Shadow Creek

by Joy Fielding

  In the next second, she was in Henry’s strong arms, her face buried in the stiff cotton of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling back, although not entirely out of his reach. “I’m getting your nice shirt all wet.” She rubbed at the now damp fabric, stretched taut against the impressive muscles of Henry’s chest. Somebody’s been overdoing the workouts, she thought, thinking he was about to burst his buttons.

  “No problem,” Henry said, his voice somewhat huskier than before.

  “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “Just a little.”

  “I honestly don’t know how I get myself into these situations.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you had a whole lot of control over any of it.”

  “You’re being very generous.”

  He looked toward the ground, pausing several seconds before he spoke. “You don’t have to stay here, you know.”

  “Unfortunately, yes, I do.” Jennifer hated the whine she heard in her voice as she felt fresh tears beginning to form. “All the hotels in the area are filled up.”

  “I have a place,” Henry offered. “It’s not much, but it has the benefit of being nearby. It even has a guest room. No funny stuff, you have my word as a park ranger.”

  “Oh. No, no, I couldn’t. I mean, that’s very kind of you, and everything. I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I … I just … I couldn’t.” Jennifer took another step back, her hands falling limply to her sides.

  “I understand.” Henry quickly reached into the pocket of his crisp black pants and pulled out a small notepad and a ballpoint pen. “Look. I’m gonna give you my phone number,” he said, scribbling it down and tearing off the page, “and you can call me if you change your mind. It’s a special phone they give us that operates by satellite, so you won’t have any trouble reaching me, and you can call anytime. Doesn’t matter how late it is. Don’t worry about waking me up. You understand? If you can’t sleep or you just want to talk some more or … anything at all. You call me. Okay?”

  Jennifer slipped the piece of paper into the back pocket of her jeans. “Okay.”

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You gonna stay fine, if I go?” It was almost as if he was seeking her permission to leave, now that it was clear she wasn’t going with him.

  “Don’t worry,” a voice said, a slender figure with a shock of orange spiky hair emerging from behind one of the portable toilets and slinking toward them. “Toto will take good care of her.”

  Shit, Jennifer thought as James stepped under the spotlight of an overhanging light. “How long have you been hiding behind there?”

  “I wasn’t hiding. I was simply waiting for my cue.” James extended his hand toward Henry. “Officer Krupke, I presume?”

  Henry declined James’s hand, his face registering his confusion. “I’m sorry?”

  “My God. Don’t tell me you’ve actually never seen West Side Story? Please say it isn’t so.”

  “And you are?” Impatience with the interloper edged concern for Jennifer from Henry’s voice.

  “James Milford, also apparently known as Toto. Stereotypical gay friend of Melissa Atkins, aka the Wicked Witch of the West, and Valerie Rowe, also known as the Wife of Evan. Still Wife, we like to call her.” He glanced pointedly at Jennifer. “The aforementioned Gruesome Threesome. And I see you’ve already met Jennifer, known affectionately in some quarters as the …”

  “Okay, I think that’s quite enough nicknames for one night,” Melissa interrupted forcefully, breaking into the center of the group.

  “My God,” Jennifer wailed. “Are you all out there?”

  “Believe it or not, we saw you leave and got concerned when you didn’t come back. Silly us.”

  “Look, I’m sorry if you were offended by what I said,” Jennifer began.

  “But just to be clear, not sorry you said it?” James asked.

  “I was upset. Surely you can understand that.”

  “Why? Being gay doesn’t mean I’m especially sensitive.”

  “He actually isn’t sensitive at all,” Melissa said.

  “Thank you,” said James.

  “In fact, he’s quite obtuse.”

  “Oh, you’re just saying that.”

  “Is this supposed to be funny?” Henry’s patience was clearly at an end. “I mean, what the hell is this?”

  “It’s okay,” Jennifer said. “It’s my fault. I deserve it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Henry argued.

  “Yes, it is. It’s all her fault,” James insisted. “Anyway, I have to pee. So, if you’ll excuse me …” He disappeared into the nearest porta-potty.

  “This night just keeps getting better and better,” Melissa said.

  “I think I’m going to bed now,” Jennifer said.

  “I think that’s a great idea.” Melissa turned toward Henry. “Thank you for all your trouble. I’m sure we can handle things from here.”

  “Thank you, Henry,” Jennifer said before he could protest.

  “You’ll call me if you need me?”

  Jennifer patted the side pocket of her jeans. “I have your number,” she said.

  SEVENTEEN

  ARE YOU KIDDING ME? She called you the Wicked Witch of the West?” Val was torn between being offended for her friend and laughing out loud.

  “She tried to explain she was only referencing my proclivity for black, but I told her I wasn’t buying it.”

  “She actually said she was ‘referencing your proclivity for black’?” Val asked, astonished. “Those were her words?”

  “No, of course not. Those are my words. I was paraphrasing. But I think you’re missing the point here.”

  “And she really called James ‘Toto’?”

