Lost in His Eyes

by Andrew Neiderman

  Betty Lester was a woman easily in her sixties with gray-brown hair cut sharply to frame her long, lean face, featuring large, almost vacant, round dull-brown eyes, the eyes of someone who believed she had seen everything that was worth seeing. There was no element of surprise or even the slightest sign of interest in them at the sight of me. There was just a short pause as if she was taking a picture. Maybe she was, with her brain. I took one of her as well.

  She had pale orange lips, with the lower looking a little thicker than the upper. Small patches of tiny brown spots were at the corners of her mouth. Her skin was almost made of cellophane, the veins in her jawline and neck practically embossed. She looked about five feet seven, with long, thin spidery arms but small hands, the tops of which were blotched with age spots. The jeans she was wearing looked as if they had belonged to her husband. They hung like an afterthought off her hips and were fastened with what looked like a rope rather than a belt. She wore a flannel shirt under a thick, dull gray cable-knit sweater that was bunched in a roll just under her small breasts.

  ‘I turned on the heat in your cabin,’ she said after I introduced myself. ‘Should be cozy. Colder this year, but we’ve had less rain and snow. Woods are dry. Be careful out there. No campfires and there is absolutely no smoking on my property, period,’ she said sternly. She looked as if she would kill if her point was challenged.

  ‘Good to hear,’ I said, which almost brought a smile. It was more like a small collapse in her drumskin-tight cheeks. I looked at some of the giveaways on the counter. One sheet outlined suggested hikes. I studied them a moment. ‘This trail starts at the far end of your property?’

  ‘Exactly. If you do the circle, it will take you about an hour and a half at a steady pace. There’s a spring and a creek about midway, and over here,’ she said, pointing to the map outlined, ‘you’ll find a scenic view.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I opened my purse and put the money on the counter. She looked at it as if it was foreign currency.

  ‘Ninety-eight percent of the people I get use credit cards,’ she said and looked up at me without touching it. Were her suspicions aroused? Did it matter?

  ‘Money still good?’

  ‘Of course. Just sayin’.’ She picked it up and counted it carefully. From the way she touched them, I had the impression she was looking for counterfeit bills. She grimaced after a grunt to indicate she was satisfied and then showed me where to sign in. As soon as I did, she gave me the key which was on what looked like a coffee-white toy rabbit’s foot. ‘It’s the fourth one on the right when you drive in.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right now, my girl is on holiday. Best time of year to let help take off,’ she said. ‘However, there are plenty of towels and wash cloths to last you two days. I put in bottles of fresh spring water. Better than any water you buy in the supermarket. Our tap water’s good, too. We don’t have telephone landlines for outside calls. Most everyone uses cell phones anyway and I have no switchboard. We’re not a hotel or motel. My husband was always talking about doing that, but it was another one of those things he never got around to doin’. He died two years ago.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry,’ I said, because everyone does. She didn’t even hear me.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with this place. Our son moved to the East Coast. Works on Wall Street and couldn’t care less about running a family business back here, not that it would be worth his while,’ she added. ‘He makes more in a week than we make all season. You wonder why you work so hard on something all your lives, especially today. Kids can’t wait to get away.’

  I nodded. This was one of those conversations you have with people where you just agree to avoid further conversation. I knew that what would please her about life here would not please her son, and there was nothing in the world that would change either of their minds or feelings.

  She was obviously waiting for me to say something more, so I told her how I had admired her property every time I had come up here and had made a mental note to stay here someday. And here I was.

  She drew her lips back, which made the bridge of her nose even more prominent. If she tightened her face just a little more, it looked as if the skin would break and she’d begin to bleed.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ she offered, but not with any real interest. It was more like what she had memorized years ago to say. She turned away and waved her right hand over her head to dismiss me like she might some annoying fly or mosquito.

  I left quickly and got into the car. For a moment I just sat there, staring ahead. Suddenly, I was trembling.

  ‘What?’ Lancaster said.

  ‘I think I just met Mrs Bates.’

  ‘Mrs Bates?’

  ‘Psycho,’ I said.

  ‘Oh boy. Is there a Norman?’

  ‘No. Her son left for more exciting pastures. No Oedipus complex at work here. Husband died two years ago.’

  I took a deep breath and drove down the gravel road that ran past the cabins until I reached ours. We got our bags out and entered the cabin. I set mine down quickly in the living room. While Lancaster went to the bathroom, I went back out and brought in the groceries.

  The African American man was no longer painting. He had probably gone to lunch. With the breeze stronger, lifting and twisting and turning dried leaves, the place suddenly had the desolate look of a property that had been deserted. Other than the sound of the wind rushing through the forest and the whisper of car tires as an automobile went by, it was silent.

  What of it? This was why I had come up here, wasn’t it?

  I inhaled the scent of the cedar and returned to the cabin. It was a quaint little place with a small well-decorated living room. There was no television set, which pleased me. The furniture consisted of one small settee with light brown cushions and two matching easy chairs, all set around a cedarwood table upon which was a vase with a handful of fake pussy willow.

