theory……..I think I hate them both…it’s called middle age female envy over our lost nubile bodies.
Veronica’s girlfriend shows no interest in taking pictures. It’s doubtful she knows where to find the camera lens and apparently has no desire to learn. Her short-cropped black hair is tipped with shocking pink ends. A nose ring and layers of black mascara are the only adornments to her attire. She’s wearing a rock band tshirt, faded jeans, and a pair of scruffy red high laced sneakers.
Squinting at the t-shirt, I wonder if she wears it to school, the name of the rock group is rather offensive. Hmm...she is interesting to watch. She spent the first part of the trip floating down the river with her legs hanging over the gunnels of the kayak, filing her nails between burst of dogged paddling to keep up. Veronica, on the other hand, smitten with Josh, keeps within a paddle’s reach of his kayak, hanging onto his every word. I remember those painful high school crushes. Where you walk by a boy’s house, in hopes he was outside mowing the lawn, squeak out a brave hello and he….looks at you….like you have three heads. I shudder in sympathy for Veronica, looking at Josh with Vic’s dark good looks, who could blame her….except for the fact……he’s married!
Jen the librarian; admits to a recent divorce and wants to improve her photography skills, hoping to give freelance work a try. Looking closely at her hand, there is a faint pale line of flesh on her ring finger. Obviously, a very recent divorce, her face has the predatory look of a love starved female. Husband probably cheated on her. It’s tough to meet a man in the mountains. For one, the year-round population of males is sparse and not many of them interested in discussing literature classics on long winter nights. She’d be considered plain except for her vivid green eyes and the voluptuous figure spilling out of her hiking shirt. Gee….if I angle a little closer….give that kayak a shove, it’s going over. Serves her right……..she knows better.
The clouds scuttle across the sky and occasional bursts of sun break through the diaphanous cover, jackets get stuffed in rucksacks and winter pale skin warms in the basking rays of spring sunshine. I wish the day to last forever, skirting the edge of the group, I take utter delight in watching Josh.
Growing up on Fourth Lake, he fell in love with the mountains, choosing to make his home here. A natural teacher, he possesses a wealth of knowledge about the local area, photography and the flora and fauna of the Moose River. How ironic, I muse, he was so close….
Patient with the girls, he maintains a safe distance between them, obviously well versed in holding young women at bay. With the older couples, he swaps jokes while munching on Midge’s cookies, brushing away stray crumbs as he points out aperture settings on the camera. Midge is more interested in feeding him than learning about the workings of her camera. The golden light of his dark brown eyes twinkle with mischief and humor over the fumbling of Dick and Midge. Dick repeatedly questions the wisdom of their children for not purchasing a fully automatic digital camera. “What were they thinking?” He asks with a baffled look on his face.
As I lounge on the riverbank feigning interest in the class…it’s Josh who holds my attention. And I fall in love with our son more and more with each passing minute. He gives forth the quiet grace and ease of someone who’s spent time in the woods…..there is a serenity about him.
And the edge of pain and longing I’ve worn over the years lessens; he is everything I could ask for in a son. Poised, self-assured, gentle with an amazing sense of humor. Maybe this is how life was supposed to work out. Maybe he was meant to be raised by his adopted parents. Vic and I were so young; maybe God had a better plan than mine. I shake my head as a very small shard of hatred falls away, having my own children and watching them grow and make mistakes enlightened me to the horror our parents felt when they discovered I was pregnant at such a young age. But I will never forgive how callously they handled us, there was no love involved.
I can’t wait for Vic to meet Josh. Just knowing our son has turned into an accomplished young man will help dispel his anguish over the past. And… I even picked up a few photography tips….
…
The damp cold of a spring evening settles over the water as we glide up to the shore, shoulders aching and tired from the day’s paddle, it’s good to see land. The kayaks bump against the dock as everyone unloads their gear, careful to exit the shaky crafts without tipping. Quiet laughter and groans of pleasure float across the air as cramped muscles are stretched and massaged. Names and email addresses are exchanged as the group prepares to depart for the comforts of home, a hot shower and dinner. I hold back, not wanting the day to end. All I have waiting back at camp is a cold empty house and the prospect of a lonely dinner. Thank goodness for Cyrus, I can’t wait for Vic to return on Monday. I long for the warmth of his arms, the feel of his lips against mine, but mostly I just….miss…him. This time apart has been a reality check of life without Vic.
I bob contently on the water watching the others disembark from their kayaks, waving goodbye, one by one, departing as the sun sinks slowly into the horizon. I secretly hope to be the last one on the dock, maybe even help close up, just to gain a few extra minutes. I don’t want to let go of him, enjoying the sweet pleasure of my son. Is that too much to ask…
Finally, I can wait no more, I’m the last one left on the water and he’s standing there a tall silhouette against the setting sun.
“Y’all coming in?” He calls out in an amused voice. “Sun’s setting and I’m getting hungry. Or are you hoping to meet the search and rescue team? Saturday night, the boys will be down at the local bar just champing at the bit for some action.”