  “I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. You should have seen him. You should have heard him. The dog? he kept saying. She thinks I’m the damn dog? Everyone with half a brain can see I’m Dorothy, for God’s sake. Then he started clicking his heels together and chanting, There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. It was more than worth the price of admission.”

  This time Val did laugh. “You’re really being very good sports about all this. I owe you both, big-time.”

  “Please, you don’t owe us a thing. I think this might be the best trip we’ve ever taken.”

  Val glanced around the claustrophobic, heavy canvas walls of the tent she and Melissa were sharing, picturing the high-ceilinged, Wedgwood-blue baroque interior of the suite they were missing out on at the Plaza. My kingdom for a down-filled mattress, she thought, trying to get comfortable inside the sleeping bag the campground had provided for each of them, wondering how she’d ever enjoyed crawling inside a thin layer of flannel and feeling the uneven contours of the earth underneath her back. “Do you think they ever wash these things?” she wondered out loud, sniffing at the brown lining, catching a brief reminder of Gary’s scent, and wondering if Melissa could smell it, too.

  “Don’t ask me,” Melissa said. “You’re the camper in the group. I thought you’d be in your element.”

  “Times have changed, I guess.”

  “They always do. Anyway, it’s not all that awful.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Yes, I am. But you have to play the hand you’re given.”

  “What if I want to trade in a few of my cards?”

  “Then you’ll have to go play with somebody else. I’m too tired for extended metaphors. Anyway,” Melissa said, groaning as she turned over in her sleeping bag, “I’m going to close my eyes now and dream about what goodies tomorrow has in store for us.”

  “Oh, God. I shudder to think.”

  “Don’t shudder. Sleep.”

  “Melissa?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Where’d you ever find black pajamas?”

  Melissa answered with her signature chuckle, a sound that Val had always considered the audible equival
ent of a corkscrew, and said nothing. Seconds later, her gentle snoring filled the tent.

  “Good night,” Val whispered, watching her words dissolve in the cool mountain air and closing her eyes, although she doubted she’d get any sleep tonight. There was too much on her mind. First, of course, was Brianne and that stupid boy—correction, man—Tyler. Thank God her daughter was safe and Hayden’s cell phone hadn’t been able to connect to the outside world. Then there was Jennifer and that consistently smug little expression on her smug little face, not to mention those stupid legs that went on forever. Women like Jennifer had always made her feel clumsy and inferior, bringing back painful memories of the awkwardness she’d felt throughout her high school years. And speaking of high school, who could forget Gary and their unexpected, not to mention unexpectedly wonderful, romp in the sack, or sleeping bag, as the case may be? An involuntary groan escaped her lips as she pictured the two of them rolling around the tent’s cramped interior. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from groaning again, still feeling him inside her. Dear God, what had she been thinking? Had she lost her mind entirely? Why now, of all times? In this, of all places? Under these, of all circumstances?

  Other men had come on to her in the immediate aftermath of Evan’s desertion, and she’d had no trouble turning down any of them. In truth, she hadn’t even been vaguely tempted, so shattered was she by Evan’s decision to leave her. So why succumb now—hell, she hadn’t succumbed, she’d instigated—just when Evan had started dropping some none-too-subtle hints that he wanted to come back?

  Was that what she wanted? she wondered, the surprising thought causing her eyes to open wide. Was a lifetime of lies and self-doubt really preferable to a lifetime of loneliness and regret? And were those her only options?

  And while on the subject of errant husbands, where exactly was David Gowan and would they ever find out what happened to him?

  So there was definitely a lot to think about, Val decided, flipping over onto her back and surrendering to the certainty that this was going to be one very long night indeed.

  In the next instant, she was fast asleep.

  “ARE YOU KIDDING me?” Brianne asked, trying not to laugh at the theatrically pained expression contorting James’s already exaggerated features. “She called you Toto?”

  “The dog,” he said, pulling a gray sweatshirt over his orange hair. “The fucking dog.”

  “Can’t she see you’re so much more Dorothy?” Brianne asked.

  “Exactly. Bless you, my child. At least somebody understands me.”

  “Oh, God. You are such a cliché,” Brianne said, as she’d said many times before. She reached over to give him a big hug.

  “Right back at you.” James lifted the sleeping bag above his head. “Just look at this stupid thing. What’s one supposed to do with it exactly?”

  “One is supposed to climb inside it.”

  “Oh, please. God only knows how many people have been in it already.”

  “Funny, I’ve heard people say the same thing about you.”

  James gasped, his fingers fluttering about his face in mock outrage. “You filthy girl. I’m going to report you to your mother.”

  Brianne giggled at her own naughtiness. Despite her sour demeanor and loudly proclaimed abhorrence for how this extended weekend was playing out, she was actually starting to enjoy herself. Maybe because she knew it was about to come to an end. She checked her watch. Almost ten o’clock. Just two more hours. And then The Great Escape, she thought dramatically. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she announced, deciding it was time for another trip to the john.

  “Again?”

