by Grace Greene
“She’s in the house.”
“I wanted to check on you after that storm. That was some crazy rain, wasn’t it?”
“The house was locked.”
“Was it? Didn’t seem to be. Door opened pretty easily. But you and me, we must’ve just missed each other.”
Sandra tried to beat back the anger. It was difficult to think. Forget running to the creek. She needed to get back to the house and to Honey. The truck took up most of the road, but there was a narrow space on either side.
She ran.
Trent rushed to intercept her, expecting her to emerge at the other end, beyond the truck. She didn’t. She threw open the passenger door, dived across the seat, grabbed the driver’s side door, and slammed it closed. She locked it and then flung herself back to the passenger side. As he reached for that door, she yanked it closed and locked it.
His fingers left muddy tracks on the glass as he missed his grip.
She had to move fast before he could grab onto the side of the vehicle or jump in the truck bed. Despite the mud, she reversed full force, and within several slithery seconds was back in her front yard, slamming on the brake and skidding to a halt. Behind her, Trent was running, his boots pounding around the curve, and he fell. Good. It bought her a few more seconds of time.
She fell out of the truck, controlling her descent by hanging onto the handle, and raced toward the house. The steps slowed her down. She grabbed the doorknob. Yes, it was unlocked. She hadn’t left it that way.
Trent’s breathing was loud and heavy as he ran across the yard. She threw open the door and tried to get inside, wanting to find Honey, when she was slammed aside. Trent grabbed the neck of her shirt. He pulled her backward, and they grappled. The edge of the porch threw them off-balance and also kept him from securing his grip. They fell together, half flying and thumping down the wooden steps, propelled by black-and-white fury and a howling snarl. Somehow Sandra rolled free.
Honey was protecting her. Trent was kicking, and all Sandra could think of was that Honey was old and had recently been sick. Honey had sunk her teeth into his other, previously unbitten leg. Trent kicked at Honey’s head with his big boots. Sandra threw herself on top of him, taking the blow herself, before he could land another on Honey.
His fist grabbed for her hair, but her hair was still short, and his hands were big and muddy. He lost his grip and instead went for her neck. Again the mud prevented a good grip, and Sandra twisted away. Suddenly, Colton was there. He knelt calmly but forcefully, with one knee landing on Trent’s throat.
It stopped.
“Settle down or I’ll crush your windpipe.”
They were a jumble of fur, mud, flesh, and blood. But it had stopped. Trent believed Colton. He raised his hands, as if in surrender.
“I called ’em, Dad. 9-1-1 is on the phone. The police will be here soon.”
Breathless, but in a good way, and flushed with triumph and relief, Sandra crawled aside. Honey still had her teeth sunk into Trent’s leg.
“Honey,” she said. “Stop. Let go.” She tried again. “Come, Honey. Come here.”
The dog released the flesh and fabric and stepped back with one bark. Job done, the snarling, teeth-filled face was suddenly panting and sweet again. Honey walked around Trent to reach Sandra and began licking her hand.
“Good girl, Honey,” she said.
She was hugging Honey when Trent’s legs moved, and Aaron shouted. Sandra turned, ready to fight again, but saw that Trent was on his feet and running. How had that happened? Colton appeared unhurt. He’d moved away and was motioning to Sandra to stay back. Honey’s muscles bunched, and Sandra tightened her hug and tried, despite her distress, to make soothing noises.
“Stay on the porch,” Colton called out to Aaron.
The truck came alive. Trent backed and reversed direction. The tires squealed despite the mud, and the truck roared forward, away from them.
Enough, Sandra told herself. Her heart thumped and raced. Part of her was ready to resume the fight, but instead she closed her eyes and tried to reset her emotions. She pressed her face into Honey’s fur and held her breath.
Trent was running away, and if he beat the arrival of the cops, Sandra thought this defeat would be enough to keep him moving. She’d get that protective order and start legal actions for the divorce. Those thoughts happened in mere moments, and she looked up at Colton. He was already staring down the dirt road as if he could see around the curve.
“The bridge,” she said.
The two of them took off down the road. Sandra felt like she’d found her “mud” legs. She aimed for the weed clumps as she ran along because they were less slippery.
The rains from upstream, from the mountains, from the lakes, were still making their way into and down Cub Creek, and its banks continued to disappear as the water spread and deepened.
“Slow down, Sandra. You’ll get there soon enough. He’ll either be gone or he’ll be caught. Either way . . .”
It was true. She knew he was right, but she kicked up her heels anyway. Not a single slip this time. It was as if her feet had grown wings.
