by Davis, SJ
His hands found her breasts. Her nipples tightened, straining against the confines of her bra. He kissed her again and her legs grew weak.
“You know I want you. I think you want me, too,” he whispered. “Forget about Alex. Let me make love to you, Selene.”
Alex. Alex. It always came back to Alex. Lena pulled away and took a step back. “No,” she said, pulling her shirt over her breasts. “I can’t! I’m married – I took a vow. I’m sorry, Odin, but I’ve got to go.”
Breathless, she slid down the bank to the water’s edge and propelled herself into deep water before he could protest. When there was no sound of pursuit, she placed the paddle across the bow of the boat. Sinking forward, her head cradled in one hand, she allowed herself to relive the passion of Odin’s last kiss. “It could happen right now,” he’d said. “It could happen tonight.”
And it almost had.
Her heart heavy, she paddled to her side of the pond and packed a bag. Half-lifting, half-dragging Zephyr, she pushed him into the Jeep’s back seat and pulled out of the meadow. Odin was right; six weeks was a long time. She needed a man and that man, by legal right, was her husband. If Alex couldn’t come to her, then she would go to him.
Chapter 23.
The sun had been up for two hours by the time Lena pulled into her driveway. She was tired, but pleased to see that Alex’s car sat in its usual spot in front of the garage. The yard, as well, was as orderly as ever. Either he’d been mowing it himself, or, more likely, he’d hired a landscaping crew. It was as though she hadn’t been gone.
The thought that the house didn’t need her attention made her sad. She leashed the dog for the first time in six weeks and let herself in through the front door, feeling like a stranger. Inside, all was quiet. She poured tap water into Zephyr’s bowl - blue enamel to match the custom tiles - and left it by the back door.
“Alex?” she called.
There was no answer. He’s probably running, she thought. Alex was in great shape; his five-mile run was part of his daily routine. How quickly she’d forgotten his habits. She shook her head to ward off fatigue and flipped through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. With his usual efficiency, he’d stacked it into three separate piles: bills, offers, and junk mail. Lena smiled; some things never changed.
While she waited for him to finish his run, she walked through the rooms of the first floor, looking at them through new eyes. There, on the mantle, was the picture of their parents on their wedding day; there on the desk was the glass paperweight she used to keep the bills from flying away. The afghan she’d crocheted for Christmas was draped across the back of the couch. She yawned again and gave up waiting. Leaving a brief note on the counter, she ruffled Zephyr’s fur and mounted the stairs.
Taking each step slowly, she reached the second floor landing and walked the length of the hallway to the master bedroom. Turning the knob, she pushed it open, and froze. The room was in shambles. Pillows and blankets littered the floor. Crusted plates of food sat forgotten on the dresser. A bottle of champagne, Alex’s old stand-by Cristal, sat on the end table, bubbles still rising in one of the glasses. Her eyes took in the scene and shifted to the bed, where her husband was making love to another woman. A woman she knew. A woman she disliked.
At the sound of her startled gasp, the woman’s eyes flew open. “Oh my God!” she said, ducking beneath the sheet.
Alex paused in mid-thrust and turned to meet her eyes. He found his voice at the same time that Lena found her feet.
“Lena! Shit! What the hell are you doing here?”
She didn’t answer. Bolting down the stairs, she called Zephyr and snatched up her overnight bag.
“Lena,” Alex yelled. He followed her down the stairs and out into the yard, wrapped only in a towel. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Lena didn’t answer. She backed from the driveway and pulled into traffic, ignoring the sound of Mr. Ubold’s horn as she cut him off. At the entry to I-95, she took the first right and headed north. Amanda…Amanda James. His agent. Fresh tears overflowed. She pulled into the breakdown lane and sat there until they passed.
The trip north continued in a series of stops and starts. Somehow she made it back to Breakneck Ridge in one piece. Beyond hurt and beyond tired, she pulled into the driveway, opened the door for Zephyr, and collapsed on the couch, giving in to her emotions. The reality of Alex’s infidelity hit her like a ton of bricks. She’d known that it would hurt, she just hadn’t realized how much.
At last her tears stopped. Lena hiccupped and wiped her nose on her T-shirt. Crawling under the afghan, exhausted from the emotional trip home, she closed her eyes. Odin had been right…six weeks was a long time; far too long to leave her faithless husband on his own.
Chapter 24.
“I want to paint you, Selene.”
Lena sat next to Odin on the dock, her feet in the water. Three days had passed since her fateful round-trip to Connecticut, and although he must have known that she was gone and been curious about the reason, he’d refrained from asking. She was profoundly grateful for that. Since her return, she’d driven to Blanchard twice a day to check her messages. There’d been at least a dozen from Alex, some begging her to call, some apologetic, and even a couple that were angry and belligerent. She’d listened to each in turn, deleted them one by one, and returned to her lonely paradise to nurse her wounds.
“I want to paint you,” he said again, tapping her on the shoulder.
“Sure,” she said, flashing him a wan smile. “Why not?”
“Tomorrow. After our walk.”
She shrugged. “Sure,” she said, again.
