Cabin In The Woods

by Kristine Robinson

  Three boys sauntered into the office, dressed in board shorts and t-shirts.

  “The gators going to bite your ass!” one of them said.

  He pushed Gabe. Gabe’s eyes darted from the older boy next to him to me. He was small for a fifteen-year-old. I pointed at my belly.

  “I’m sure the gator would prefer something with a bit more meat!” I joked.

  The older boy had a round stomach. Gabe laughed.

  “Yeah, fat-ass!” he said, “We’ll chuck you in first and the gator will be full!”

  The chubby boy turned and headed back down the passage, towards the dorm rooms.

  “Whatever!” he said.

  I was glad neither boy turned the incident into a race thing. We had 17 Caucasian and 14 African American boys staying at the home. It didn’t take much for trouble to start. I had felt the tension rising in general over the previous two days. It usually happened once or twice a month. Hopefully getting them all out on the river, in the fresh air, would help.

  “Can you give me a hand, Elena?” Marion asked.

  I turned and moved into her section of the open-plan office. The only tidy corner. She was much shorter than me, petite, had long strawberry blond hair and green eyes. Everyone in Tallahassee always asked me where I was from. I seemed to scare off the men at least, which was a bonus really, perhaps because I was 5 foot 7 and definitely not petite, like Marion.

  I loved her eyes. I had complimented both her and Gabe, on their emerald green eyes. They were both unable to take a compliment. And I loved to tease Marion about it.

  “You look lovely in those board shorts today, by the way,” I said.

  I gathered the forms together and checked them against the list of boys’ names.

  “Wha- err- thanks.”

  I could see her cheeks turning a pink hue and felt a warmth inside my chest.

  “Elena, I went on the canoe trip last year. Do I have to go this time?” a male voice asked.

  One of the boys, who’d been at the home the longest, had stepped into the open-plan area.

  “Come on, Montrell,” I said, “You know we’re a team here.”

  He sighed. I knew he couldn’t swim and was probably scared.

  “Besides,” I added, “the newbies would probably feel safer with their big brother around!”

  He smiled and I smiled inside.

  “I suppose,” he replied and walked off.

  ***

  Gabe held up the tail end of the canoe, as I led us slowly down the path on the river bank.

  “Does your lifejacket fit all right?” I asked him.

  He dropped his end of the canoe into the water and tugged on his jacket.

  “Yeah!”

  The others were collecting paddles from a metal stand.

  “Anyone not have a lifejacket?” Marion shouted to the group.

  “No!” some of them replied.

  I looked around, to double check.

  “Okay, let’s get on the water!” the instructor called.

  Gabe and I hung back.

  Luckily this outing was not for the seniors and we only had 15 boys to manage. But that was still more than enough! The boys began lowering their canoes into the still river water and carefully climbing into them.

  “There’s a gator!” Davie shouted.

  He pointed to something protruding out of the river, downstream. Everybody’s heads swiveled.

  “Okay, okay,” the instructor replied, “we spoke about the gators.”

  I lived on a houseboat and had seen gators in the water twice. This one was a little closer, though.

  Gabe looked up at me. I nodded.

  “It’ll be fine!” I said. “We just leave them be.”

  I moved to the back of our canoe. “Hop in!”

  We waited for the other canoes to move into the center of the river and joined them at the back. Tall green trees grew on the banks of the river. Reeds dominated sections of the water. A fish jumped out next to Gabe and I and I inhaled suddenly. Gabe turned towards me.

  “Just a fish!” he joked.

  The bright yellow and red canoes began to paddle up the wide river, towards the area where it narrowed, on the bend up ahead.

  “Johnny, that’s not what paddles are for!” I shouted.

  He was using his paddle to splash the two boys in the canoe next to them. Four of the canoes passed the bend in the river, but then the fifth wobbled dangerously as the boy in the back sunk his paddle too deep in the water. The boat rocked to the left and then the right. Suddenly the boy in the back of the boat toppled into the water!

  “Jared!” his partner shouted.

  He extended his hand to his friend to help him back in. I paddled quickly to get closer. Marion had already spotted the incident and was turning back, along with the instructor.

  “Hurry up, Jared!”

  “Get in the boat, dude!”

  “Okay, remain calm,” the instructor said.

  Where was that gator now, I wondered, as the boy fixed his hands onto the side of the canoe.

  “Take hold of his life jacket and help him up, carefully,” the instructor calmly ordered.

  He had maneuvered his canoe close to the boys, as the boy managed to haul his upper body onto the canoe. His friend clamped onto the bottom of his life jacket and, a second later, the boy’s legs settled into the boat.

  “Well done, boys!” the instructor said.

  Marion had turned a ghostly white but was trying to remain calm.

  “Okay, everybody,” she said, “everything’s okay!”

  She looked at me and raised her eyebrows quickly before turning her canoe again.

  “That was insane!” Gabe said.

  We got back into our formation and headed up the river again. No more gators made an appearance, thankfully. An hour later, we reached a grassy embankment. We pulled the canoes up and unpacked a picnic.