Lights were flashing red and blue on the state-road side of the bridge. Trent’s truck was about as long as the creek was wide, and it was canted at a strange angle, wedged between the banks of Cub Creek. The water continued to flow, and it was building up against the side of the truck and putting pressure on the soil that currently held the truck in place.
“Wait!” Colton called out after her.
Through the back window, she could see Trent in the cab of the truck, moving. A deputy stood on the far side. He looked interested but content to wait for Trent to emerge from the vehicle on his own. Where else would Trent go, after all? More emergency vehicles arrived with their lights flashing, but they were on the far side. The deputy began to angle downstream, moving closer to the creek. She could’ve told him not to worry about Trent making a swim for it. Trent couldn’t swim. Another failure on his part.
Sandra eased down the short slope, careful where she placed her feet.
“What are you doing?” Colton asked.
The front end of the truck was lower than the truck bed. The top was almost level with the ground. The truck shifted a fraction, but Sandra didn’t weigh much, and if she moved quickly, she could get it done.
The officer called out to her, and so did Colton, but she didn’t have time to talk. She unhooked the bed cover and pushed it out of the way as she moved onboard. Trent paused halfway out of the front cab and looked back at her. The truck jolted abruptly in favor of the downstream side. Sliding, she grabbed the first plastic bag and tried to toss it back to the creek bank. The angle was awkward. Colton came closer.
“Forget it, Sandra.”
“Cassandra. Call me Cassandra,” she said. “Here, catch this.”
He grabbed the first bag, and she went for the second one. The truck moved again, but she was done and returning to firmer ground.
Trent was finally emerging from the cab. Honey had arrived on the bank, along with Sammy.
Sandra dragged the second bag along with her as the officer on the far side kept his eyes on Trent. Trent was hanging onto the door handle and the top rim of the door. The water wasn’t swift because so much of it was being dammed on the upstream side. At some point, something was going to give, but she was on relatively firm, if muddy, ground, and she grabbed Honey’s collar. They were muddy, but they weren’t going swimming today in Cub Creek.
“Hey, Trent!” He turned her way, and she lifted the bag, holding it up like a trophy. “I win.”
He grimaced as he lost his footing. Now his only hold was the door handle, and his booted feet were underwater.
“Everyone stay back,” the deputy yelled. Another deputy joined him, and they sorted out a rope. Colton put his hand on her arm.
“Don’t distract them. Let them get the job done. I’m pretty sure he got your message.” He eased the bag from her hand. “What is this stuf
f, anyway?”
She laughed at Colton’s question as she pressed her hands against the bulk of the bag. Finally, she felt the harder form, the edge and surface of the Poe anthology in its waterproof wrappings.
“My stuff. Just my stuff, Colton. I’ve got it back now.” Then, she turned her attention to the spectacle of the deputies fishing Trent Hurst from the creek, and she smiled in satisfaction.
They walked back to the house to await questioning. Each had a plastic bag slung over a shoulder.
“I’m glad he didn’t drown,” she said. “I don’t want that as a permanent memory on this property.”
She paused to look at the schoolhouse. Had the roof sagged more? She thought so. And the water was pooling. The ground was no doubt saturated.
“What a mess,” Colton said.
“This is where he was parked. Back behind the trees.” She didn’t mention this was also where her uncle had died.
“I’m thinking a small lake would be nice. With a bench. And maybe a small garden.” She added, “With butterfly-friendly bushes.” She thought Uncle Cliff might like that. She waved her arm at the area. “Instead of dredging the creek to keep it confined, I’ll dig out the dirt, use it to grade the road, then let the creek fill it in as a small lake.” She nodded, then hefted the bag back onto her shoulder, and they resumed walking. “Maybe some ducks will move in.”
“Ducks? You’ve lost me now.” He scratched his head. “Seems like a strange time to think about altering geography.”
“I’m making a list.” After a pause, she asked, “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”
“For the deputy? A little while. They’ll have to drive around and take the path, I believe. Might be state police instead of local, or maybe both.”
Aaron was standing on the porch waving as they reached the house. Judging by the fresh mud on his shoes and the tracks on the steps, he hadn’t stayed there the whole time. They dropped the bags near the steps.
“I hope you weren’t worried,” Sandra said.
Aaron’s eyes were bright with excitement. “The 9-1-1 lady told me what was going on. Man, they’re gonna need a big tow truck. Can I go down and see?”
“No,” Colton said.
They sat on the porch at the top of the steps. The mud was churned in the yard, a reminder of the struggle. “I thought Trent had forced open the front door. I know I locked it.”
“Oh. A little bad news. He forced the back door. Looks like he kicked it in. The doorframe is splintered. Probably unlocked the front door to get out. Looks like Honey gave him some encouragement.” He laughed.
