by T M Roy
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events, incidents, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2012 T.M. Roy
All rights reserved.
Cover Design/Illustrations Copyright 2011 T.M. Roy www.TERyvisions.com
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.
Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the text or artwork contained herein for any reason is prohibited without the express written permission of Zapstone Productions LLC.
Second Electronic Edition
Published by Zapstone Productions LLC
for Laura…
my little sister the scientist,
who first introduced me to the
Emerald City…
and for Brook,
who imported me as an E-mail attachment to
Oregon in the first place.
A Zapstone Production
Eugene, Oregon
DR. KENT XAVIER LEGGED OFF his mountain bike right after turning into his small driveway on Agate Street. He gave an adjusting tug to the weatherproof cover over his BMW motorcycle as he passed, and then ducked through the greening tangle of wisteria branches that formed a tunnel leading toward the entrance. Leaving his bike against the side porch, he brushed at the long damp strands of brown hair plastered into his face by another day of the misty latewinter drizzle common to this part of the Pacific Northwest.
“Lynn, honey,” he called, entering the house. “I’m home.”
He deposited the knapsack containing his briefcase and laptop on the small, scarred oak table that served dual duty for dining and workspace. He expected to see Lynn’s golden-haired length curled in the deep cushions of the handcrafted wicker love seat near the fireplace. The love seat, shaped like a huge half clamshell, was perfect for reading, snoozing, or snuggling.
Her pretty face would be sleepy, her blue eyes just a bit unfocused from staring into the flames. The cat would be curled alongside, purring like a springtime downpour.
A warm glow started deep in his belly and he smiled in anticipation. He’d curl up next to her and they’d cuddle and kiss. Maybe do a bit more than that. Then he’d fix dinner, they’d chat, talk some more about wedding plans. He glanced into the living room with the wall-to-wall array of windows, the jungle-like profusion of plants, and the hard-hunted garage sale furniture of which they were both so proud. His smile grew. Who cared if was raining—again? Lynn lit up a room.
His smile faded when he failed to spot her. Comet, the huge gray tabby cat, was alone in the love seat, lying belly up, legs and paws to the four winds. Only the lazy twitching of the big tom’s tail indicated the cat was alive. A green-gold eye opened at Kent’s entry, and closed again.
A fire glowed within the red brick depths of the fireplace. Not like Lynn to start a fire and not be dreaming in front of it. Unusual to come home to silence: usually the washing machine was running, or Lynn was just coming out of the shower. Music always played in the background. Show tunes or scores from Broadway hits past and present, whatever show at the VLT or Hult Center in which she had a part. Lynn would sing with them at the top of her lungs. But not today. If she’d run to the little grocery around the corner, she would’ve left a note. They always had.
Concern tugged at him. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. He noticed the bathroom door was open. So was the door to the guest room. Empty. She wasn’t in the loft, either.
“Lynn?”
He continued to the bedroom. And stopped short as he pushed the door open.
“Lynn, honey, are you—”
The words stuck in his throat.
Jim Payne, an undergrad research assistant in Marine Biology, was just rolling out of Kent’s bed. The bed Kent had shared these past three years with Lynn. In guilty haste, Jim wrapped a sheet around his nude form. Lynn, looking as content and sleepy as the tom passed out in the living room, yawned, stretching her tanned limbs. Her very naked tanned limbs, which still gleamed with a light sheen of sweat.
“Oh, you’re home early,” she said, blinking.
“Kent, uhh—” began Jim.
Kent’s hands gripped either side of the doorframe until his short nails dug into the pine. Still speechless, he looked from his fiancée to his friend. Back to Lynn. Silently begged her to tell him something, anything. Jim came, seduced her, it was all a mistake, a hallucination. A moment of weakness. Jim was a good-looking guy, a lot of girls panted after him. He’d forgive…
Lynn reached for the bedspread. “It’s cold in here. You’re early,” she said again. “You should’ve called, Kent.”