Anything was better than the state of inertia she felt herself mired in. She understood that she was depressed, but could do nothing to break free of the persistent gloom. At least modeling for Odin would be a distraction.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said.
“Seven o’clock.”
After he left, she dressed and headed for Greenville, picking through the meats and vegetables at the market without enthusiasm. Alex had left another message: he was heading to Juneau on the weekend. He’d be in touch when he returned.
“Let’s take some breathing room, Lena. I understand you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. I’ll be back in September. I’ll call you and we’ll get together to talk things out.” He’d hung up without saying “I love you.”
A quick phone call to the Rothstein Literary Agency had corroborated her fears that Amanda James was leaving for Alaska as well.
It’s over, she thought, placing a jar of Prego into her cart next to a box of linguini. My perfect marriage to my perfect husband is over.
Before heading back, she swung by Jane Janson’s house. The door was locked, her car gone. Lena returned to her Jeep with another sigh. It was probably for the best…she wasn’t in the mood for Jane’s gossip, anyway. Still, she was desperate for news of Annie. If there was ever a time when she needed her best friend’s shoulder, this was it. Leaving the Janson’s she drove back through town. On impulse, she pulled into the police department and asked for Detective Spaulding.
Middle Marks recognized her immediately. “He’s in the back,” she said, buzzing the door open. “Go right in.”
Lena weaved around the desks. There were four cops on duty, none of whom she knew. They looked up curiously as she passed before returning to their paperwork. At the back of the room, Stan Spaulding was adding Coffee Mate to his cup. This time he recognized her immediately and pointed to a seat across from his desk.
“Hi,” she said, sinking into it. “I was passing through town this morning and thought I’d check in with you. Has there been any word on Annie?”
Stan Spaulding smiled. He seemed genuinely happy to see her. “I’m glad you came in, Lena. I was just thinking about you, to tell the truth. Jane Janson filed a missing persons complaint yesterday. I left a note on your dad’s door, but word has it you’re up on the ridge full time these da
ys.”
Lena’s heart fell. “So it’s official, then? Annie’s considered a missing person?”
“Yes.” Stan tapped his pen against the desk and took a sip from his cup. “She missed Jane’s birthday, something she’s never done before, even the last two times she took off. That was enough to push our doubts over the edge.”
“So no one’s heard anything from her yet?”
“Not a word. To tell you the truth, I was on my way up to Breakneck Ridge to see you later this afternoon. Looks like you saved me a trip. Do you have a minute?”
Lena nodded.
“Great. Coffee?”
“Okay.”
The detective poured her a cup and passed her the Coffee Mate.
“Sorry,” he said, “the department’s too cheap to buy the real stuff.”
“This is fine,” she said, shaking in a capful.
“I just have a few questions for you, Lena. Like I said before, it’ll only take a couple of minutes.” The detective opened a notebook and uncapped his pen. “When’s the last time you spoke with Annie Janson?”
“It was mid-April. The seventeenth. I was here to look at a piece of property with Marge Quimby from Big Moose Properties. Annie was working the bar at The Black Swan. I stopped in to say hello on my way into town.”
“And what was her mood like that day?”
“She seemed happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in a while.”
“Did she say why?”
Lena hesitated. Annie’s updated status as a missing person overrode her promise. “She told me that she’d met a man. Apparently, she’d been seeing him on the quiet for a couple of months.”
Stan raised his eyebrows. “So she was dating. How serious was it, did she tell you?”
“Pretty serious. She told me she was in love.”
“You already know more than Jane,” Stan commented. “Who’s the lucky guy this time?”
Lena frowned as she tried to recall the conversation. “She said he was a botanist… a guy who’d been hired by the Opponents of Wild Heights. He was up here looking for rare plants to try and shut down the new development.”
“Who hired him?”
“I don’t know. Whoever’s the Head of the Opponents, I guess.”
Stan scribbled for a minute then looked up. “Did she tell you his name or give you any description?”
“He was older than she was. 38 or 39.” Lena frowned in concentration. “He was from someplace out west. Michigan or Minnesota, I think.”
“His name?” Stan prompted.
“It was unusual…” Lena shook her head. “I can’t for the life of me remember it, right now.”
“Maybe it’ll come to you later,” Stan suggested. “Anything else about him that you’d like to add?”
“She said he was handsome and that he liked to hunt, fish, and hike. They met snowshoeing on the AT.”
“Did she say where he was staying?”
Again, Lena frowned. “Maybe Burnt Jacket? For some reason, that comes to mind.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
She shook her head.
“Take your time and think about it. Every little bit of information you can give us is a help.” Stan leaned back in his chair; the front two legs left the ground and he balanced, rocking slightly while he waited for her answer.
“That’s all I can remember,” she said, finally. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not much.”
“It’s more than we had to go on yesterday,” he replied. “It’s too bad you can’t remember the guy’s name, though. It would make it a lot easier to check up on him.”
“The last time I saw her, we were watching a report on the news about a woman who went missing from Portland. She was from Corinna. You don’t think Annie’s disappearance could have anything to do with hers, do you?”
“Aurora Nixon?” Stan shook his head. “She went missing over a year ago.” He lowered his voice and bent forward. “Between you and me?”