Good Lord, no! That’s all I need; the blue light bennies charging out in full force searching for me.
“No, not necessary.” I say. “Sorry, I was just waiting for everyone to finish, I’m in no hurry.” My kayak moves smoothly across the water, bumping into the dock with a thunk. I hand him my pack and camera bag. Accepting his hand I exit the kayak being mindful of not tipping it over. As I lean into his arm, my dragonfly necklace swings away from my shirt. Josh looks at the necklace quizzically, than at me. A dawning light of compression causes his eyebrows to arch up in surprise and a look of
astonishment crosses his face.
“Oh, my God! I know who you are.” He exclaims in excitement as we stand up, his hands on my elbows holding me steady. His eyes meet mine. He knows who I am!
Yes! Yes! Yes! My son recognizes me! Thank you, God! There must be some vestige of mother child bond linking us through the years. The invisible umbilical cord of emotions is too strong to sever. Neither time, nor space or distance can separate a mother’s love from her son. He knows I’m his mother. Reunited at last!
“You’re that naked lady! The one Frank and Brian helped out the other night.” He exclaims in the delight of a child figuring out the last clue of a puzzle. “You’re that poor frozen woman locked out of her house; aren’t you?” What!
“Noooo!! I howl in despair. As the wail erupts from my throat, I instinctively shove against his chest in horror that he now knows me as the “naked lady!”
The nightmare continues……the shove at the precarious edge of the dock…… coupled with the force of the push…..sends him…….. propelling
backwards……...arms flailing……whirling like a windmill ………..and in slow motion.
………..falling……falling…… backwards off the dock……into the frigid…… snow fed water of the Moose River….on a cold spring evening in May. Splash…….Ooooh….. My…… God!!
Chapter 42 Vic……..Unglued “Elle, buttercup, I can’t understand you. You have to stop crying.”
“I know you’re upset. Are you sick? Are the kids sick?”
“Ella, Ella, my mia bella, whatever it is, we’ll fix it together.”
“No, calm down, take a deep breath and tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I’ll love you no matter what.”
&
nbsp; "What!!”
"You what! You pushed him off the dock!”
“How the fuck did you push our son off the dock.”
“What were you thinking?"
“I know it’s not your fault.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Yes, that’s my head.”
“No, I’m not having a heart attack.”
“He recognized the dragonfly necklace?”
“The cops told the story around the local bar about rescuing a naked lady wearing a dragonfly necklace.”
“And he put two and two together and came up with you as the naked lady.”
“He’s okay, He’s not hurt?”
“What do you mean not exactly?”
“He cut his hand on a mussel shell.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Yes, that’s my head.”
“But because his wife was gone, you stayed, bandaged his hand and made him dinner?”
“So everything is fine?”
“Why the hell didn’t you say so in the beginning?”
“No, I’m not mad.”
“I always mutter under my breath in Spanish.”
“No, not just when I’m angry!”
“That’s it. I’m coming home before the spirit of Lucille Ball channels your body or you end up on the most wanted list in the post office.”
“Yes, of course, I still love you, always.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Chapter 43 The Curse Returns The plane lands in Albany, a short drive through the mountains and he’s home. And Esteban Diago came home, looking good…….real good.
His skin buff, bronzed and glowing from days in South Beach working on a promo shoot for the sequel to FireBrand. Cosmetologists skilled in skin therapy and exercise physiologists turned him into a gleaming six-pack package of manhood. Ohh, mama, he is fine. Makes me wish I had spent a little more time buffing and toning myself while he was away. Mind you, he doesn’t seem to be…umm…complaining….ooh nooo….he’s not complaining at….all…..oh, my goodness. As far as I’m concerned any sequel that has him playing Sentar, warrior king of the underworld works for me. There will be no complaints...none…at all!
After three days of total preoccupation with each other, still heady under the sweet fumes of infatuation, our love mellows to a place of calm. A place of comfort, moving beyond the frantic groping of lust, that first seed of attraction to a true love spreading roots, growing to weather the storms of life to fulfillment. A fulfillment forged by a commitment between two people. I’m beginning to trust the idea of marriage and starting a new life with him……...
… The destination for our first outing is the Adirondack Museum on Blue Mountain Lake. Paying homage to the mountains and culture of the Adirondacks, this is my favorite museum in the world and I’ve been to the Louvre.
From a sailboat under a glass dome to a furnished railroad car, floating antique dory boats to replica cabins from the Great Camps, all set amid lush gardens brimming with native plants and trees. The museum is the sum total of the Adirondack experience.
Attired in hiking pants, a light weight khaki shirt and a wide brim hat, Vic resembles Indiana Jones gone Adirondack….one of my favorite disguises to detract from his identity. Only it doesn’t seem to be working. He’s attracting attention. What woman doesn’t have a thing for Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones….and if she doesn’t, check her pulse, she’s dead. With his hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, bronze skin, dark eyes shaded with aviator glasses, he’s making Harrison Ford look like Chewbacca. The Hollywood veneer is showing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the ladies giving him appraising looks. It’s time to take pretty boy home.