Jim scrambled to pick up his discarded clothing while holding the sheet around him with one hand. The younger man had the grace to look guilty. More than that, he was pale to the lips. Jim made an awkward hop to pluck a sock dangling like a dead slug from the overhead light fixture and stood, looking at Kent in mute appeal.
Kent opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, took a deep breath, and mentally counted to ten. I am a mature adult. I am thirty-nine years old. I can handle this—
He pushed himself back into the small hallway and forced his fingers to release the doorframe. He left just enough room for Jim to squeeze past.
The sound of the bathroom door closing behind Jim brought Kent to his senses.
“Lynn?” He surprised himself with the calm tone in his voice. “What do you mean, I should’ve called? This is my house. We’re engaged…”
A terrible suspicion grew, adding fuel to the rage he struggled to hold in check. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”
“No.”
He felt sick. His guts churned. Lynn appeared always freshly showered when he came home, even though she took a shower every morning. And her forever washing sheets and towels, whether they’d made love or not the night before. He had assumed had something to do with the fact that they didn’t have a large selection of linens and they both liked fresh, clean-smelling towels and bedding.
“How long?” he asked hoarsely.
“Oh,” said Lynn with a languid sigh, “always, I suppose.”
“Always! Always? That’s a little ambiguous a time frame, isn’t it? Jim hasn’t been in Eugene ‘always’. Hey! You just wait a minute!”
He spun and reached for Jim as he fled the bathroom and headed for the door. Kent missed.
“I think you’d better talk it out with Lynn first, Kent,” called Jim, his voice vanishing as he made good on his escape.
“I didn’t say it always was with Jim,” continued Lynn. She stood, letting the comforter drop. Normally the sight of the wheaten-haired twenty-six year old, naked, made Kent forget everything. Everything except how much he loved her, enjoyed making love with her, and how he hoped, one day, to see her standing there burgeoning with their baby inside. The first or second… whichever one. The babies they talked about having once Kent got tenure and they married. The children Lynn told him she wanted to have.
Now Kent felt nothing but his growing anger and a severe headache.
“I’m going to make some coffee while you take a shower,” Kent heard his voice say, “and then we’re going to discuss this.”
Lynn brushed past him and paused, starting up on her toes as if she was going to kiss his cheek. He recoiled. Not only were her lips still swollen from another man’s kisses, but the musky scent of hers and another man’s lovemaking made him gag. He reeled into the adjacent kitchen, tore open the French doors, and stumbled onto the deck. Kent stood in the pouring rain, gasping for breath and trying to control his temper. He entertained a vague hope the cold slap of the downpour would help cool his rage an
d help him gain control over his temper.
No such luck.
“That’s just something else I like about you, Kent.” Lynn’s voice sounded as if it came from a great distance, though no less than twelve feet and a thin wall separated them. “You’re always so calm and sensible about things. I can always count on you to listen.”
The drumming of the shower came to him louder than the rain.
A long, low, animal sound of pure rage erupted from his throat. As he whipped around, his foot slipped on the slimy remains of a slug that had innocently been crossing his path.
Innocent slugs, Kent managed to think, on the way to eat all his early lettuce planted in the deep wood boxes to one side of the porch.
He gave his feet a cursory wipe before re-entering his house. Their house. He felt violated, bereft, as if coming home to discover the place robbed or burned to the ground. His wet and slimy boot almost caused him to slip as he climbed the round rungs of the ladder into the skylit loft. He threw his backpack and the duffel containing his camping gear right down to the main floor. On top of that he threw Lynn’s boxes and suitcases, which had been stored there from the time she’d moved in, three years ago.
He missed the last three rungs coming down and bruised his ribs on the ladder rails while flailing for a handhold to halt his abrupt descent.
Thanks to a few well-placed kicks, boxes, bags, and gear flew into the living room.
By the time Lynn emerged, clean and clothed, from the shower, Kent sat at the table with a cup of coffee.