  The kitchen had a wall oven, a range, a refrigerator and two porcelain sinks. On the recently installed white tile counter stood a microwave. There was an oval dark-cherrywood table and chairs that looked new, too. The floor consisted of large tiles matching the counter top. I put my groceries down on the counter and started to put things away.

  Lancaster stepped into the doorway.

  ‘Comfy,’ he said. ‘The mattress on the queen-size bed feels new. I like the comforter. Reminds me of the one I had on my bed in Carmel. I stayed in a cabin not much bigger than this one.’

  ‘Ronnie and I spent a week in Carmel when Kelly was five and able to stay with our parents. She liked jumping from one to the other. She can treat people like television stations. Like Ronnie, Kelly won’t ride in my car with me unless I change from NPR to some rock or pop station.’

  ‘First time you mentioned your daughter’s name,’ he said.

  ‘Is it?’

  I looked away and continued organizing the food.

  ‘Need any help?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing,’ I said. I finished, picked up my bag and walked out to look at the bedroom. The large pillows were fluffy. There was a fresh scent, too. ‘She keeps it nice.’

  ‘Probably thinks of it all as an extension of her own home. It makes her feel significant, especially after what you told me about her son leaving and her husband dying. The place is probably her family now.’

  ‘Talk about analyzing too much …’

  He laughed.

  I started to put my things away, hang up my shirts and an extra pair of jeans. He did the same with his things.

  ‘I can’t wait to get out there,’ I said. ‘How about I make us some sandwiches and we just walk until we find a nice place for lunch?’

  ‘OK.’ He smiled widely at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re like a little girl again, aren’t you?’ he asked. He touched my cheek as if he wanted to be sure I was really standing there and wasn’t part of his imagination. I brought my hand to h
is and then brought his to my lips. His smile weakened into a more intense look. I could feel the energy building between us. ‘That’s what coming up here is doing for you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know what makes me even hungrier than a walk in the woods on a brisk fall day like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know.’ I knew because it made me hungrier, too.

  Ever so slowly, moving as though the world itself had nearly stopped spinning on its axis, he brought his lips to mine. At first it seemed as light as air, his lips touching mine so gently that I wasn’t sure we had touched. It was as if we were feeling the static electricity emanating from each other’s passion, and that nudged and unfolded the sexual energy balled up inside us.

  ‘We should christen this place before we do anything else,’ he said.

  Before we took another step, our clothes literally seemed to fall away and land in a pile at our feet. He put his arm around my waist and turned me toward the bedroom. I lay my head against his shoulder as we walked slowly into it. I pulled away the comforter and the cover sheet and then we both got in. He seemed to feast on my breasts, taunting my nipples with the tip of his tongue, his leg gently moving in between mine. I brought my building sexual excitement to him, moving slowly, firmly, rhythmically, while he lifted my breasts with his mouth and then kissed me, drawing hot breath from my lungs. I felt as if he wanted to devour me, force me into him, to be forever a part of him, to disappear entirely inside him.

  He held back patiently as I worked myself higher and higher, closer and closer to that vivid trembling that came at the firing of my first orgasm. I was gasping and he was holding me as if I might somehow fall off the bed. He was so strong, so confident and so unselfish. He put his satisfaction on hold, driving me to feel more, go into another orgasm and another. I had never had sex like this. It seemed it could go on forever. My heart pounded, but joyfully. I wanted to lose my breath. I chased after every gasp. I was turning and twisting, on the throes of a convulsion, and the only thing that calmed me down was feeling him finally slip softly, gracefully into me.

  I fell back and he moved over me, his hands at my side so he could push himself up and look down at me. I lifted my head to reach his lips, but he teased me by pulling back. He said nothing. There were no accompanying words of love or pledges and exclamations of his joy. He was steadfast, silent, his eyes penetrating mine. I felt my body weaken. Every part of me that even suggested resistance or control retreated. He was moving with strong, steady strokes, subduing me completely. I closed my eyes and felt a rumbling begin in my loins and travel up my spine. Did I cry out? I can’t remember. He continued, pursuing me inside until I felt him exploding as if he had brought his entire body to my one warm place and entered me completely if only for a few moments. My lips were salty wet with the taste of his. I kept my eyes closed, and when he lifted himself away, I drifted, refusing to see an ending, even though my body had settled and my sex had balled up again to wait for another nudge.

  When I opened my eyes, he was standing there naked at the side of the bed. He had his hands on his hips and looked as if he had just won a marathon.

  ‘Don’t be so proud of yourself,’ I said, and he smiled.

  ‘We should always make love as if we’re afraid it might be for the last time. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I must say that you make love as though you haven’t for some time.’

  ‘Sometimes Ronnie accuses me of not wanting it as much as he does.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I haven’t initiated it for some time.’

  ‘Not good.’ He sat on the bed. ‘How’s that song go? You’ve lost that loving feeling …’

  ‘The thing is, until you came along, I wasn’t looking for it elsewhere. The very thought of adultery didn’t occur to me, maybe because most of the men I know through my friends and his look the same to me. Oh, one might have nicer eyes or a nicer mouth, be in better shape, have a more pleasing voice, but each has so much more not to recommend him.’

  ‘Maybe you’re just too choosy.’