  Marion came to sit with me in a shady spot, close to the instructor.

  “Well the boys are getting on really well!” she said.

  I looked around. They were all chatting excitedly in a big group.

  “Yeah, thank goodness!” I replied.

  I took a bite of my BLT sandwich.

  “You not eating anything?” I asked.

  “In a minute,” she replied, “Just enjoying the peace!”

  We chatted as we watched the group of boys. A large brown and white bird took off from one of the trees and soared across the sky.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Marion asked. “If you don’t want to say, that’s fine,” she added quickly.

  I smiled at her and looked away.

  “Davie,” I shouted, “put that oar back with the others right now!”

  I turned back to Marion.

  “No,” I replied, “I’m not in a relationship. My ex and I broke up a year ago.”

  Marion examined the sandwich she had unwrapped. I could see a faint smile on her face.

  “Okay,” she said, “I hope it wasn’t a bad break up.”

  “No, it was mutual. We just weren’t the same people after a while and it wasn’t working.”

  “And you?” I asked.

  Chapter 2

  As I lit a cigarette, I glanced through the window. I knew Elena didn’t approve of my smoking, but it was silly to try and hide it from her, though I had tried to hide it from everyone the first week I started at the home. I sipped my iced tea and took another drag. The home was on the outskirts of town, in an old two-story face-brick building. It was not the ideal location, I thought, as a social worker. The boys were too close to the dangers and temptations in the city. They had put in an appeal for another location over two years ago.

  Across the road, at our favorite coffee vendor stand, a man kept looking in my direction. Was he looking at the building or me, I wondered. He was even taller than Elena, had a shaven head, a cutoff t-shirt, and tattoos covering his bare arms. He was one big red flag, in my books. He crossed over the road and began
to walk towards the home. I glanced inside the office. The only person inside was one of the younger boys, relaxing on the sofa. The man kept coming closer. I stood up and walked towards the door.

  “Ma-Marion?”

  I turned around and glared at him.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I –err,” he mumbled and sniffed. “I knew your mother-”

  I stopped at the door frame. He did not look well. His skin was discolored and dark rings sagged beneath his eyes.

  “My mother-” I began.

  “I just –”

  He took a step closer. I stepped backward.

  “Yes, I knew Martha,” he continued, “I – err – need your help.”

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  “My name is Thomas,” he said.

  He looked down. His feet were tapping quickly on the paving.

  “Did Martha ever mention me?”

  “No,” I said.

  He smelled like he hadn’t had a shower for a week.

  “What do you want?” I added quickly and sighed.

  I had heard so many bullshit stories from people, I didn’t have time for another.

  “I need your help, please, Marion!”

  “Why do you need my help?” I asked.

  I began to turn around and head into the home.

  “Ma- Marion, wait!” he said.

  He touched my arm and I jerked backward.

  “I – I’m your father, Marion!”

  “What!”

  I shook my head, turned my back to the stranger and stormed inside.

  ***

  “Marion, can I talk to you?”

  I looked up from my desk.

  “Yes, Gabe,” I replied.

  He looked around quickly.

  “We can chat in my counseling room?”

  “Please,” he replied, running his hand through his short black hair.

  I closed the door behind him and walked over to the far side of the desk.

  “Yes Gabe,” I said, “everything okay?”

  “Well-”

  I smiled and nodded at him.

  “I saw the – err guy,” he started and looked down, “I used to push for-”

  I hid my shock and kept smiling at him. He had been free of that dangerous life for almost a year, Elena had told me.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “He found me, Marion,” he added quickly, “I didn’t go looking for him, I swear.”

  He looked up at me, his green eyes pleading for understanding. And forgiveness. Not that he needed it.

  “I understand, Gabe,” I commented, “Tell me what happened.”

  Gabe explained he had been at the shop with two other boys from the home. None of them were new boys and they were all allowed out of the home, as long as we knew their whereabouts.

  “When I saw him coming towards me,” Gabe said, “I recognized him immediately.”

  The other guys could see he was uncomfortable and the older boy blocked the man’s path.

  “Gabe, please I need your help!” the man pleaded.

  Gabe refused to talk to him and the older boys pushed the man away.

  “Gabe, come on!” the man shouted, “After all I’ve done for you!”

  Gabe explained that the older man’s name was Thomas and he was the last person Gabe would ever trust.

  “Thomas?” I asked.

  I frowned briefly.

  “What did he look like, Gabe?”

  “He’s tall. His head is shaved and he has lots of tattoos.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to confuse him or sidetrack his conversation, but as he spoke, the man sounded exactly like the one who had approached me earlier that day.

  “And,” Gabe continued, shaking his head, “He really sunk to an all-time low and claimed he was my father!”

  Gabe’s forehead was creased in anger and his face was turning red.

  “He’s such a bull-shitter!” Gabe said, “I hate him! How did he find me?”

  Thomas had also pleaded with Gabe to help him get out of the gang trouble he’d found himself in.