“You look like you’re ready to talk to a backsliding student,” teased Lynn.
Teasing? She’s teasing me? She’s acting like this is nothing, nothing at all!
Kent didn’t even summon the energy to stare after her as she drifted past on her way to the kitchen, leaving the light floral scent of her shampoo in her wake. The blithe touch she gave him in passing burned on his shoulder like acid.
“Where did I go wrong, Lynn?” he asked at last. “What didn’t I do right? Is it because Jim’s better looking, younger? Didn’t I make enough time for you…”
“Honey, you’re perfect. Have been. Always will be. Looks don’t count—”
God, so I’m ugly now? A pain born of male vanity rose and added itself to all the others he experienced at the moment. So much for any confidence he’d had in his looks, in his hard fitness. All those years with Lynn looking at him as if he was every girl’s fantasy rolled in one? The girlfriends before Lynn who said they liked the permanent tan, the long hair; the high cheekbones he’d inherited from the smattering of Indian blood in the Xavier family?
“Oh, Kent.” Lynn’s voice sounded amused. “You’re not bad-looking, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t attracted to you because of your looks. They were a bonus.”
A bonus. Great. So what had bawled this guy is a chump at her?
“Why?” He nipped back his scream of frustration and washed it back down his throat with another scalding mouthful of coffee. “Why? Why are you so damned cool about this?”
She set her mug of coffee on the table—the mug that matched his—the ones they bought together after going to visit the Oregon Coast Aquarium in Newport. That same weekend he’d proposed in that cozy bed-and-breakfast inn within sight and sound of the sea. Kent lost his taste for the brew in his mug and pushed it aside.
“Why?” he asked again.
Lynn shrugged. “You’re a nice guy, Kent,” she told him. “Good in bed, fun to go out with. Everyone likes you, and other women are so jealous of me when I’m with you, I love it. And you’re dependable. Better yet; you have a secure future even without the professorship you’ve been after. With those books and all you’ve done. And those lectures you have lined up all over—” Lynn took a sip of coffee. As if reporting the evening news, she dropped her bombshell. “I don’t love you.”
The strange sound Kent heard wasn’t his coffee mug getting swept from the table by his arm. That was the sound of his heart breaking into a million tiny bits.
“I never have,” continued Lynn, unaware or indifferent of Kent’s cardiac condition.
Maybe both, he told himself bitterly. Since she’s proving by the second she thinks only of herself. Still hoping this had all been a misunderstanding, he forced himself to listen to her words as she went on.
“I felt like I won the lottery when I met you and things worked out so well with us. I had a place to live, a guy looking after me, and lots of friends to keep me entertained when I had nothing better to do. Why throw that out? It was all working so perfectly. Love…” she shrugged. “Acting is what I love. The stage. The theater. But it doesn’t pay.” She took a sip of coffee.
“No,” he agreed. Kent couldn’t speak beyond his single word. He’d paid.
She became a little defensive. “It’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it. And I can do so much for your career. Listen, why stay here in rainy Oregon, in Eugene, where the most happening thing all year is who gets to be the Slug Queen at the Eugene Celebration? How this place made a Top 20 of places to live, I have no idea. And the U of O—it doesn’t even offer the programs you really qualify for! Just because you like Eugene?” She paused for another mouthful of coffee, looking at him as if she wanted an answer.
“Oh, I know you like the Outdoor Program and all, but you’re wasted here, Kent. You’ll never convince the board to make a new slot in the biology department. Even if you are ‘the Cascades of the New Millennium’s answer to John Muir’ like Professor Whatshisname said. I think that you should go for a real position in your field if you want to teach so much. I can help you find the best place. A real college. Like at UC Davis or Berkeley or somewhere like that.”