  “I have a small bladder.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I was a baby. Hasn’t my mother told you about how, when I was little, I had to go to the bathroom, like every ten minutes, and how I couldn’t be bothered, so I’d just pee in my pants?”

  “Charming.”

  Brianne continued, unabashed. “Apparently I peed in my pants until I was seven years old. My mother decided there was no point in making us both crazy by turning it into a big deal—she said she figured I’d be potty-trained by the time I was ready to walk down the aisle—so she’d just send me off to school with a bag full of clothes to change into.”

  “So tolerant and understanding. No wonder you hate her.”

  “Who says I hate her?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Of course not. She’s my mother. I love her.”

  “Then why are you so mean to her?”

  “I’m not mean to her.”

  “Are too,” James said.

  “Am not,” Brianne insisted.

  They both laughed.

  “You’re such a cliché.”

  “Ditto.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Brianne announced again.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Why?” James repeated.

  “You went the last time I did,” Brianne said.

  “Maybe you’re not the only one with a small bladder.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to go to the bathroom every time I do?”

  “It might.”

  “That’s just ridiculous. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I don’t trust you.” He sounded amazed she would even ask the question. Somehow, Brianne thought, he even managed to make his distrust sound endearing. “But it’s also dark out there, there are wild animals hovering, and I would think you’d be glad for the company.”

  “Then you would think wrong.”

  “I could protect you against anything … untoward,” James said.

  “Untoward?”

  “Unexpected. Unwanted. Unfavorable. Unfortunate.”

  “Unbelievable,” Brianne said with a shake of her head.

  “I know kung fu.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I had to learn it for a musical I did some years back. High Jinks and High Kicks, it was called. Unfortunately, it closed in previews. Too bad. I was really very good at it.”

  “You’re going to high-kick a bear?” Brianne asked.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.”

  “What if I don’t need protecting?”

  “Everyone needs protecting.”

  “No,” Brianne argued. “What everyone needs is sleep. Now, climb inside that bag. I’ll be right back.”

  “Is there some reason you don’t want me to accompany you?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “You think I’m going to sneak off and meet my boyfriend?” Brianne asked, growing bored with the conversation and beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that this evening might not go exactly as planned.

  “Are you?”

  “How could I? Tyler doesn’t even know where I am.”

  “Your mother’s right about him, you know,” James said.

  “What do you mean? How could she be right about him when she doesn’t even know him? And neither do you.”

  “I know he’s too old for you.”

  “Maybe I’m more mature than you think.”

  “You peed your pants until you were seven,” he reminded her.

  “I told you that in confidence,” Brianne said, bristling. “Now you’re using it against me?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to be clever.”

  “Well, you aren’t clever. You aren’t clever at all. Maybe Jennifer is right. Maybe you’re just … Toto.” Brianne angrily pushed her way out of the sleeping bag that was gathered in folds around her waist, then opened the front flap in the tent and breathed in a big gulp of night air. “When did you become so, so … uncool?” she said, spitting the words back at him as she crawled outside.

  Seconds later, she was stomping toward the portable toilets at the far end of the camp.

  She didn’t have to turn around to know that James was right behind her.

&n
bsp; JENNIFER HEARD BRIANNE and James arguing in the tent next to hers and wondered if she should do anything to intervene. I think you’ve said quite enough, a little voice told her, advising her to stay where she was. The angry words grew louder, then came to a sudden halt. The ensuing seconds of silence were immediately followed by two sets of footsteps clomping past her tent toward the far end of the camp. She burrowed deeper into her sleeping bag and shivered, even though she’d put on an extra sweater. She wondered what Evan was doing, if his meetings had finally ended, and if he’d been successful, if he was at this very moment lying in their bed, missing her as much as she was missing him.

  Or maybe it was Val he was missing, she wondered, too tired to push the troublesome thought away.

  Truthfully, it wouldn’t come as all that big a shock to learn he still had feelings for his wife. He’d pretty much admitted as much already. “Of course I still have feelings for her,” he’d told her one night after too many drinks had made her both bold and stupid enough to ask. “We were together a long time. I wasn’t always the best husband,” he’d added, almost wistfully.

  You were a lousy husband, Jennifer thought now, although she’d been quick to put all the blame on Val at the time.

  It doesn’t bode well, she heard her father say.

  Go away, Daddy, she thought. This tent isn’t big enough for all of us.

  Except he was already before her, food stains dotting his wrinkled clothes, his thinning hair uncombed and in need of a wash, visible scabs forming on his too-pink scalp, staring accusingly in her direction. She wondered if Cameron had bothered checking in on him, and if she had, if she’d stayed more than a few minutes. Had her sister made sure he’d had something to eat? Had she taken him for a drive in her new car? Or had she just sat with him and commiserated about his younger daughter’s selfishness?

  Shit, Jennifer thought, hearing Brianne and James return to their tent and thinking she should probably go out there and apologize to James again. None of this was his fault after all. But then, absolutely nothing about this weekend was the way it was supposed to be.