  “If you don’t help me, they’re going to kill me!” he had told Gabe too.

  I had a nose for trouble and this man was someone we had to get out of both our lives and quickly! Father or not. I wasn’t worried about my own safety, but Gabe was still vulnerable to the deceit and treachery that came with gang life. I knew I had to tell Elena. She was going to be mad.

  ***

  “We have to protect, Gabe!” I said, “If this man knows how to find him, he could be in real danger.”

  “I know, Elena,” Marion replied, “and I don’t want him getting dragged back into that life after he’s done so well here.”

  I picked up the telephone and dialed the police. The home had a good relationship with the Tallahassee police, which we’d developed over the years.

  “Yes Sergeant Anderson!” I explained, “The man is a known dealer.”

  I looked up at Marion as the policeman spoke on the phone.

  “Okay,” I continued, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “And?” Marion asked.

  “They will try and track him down and question him,” I replied, “In the meantime, we must just keep Gabe here at the home and phone them if we see Thomas again.”

  Though Marion nodded, I could see she was still very upset.

  “We’ll keep him safe, Marion,” I tried to reassure her.

  She sighed. “Thank you!” she said.

  She came closer and embraced me. She had never done that before and I froze for a second, before placing my hands gently on her back. I felt like I needed to protect her too. I didn’t like seeing her upset.

  “I’m taking you out for your favorite tonight!” I suddenly declared, “Chicken waffles!”

  Marion took a step back and turned her head to the side.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m not taking no for an answer,” I replied, “We’re going out for waffles!”

  Marion smiled.

  “Elena!” she said, slapping me playfully on the arm.

  At least she was smiling again. I had really grown to like her since she’d joined the team. I wanted her to be happy. As she walked away, I thought about how her small body felt in my arms. Her head only reached up to my shoulder. I had felt like running my hand through her soft blonde hair but stopped myself.

  My mother had never been affectionate, not to mention my father. I recalled when the police had come and taken me away from them one particularly bad night. They had been fighting again and their screams must have alerted the neighbors. Or the sound of the lamp smashing against the wall in our tiny apartment.

  My father had hit my mother before, but, as I watched from underneath the bed, I saw her head hit the floor. She looked at me after a few seconds with fear in her eyes, though she tried to smile.

  “Get up, you lazy bitch!” my father had shouted.

  She slowly raised her hand and pushed herself up on the coffee table, cluttered with empty alcohol bottles. I had never seen the cops before that night, though my father had put my mother in hospital on two prior occasions, I remembered at that age. I watched as his leg moved up in an arch and connected her chest, making a cracking sound. It was a sound I would never forget. I bit my bottom lip until it bled, not wanting to make a sound. She groaned and reached for a bottle on the table.

  “What you going to do with that, Curva!”

  I still swore in Romanian when I was really angry.

  My father grabbed the bottle from her and smashed it on the side of the table. I picked up a triangular shard, which had reached my hiding place. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but suddenly these strange uniformed men burst in the door.

  “Drop that bottle, right now!” the cop shouted.

  My father hesitated for a second. His English wasn’t good. Then his knees hit the wooden floor hard. The impact resonated through the boards and my small body. I had be
en scared when my parents were fighting, but when the other cop hauled me out from under the bed and grabbed my hand, I was terrified. He began to drag me towards the door.

  “Elena!” my mother had cried out.

  “Mama!” I cried back.

  Thankfully my mother left my father a year after that incident. I had never seen him since. When my mother died the previous year, I had no family left, in my mind. Luckily I had the home. The boys and staff became my family. Thomas didn’t know who he was up against, messing with Gabe.

  Chapter 3

  The waiter pointed us in the direction of a corner table, out of the main area. It was perfect. I pushed in Marion’s chair. I wanted to find out what was going on with her. I showed the waitress my ID card and ordered a bottle of wine.

  Marion stared at the menu for a minute.

  “Come on,” I prompted, “Order your favorite!”

  She looked up over the menu and giggled. “Okay, chicken waffles please,” she said.

  After the first sip of wine, Marion relaxed her back against the wooden frame of the chair.

  “How’s it going with your Ph.D., Elena?” she asked.

  “Good,” I replied, resting my glass on the square table. “I am still busy transcribing the last set of interviews, I did last month.”

  She nodded and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her hair always smelled like honey. I wanted to press my nose right into the gentle waves and inhale the scent deeply. She kept glancing around the restaurant and at the door. I could tell she was worried about something but would give her the chance to come out with it.

  After the food arrived and she was halfway through her waffle, and her second glass of wine, I saw her shoulders relax.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, Elena,” she said, resting her fork on the side of her plate.

  I looked into her green eyes and nodded.

  “Go on,” I encouraged her.

  My studies had taught me listening was a critical skill. It was not my best trait and I had had to work on it. The home had provided many opportunities to develop my listening skills, though. I couldn’t let the boys down, after what they’d been through and I didn’t want to let Marion down either.

  “That man,” she began.

  She pushed a piece of chicken around her plate with her fork.