His lungs burned. He tried to speak. The insults to the state and school he loved—to himself—aside, the question remained. What does this have to do with us? Or what happened just before? The attempt to dislodge the frozen state of his tongue and the glacier in his throat with a mouthful of coffee helped nothing. Oh, she was an actress all right. And he’d been stupid enough to fall for it. To believe in the dream she’d offered.
A small pout curved her lips when Kent stayed still and silent. “We’d have a great time traveling on the lecture tour you lined up for this summer,” Lynn said. “I suppose there’s no chance of that now?”
This time, he awarded her a stare of pure disbelief. Her lovely face looked back at him with a mixture of worry and expectancy.
“Is there? Are we still getting married?”
Did I miss something here? wondered Kent. She expects me to keep up with this charade?
Lynn wasn’t stupid, not academically, anyway, and she never gave him any impression of being socially dumb, either.
I’m the only dumb one in this house, thought Kent. She is an actress, she’s acted brilliantly. And I’m the dumb Dudley Do-Right cluck who went along with it and trusted she was being as honest with me as I was with her.
His tenuous restraint snapped. “Get out, Lynn.” He hissed the words through teeth clenched tight. The last shreds of control were vanishing fast. “Get out. Pack up your stuff and get out of my house, my life, and most of all, my sight. Now. I’m leaving. I may be gone an hour or I may be gone for the duration of Spring Break, I don’t know. But I want you gone and out of here before dark tonight.”
“Where am I supposed to—”
“I don’t care!” screamed Kent. His fist slammed down on the table so hard Lynn’s mug went airborne, crashed to the brick floor, and exploded in a thousand pieces. Just like his had a few moments ago. Like his life felt at the moment. Like his heart was.
“That’s not my problem any more. Just get the hell out! You blew your act. Yeah, it was great while it lasted. Now go out and start auditioning for another guy who’ll…”
Words failed him again for a moment. Who’ll believe in you. Who’ll be amazed at his incredible luck finding a gorgeous talented woman who wanted him, wanted to have his children.
“W
ho’ll take you in,” he finished, dragging in a deep breath from somewhere in the vicinity of Portland. A hundred miles away breath that took more effort to draw as any breath Kent ever took. “It’s over between us, in case you didn’t get the message! O-V-E-R. Done. Finished. The End. Take your bow, and exit, stage left.”
Feeling glad they’d not yet picked out a ring, Kent grabbed his laptop and camping gear and stormed out.
Deschutes National Forest, near Bend, Oregon
One week later
THE NOISES STARTLED KENT OUT of a sound sleep and straight to his feet. Since he was still zipped snugly into his sleeping bag, he accomplished nothing but an undignified belly-flop.
“Ooofff!”
He lay still for a moment or two, getting his breath, thankful for the Therma-Rest pad that cushioned him from the hard ground beneath. Another sound from outside prodded him into motion again. This time, he remembered to unzip himself from both sleeping bag and tent. It would be a little bit hard, after all, to quickly cover ground when one was still zipped into a nylon shell.
He wriggled into the frosty night. The full moon cast a light so brilliant he didn’t need a flashlight to see, not even in the shadows beneath the ponderosa pines. The lunar glow left most colors washed out, reminding him of something his grandfather always said: at night all cats are gray.
Pushing back the stray strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail, Kent scanned the landscape. He didn’t hear anything now. Nothing but the rushing of water from the Deschutes River as it funneled into another rapids, and the softer sound of the breeze in the towering pines all around him. Had it been his imagination? A trick of his ears? Maybe the local coyote pack was up to fun and games again. He was careful to keep the food he carried away from his tent and out of the reach of wilderness creatures. Despite that, three days ago he’d returned from a day-long hike to find his campsite rifled and clear signs of the big canines.
Kent shivered and scrubbed his hands up and down his bare arms. He longed for the warmth of his sleeping bag, but something about the sounds that had awakened him kept him in place. Thump! He turned his attention only briefly to the right. That sound he knew very well—a large cone from a ponderosa. It hadn’t been a pinecone that awakened him from a sound sleep.