Grabbing his hand I steer him in the direction of the museum bookstore, to the disappointed faces of the women lingering too close for comfort. What is it up here? Is it the mountain air, the long winter nights, the overabundance of pine trees, too many lakes and rivers, a surplus of flannel and denim? Is the scent of balsam in the spring an aphrodisiac causing woman to stalk and grab the nearest male?
“What?” He questions me i n innocence, ignorant of the attention flowing in his direction.
“We’re done.”
“But the tour isn’t over.”
“It is for you. The ladies were getting too close.”
“You just want to shop.” He accuses, holding open the door to the gift shop.
“Brains and brawn, every woman’s dream
combination.” I quip, ducking under his arm through the doorway.
The museum store is a virtual treasure of books, jewelry, gifts and home decorating items geared to the Adirondack mountain theme. Walls covered with prints of Adirondack landscape, shelves stacked with blankets, pottery, food, and coffee mugs crafted in enough designs to have a different one for every day of the week.
“Of course, I want to shop. Woman are genetically programmed to shop, it’s in our DNA. While the men were off hunting, the women gathered in the fields and forest. Shopping is simply the modern day woman’s form of gathering.” I reply impishly. “Instead of fields, we gather in stores.”
“Oh, boy, this could be trouble.” He teases as he looks around at the wall displays and tables covered with retail goods. “I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”
“I won’t take long. I just want to check and see if they have any new additions for my Adirondack book collection. You wander around a bit. Hey, they have a hat section; maybe you can buy yourself a new chapeau.” I prompt. “Something a little less Indy and a lot more old man of the mountain.”
“I like the one I have, thank you very much.” He says, meandering over to inspect a photographic print, tugging his hat lower.
Perusing the books on the shelf I take down a title I don’t recognize, Myths, Mysteries and Weird Phenomena of the Adirondacks. Placing the book on top of a glass display case, I thumb through the pages with interest, until my hand halts by its own accord and a tremor of fear courses through my body. Oh, this can’t be possible. It can’t be the same one.
I stare in disbelief at the picture of a glittering pin. The brooch. That stupid evil brooch the crazy hermit insisted Vic and I accept. I thought it was a piece of costume jewelry or a cheap imitation. It can’t be the same one……..or could it?
The brooch gleams up from the picture, sparkling in a rainbow of colors, shimmering and glittering, pulling the unsuspecting into a web of unfulfilled promises, deception and despair. I read the text with growing horror, the same story the hermit recanted to Vic and I so many years ago about the Freeport family. But the hermit failed to mention the brooch was cursed. The brooch that so unwittingly fell into my possession……was the same one. It can’t be the same brooch. But it is…...
The passage of the text states William George Freeport, a wealthy lumber baron of the late 1800’s had commissioned the brooch for his wife, throwing a lavish dinner party in his Adirondack home to show off the piece of jewelry. But it was one of the last parties William George Freeport hosted, from that point in history the family was plagued with great tragedy, houses burning down, mysterious deaths, fortunes lost……and suicide. Just to name a few. The brooch was lost, sold or simply thrown away…to this day no one knows it’s
whereabouts, but the author of the book claims the object was cursed and the reason for the families downfall.
Breaking out in a cold sweat, the room starts to spin, I feel faint and dizzy. The little boy at camp who almost drowned the day we came down the mountain with the brooch. I remember the brooch pinned to the inside of my jacket the day Vic and I run away so many years ago. Young, desperate and very pregnant, I innocently placed the pin on the inside of my jacket thinking it might be valuable.
Then later, forgotten for years, I found the brooch in my jewelry box and wore it on an anniversary date with Jack, the next morning I miscarried our first child. Without consciously thinking about it, I thrust the brooch out of my life, wrapped in faded velvet covering, hidden in th
e dark recesses of my jewelry box.
Not a suspicious person by nature, I didn’t fully grasp the connection of evil, until Jack suggested I wear it to a function at the country club in honor of his brother. I had completely forgotten about it, and I was fussing as women are wont to do, that my simple black dress needed something. Jack remembered the brooch for some reason. Being in a hurry, I didn’t think, just pinned it to my dress and it looked perfect.
Giddy on the champagne served to toast his brother, we made mad love that night, and he died of a heart attack. Returning from the hospital, alone and bereft, I found the crumpled black dress on the floor, tossed in haste to satisfy our lust. And the jewels glittered and mocked me. It scared the bejeezus out of me.
This time I made the connection, the brooch was evil, the hermit’s story ringing in my ears. A week after Jack’s burial, I drove into the mountains. Digging deep into the rocky soil, scraping my hands raw, heaving sobs of grief, I buried the brooch. I covered it for all time, forgotten, to harm no more. Or so I thought….
“I knew it!” I cry out, jabbing a finger at the picture of the brooch in the book. “I knew that thing was evil.”
At my outburst everyone in the store stops and stares at me. Vic shoots me a look of concern, rushing over to see the source of my distress.
“Elle?” His hand runs lightly down my back and I instinctively move closer to him, seeking his protective embrace. “What’s wrong?”
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