack of white papers, tattered and wrinkled. It looks as if there are at least a hundred in his hands.
Liz’s eyes are no longer on my letter and me. Her eyes are now on Marcus’ hands. She is peering incredulously at what he holds, as am I.
“Jake, there was a fellow at the gas station today. He was quite irate, asking all sorts of questions. He was demanding answers from people.”
Liz’s eyes squint at the papers in Marcus’ hands, as if she recognizes something. Liz cups her mouth and she gasps.
“You know how people around here don’t like to be bothered. They also don’t like to deal with people like him.”
Liz slowly walks closer to Marcus, her eyes absorbing the papers.
“I was at the gas station when it all happened. I followed the man who was posting papers. He came into town as fast as he left.”
Benjamin pauses as he gestures to Marcus. Liz places her hands on the papers and Marcus relinquishes his hold on the bundle, carefully handing them to Liz.
“I think I got them all. Some may have blown away in the wind or maybe we missed one. I thought you might want to look at them before I tossed them away. I don’t think anyone will take action. You know how people are around here. Everyone wants to be left alone.”
Benjamin turns to Marcus, who has not said a word. “We will leave you alone now. Let me know if you need anything,” Benjamin says as he and Marcus get in their truck and drive away.
I turn to Liz. She has the papers concealed against her chest, not allowing me to see them. Liz takes a step backward once I take a step toward her.
“What is it, Liz?” I ask sternly.
Liz is starting to tremble. “I don’t want you to see these papers. Open your letter and tell me what the Marines say and then I’ll show you.”
I don’t want to play the game of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” I abruptly reach and grab the papers. They fall to the ground. I recognize immediately what Liz was concealing, copies of Liz’s missing persons profile. I’ve seen it online. I just hadn’t seen it
printed on paper. Liz immediately drops to the ground to gather the papers.
“It has my husband’s handwriting. Mike wrote on these fliers. Mike was here.” Liz’s voice is shaky. She reads the description scripted on each flyer. Her bottom lip quivers.
Liz’s eyes glisten and she quietly says, “Open your letter, Jake.”
I crouch on the ground next to Liz. I read the letter from the Marines silently.
“It’s a letter informing me I need to report for pre-deployment training. They will be focusing on expeditionary site security, interior guard, force protection, crowd-control techniques, rules of engagement, and escalation of hostile crowds,” I explain.
“It’s not for conventional or even counter-insurgency skills. This is different. We will probably practice getting pepper sprayed in the eyes,” I add.
Liz and I sit in silence as we hold the physical evidence in our hands, the reason to leave the cabin. We both know it, but neither one of us wants to say it.
Liz is the one to break the eerie silence. “Jake, it’s time I get back.”
Her words hang in the air.
“I need to be the obnoxious mother on the bleachers, cheering my son on at his varsity games. I need to help my daughter shop for a homecoming dress. I need to see if my youngest son has tried lacrosse or if he wants to continue with soccer.”
Liz swipes away at the tears on her face. “Jake, I have to get back to my kids while you go to training. I can’t stay at the cabin while you are gone. My three kids need a mom. I can’t make them take a back seat like your mom did.”
I lower my head.
“Jake, you’ll be fine when you return. We both have unfinished chapters in our lives we have to let play out. They aren’t lengthy chapters and they won’t last forever. We can’t fast forward to the end where we find each other again. I hope our final chapters don’t alter who we are or what happens to us. I don’t think they will.”
Hasty Resolution Page 36