  ‘You should be pleased about that.’

  ‘What about that attorney you’ve started working for?’

  ‘He’s good-looking, even a little flirtatious, but he lacks soul,’ I said, and Lancaster laughed. ‘Stop trying to find me another lover anyway. Are you planning on going?’

  ‘Someday. I’m afraid about what you’ll be like then.’

  ‘I might come after you.’

  He smiled. ‘You might do just that. Then I’ll be stalked.’ He slapped his leg. ‘Well, what about those sandwiches and a walk in the woods?’

  ‘Right.’

  I rose. We both went to retrieve our clothes, and then I went into the kitchen and prepared some sandwiches quickly. Twenty minutes or so later, we left the cabin. We didn’t hold hands until we reached the beginning of the trail as outlined on the sheet of paper I had taken from the office.

  When I looked back, the African American man was looking our way. He wore a curious expression on his face. He looked worried, as if he was about to shout, ‘Be careful,’ or something. I smiled back at him, but he didn’t smile back at me. He shook his head and turned back to his work.

  We made a turn and the world of cars, people and electricity disappeared.

  We were like Adam and Eve, only, unlike them, we weren’t leaving Paradise. We were entering it.

  At least, I thought so.

  But I had been wrong before.

  TEN

  I remember there weren’t enough birds to please me. Spring had so much more to offer than fall, despite the short-lived beautiful leaf colors, which was probably why everywhere in the world where there were seasons, everyone looked forward to one or the other so much. Now leafless, the trees looked lonely to me. They had been turned into sentinels of the dead, guarding memories and heritage. There were no smiles in trees that had lost their leaves. Beside the absence of birds, there weren’t even insects to visit their limbs. In fact, what struck me about our trail was the deep stillness. The loudest sound was the crunch of our feet on the tiny branches and dried leaves.

  I wasn’t walking so much as lumbering along, inhaling the sweet pungent scent of the pine needles and the aroma of fresh earth. It was mesmerizing. I felt new energy in my legs, little electric explosions in my thighs and calves and even my feet. Lancaster reached out to touch my arm so I would stop walking. I was annoyed at the interruption.

  However, glancing in the direction he was looking, I saw a stag mule deer. It was standing statue-still and looking our way. Its antlers were forked and it had the characteristic large ears. I didn’t know how many human beings it had seen or how often, but from the way it was standing there, apparently unafraid, it seemed we were just as much a curiosity to him as he was to us.

  ‘Hey,’ Lancaster shouted. He didn’t move.

  ‘Deer,’ I cried, and his ears flickered and he started away quickly, disappearing deeper into the forest.

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ Lancaster said. ‘You can see squirrels and coyotes everywhere, but mule deer are a treat. Maybe we’ll see a mountain lion.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll skip that treat, thank you.’

  We walked on. Maybe it was the stillness of the forest, the cool air, the absence of any real distraction, but we both seemed to fall deeper and deeper into our own thoughts, which was what was supposed to happen. Neither of us spoke for nearly half an hour or more, until we came to that scenic view Betty Lester had mentioned. There were some nice-size rocks to sit on and look out over the valley below.

  We sat and gaped. There was something unique about being high up and looking down. Yes, maybe it made you feel more God-like. You were above the din, superior to all below who were still caught in the bedlam of their everyday lives. The vastness filled you with an exhilarating feeling. You were untouchable, unreachable, and as close to immortality as you’d ever be. This was where dreams rested before leaping off to fin
d a proper home. They were swarming around me like angels exploring all they could outside of heaven.

  After a few moments during which we sat absorbing the scene before us, I turned to him. He looked younger somehow, his face reddened by the rush of blood that rose to face the cold sting of the wind. Strands of his hair danced over his forehead. His eyes seemed brighter, his lips fuller and the breadth of his shoulders wider, stronger. I saw the anticipation in his soft smile. What amazing thing would I say to fit this incredible experience?

  ‘This is that moment when we tell each other things we would never tell anyone else, even people close to us. Nature has a way of unwrapping secrets of the heart,’ I added. I was challenging him.

  He was thoughtful a moment, his smile flying off like a kite caught in the wind. Could he pull it back?

  ‘Your expectations are too great. That might be your overall problem,’ he said.

  ‘I have an overall problem?’

  ‘You’ve stepped out of your life to find another life. I’d say that’s a symptom of something that can be safely called a problem.’

  I stared at the magnificent, crystal-clear view before us and resisted digesting his words, even though I knew they rang with the certainty of Big Ben sounding the hour.

  ‘Right from the start, we’re guilty of over-expectations,’ he continued. ‘We expect far too much of our parents, and yes, they always expect far too much of us, whether it be to become as successful as they are or more successful than they are. It’s the same thing – imposing goals and achievements on us that might not even be on our list of desirable aims.

  ‘You know your teachers always expect more effort, more results, and then you start romancing the dream and experience one disappointment after another until someone says, “Why do you have to be so passionately in love? Why can’t you just settle for someone who seems to have the same goals in life, enjoys most of what you enjoy, and keeps you from being depressed about yourself?” Those seem to be attainable expectations.’

  ‘And then you realize you want more,’ I said.