Lena nodded.
“The cops down that way are sure her boyfriend’s behind it. He’s got a prior: Distribution of a Schedule II Drug. OxyContin. As it turns out, they found a couple of pills in the seat of her car and a button from his shirt at the scene. The receipt from the garage was in the pocket of the same shirt. They found it on the roadside a mile away. She was either in on the robbery, or he stole the shit and offed her when she tried to stop him. They just can’t prove any of it without her testimony or her body.”
“So there’s no chance of a connection between the two disappearances.”
The detective shook his head and rocked back again. “You want to know what I think?”
“Fire away.”
“I’d bet my life Annie ran off with that guy she was seeing. Right now, she’s probably way too, shall we say, preoccupied to think of her mother and her friends. In my opinion, she’ll be back before the summer’s end. When she gets tired of him, you’ll hear from her.”
“But what about Jane’s birthday?” Lena protested.
“Like I said, she’s preoccupied.” Stan made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and pushed his right index finger through it suggestively. “Sorry to be crude, Lena, but Annie Janson tends to forget her responsibilities when she’s getting laid.”
Lena shook her head angrily. “I think that last comment’s uncalled for Stan. Right now, we have no idea where she is or what she’s doing. For all we know, she could be dead!” Standing, she reached for her purse. “If you hear anything new, please let me know.”
Stan Spaulding rose and stretched. “That goes for you, too, Lena. She’s more apt to get in touch with you than anyone else hereabouts. Tell you what I’ll do…I’ll see what I can find out from Jim Canty. He’s the Head of the Movement to Stop Wild Heights. I’ll check with the real estate offices, too. Someone’s bound to know the guy’s name, and once we’ve got that, it should be pretty easy to hunt her down.”
“Okay,” she said.
He walked her to the door and held it open. “How’s everything going for you up on Breakneck Ridge, anyway?”
“Good,” she said. “Very peaceful. Very relaxing.”
“Does your husband make it up often?”
“Not much. Sorry, Stan, but it’s a sore subject these days.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Of course not. We’re just having a little disagreement, that’s all. It’ll blow over.”
“Well, now that you’re done with Jake Morris, if there’s anything I can do to help, you know where to find me.” He winked.
She felt the anger rise again. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Just let me know if you hear from her.”
“Will do,” he said.
When she reached her Jeep she looked back. Stan Spaulding was standing in the doorway where she’d left him, hands in his pockets as he watched her negotiate the parking lot.
Creep.
When she reached the top of the hill above Greenville, she pulled over to check her messages before heading out of range. There was one, a parting blow from Alex. She began to cry as she listened to his voice, so familiar yet coldly distant.
“You know what, Lena?” he said. “I’ve been thinking this thing through. Maybe we should treat this as a trial separation. Since you haven’t bothered to dignify me with a call-back, I’ll take your response as a ‘Yes’.”
She wiped her eyes and dropped the phone into the center console. Her bad day had just gotten worse.
Chapter 25
Odin’s kayak glided along the shoreline. It was his bigger boat, a tandem inflatable Sea Eagle that cut through the calm waters of the pond with efficient speed, leaving behind a rippled wake. His easel and canvases were wrapped tightly in plastic and tied length-wise to the stern. Behind him, a cooler rested on the second seat. Lena could hear Zephyr’s faint yips from his prison inside the cabin. The backdrop for Odin’s painting was to be an island at the far northern edge of the pond; although she
felt guilty leaving him behind, she knew he would just get in the way.
As she paddled along behind him, she wondered how he would portray her. Would she appear in his portraits as she actually was, or would she become his favorite heroine? Secretly, she hoped for the latter; it was much more glamorous to be a goddess than it was to be plain old newly-separated Selene Walker.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the island and lashed his kayak to a tree, helping her onto dry ground.
“Have you been here before?” he asked as she looked around.
They were standing on a small patch of land in the middle of the pond, no more than two acres all told. The terrain was rock-strewn and tree-covered, sloping gradually up on one side and dropping abruptly on the other.
Lena shook her head. “I had a bad experience in a canoe on Moosehead Lake when I was a kid so I don’t usually stray this far from camp. I’m afraid the wind might pick up and leave me stranded. Or worse.”
Odin surveyed the sky. “There’s little danger of that today. Storms on Blackwater Pond usually give plenty of warning before they hit.” He retrieved his canvases and easel and started toward the island’s center. “Come, Selene, follow me. On the other side there’s a small cliff. I believe it’ll be perfect for what I have in mind.”
She scrambled after him through the trees, emerging a minute later onto a rocky outcropping about eight feet above the water. Odin stood on the edge and beckoned her closer.
“I’ll set up down there,” he said, pointing at a large rock just offshore. It was level, for the most part, and located directly below the cliff. “The vantage point is ideal, as is the light. First I’ll sketch you and your surroundings, then I’ll add a little color to the background. I’ll finish the rest of the painting back at my cabin later on.”
“How long do you think it will take?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’d like to complete two different sketches today. But only if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure. Why not. It’s not like I’ve got other plans for the afternoon.”