“Of course. Count on Trent. Will it shut?”
“No worries. I know a guy. I’ll give him a call.” Colton grinned. “Don’t worry, he owes me a favor.”
“Does he build bridges, too?” There was grit in her mouth. “Aaron, will you mind fetching me a glass of tea?”
“Me, too?” Colton added.
“Happy to.” The screen door slammed behind him.
She looked at Colton. “I’m stuck here, aren’t I? Until the bridge is fixed, that is.”
He nodded. “Your car is. You can always take the path over to visit Aaron and me.”
“I might do that. But tell me this—why’d you let Trent go?”
“I weighed the problem versus the possible outcomes. Seemed to solve the issue either way. I didn’t have to maim him or risk crushing his windpipe and killing him.”
She waited.
“Let the cops deal with Trent. The investigators and prosecutors can take care of him.”
Sandra smiled. “Thanks for neutralizing him. Maybe now he’ll leave me in peace.” She asked as nonchalantly as she could, “Aaron mentioned you two move around, following the jobs. Any plans to move on anytime soon?”
“No.” He frowned. “I don’t plan to move at all. I move to other jobs, I guess, but I’m born and raised here in Louisa County.” He gave her a look. “How do you think I know everyone around here? Fencing, tow trucks, deputies . . . I either know them or I’m related to them. In fact, this may surprise you, but the Shoemakers and Bennetts have shared property lines for about a hundred and fifty years.”
She smiled, then tilted her head. “I guess I made some assumptions.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person to do that.”
“I might need your help.”
“You can safely assume I’m happy to help.”
Aaron returned with their tea. Before she could say more, the deputy arrived.
“Mrs. Hurst?” He was young but professional looking. The walk through the woods hadn’t done him any harm. He smiled.
“I know,” she said. “I’m a sight. Looks like I’ve been mud wrestling.” She looked down. “I guess I have.”
“Are you injured, ma’am?”
“I think I’m fine. I’ll know for sure later.” She was covered in gray mud. It was drying and was cracking at her elbows and finger joints.
“The gentleman in the creek . . . Is that your husband, Trent Hurst?”
“We are estranged.”
“But still married?”
“The divorce is in process.”
“Is this the same man you called about earlier?”
She nodded. “I told him to stay away, and he threatened me. Today he saw me walking down there.” She pointed at the dirt road. “He tried to run me down with his truck.”
“You live here with him?”
“No!” she shouted. “Sorry. The idea of him living here is so . . .” She shivered. “This is my aunt’s house. I’m house-sitting and dog-sitting. He followed me here.” Her voice rose again. “He also threatened my dog and my neighbor and his son. He would do anything to get his way. Anything.”
Colton spoke up. “Someone slashed my tires. I found them like that this morning and called it in to the sheriff’s office. While I was getting them fixed, he must’ve come back over here.”
“Are you two in a relationship? Perhaps that contributed?”
Sandra crossed her arms and spoke distinctly, laying it out as clearly and specifically as she could. “As you noted, I’m still technically married. Colton and his son are my friends and neighbors. Longtime friends with my aunt. If not for Colton and Honey, I don’t believe we’d be talking here now.”
They were out by the garden, and Sandra was using the hose to wash the worst of the mud from Honey and herself. Honey was surprisingly patient and accepted the cold water better than Sandra did. Colton kept a hand on the dog, speaking in a soothing voice, but as soon as Sandra switched off the faucet, Honey began shaking her body and water flew everywhere. Aaron came out holding a towel and went to work rubbing her down.
Colton put his hand on Sandra’s arm. “Want to talk?”
It was a request more than a question, but it was kindly asked. She followed him over to the chair and tables, still under the oak, but now she and Colton were far enough from Aaron not to be easily overheard.
“What about Trent?” he asked.
“What about him?”
“You don’t have the protective order yet, and when you do get it, you’re still isolated out here. They’ll probably lock him up for assaulting you—for battery, too—but it will be temporary. For now we’re good. They’ll give us a head’s up if it looks like he’ll be released for whatever reason. What will you do if he comes back here?”
Sandra ran her finger around the edge of the table, feeling the bump of the pattern. She nodded. “Sometimes things don’t work out right the first time. I used to be terrified of him, of confronting him. I know he might be dangerous, but I can stand up for myself now.”
“True, but . . .”
“Trent will figure it out. He’s not stupid. He won’t like the attention of the authorities, and he’ll understand I’m not his wife, and I’m not his victim anymore. Trent wants someone to support his ego and his insecurity. That’s not me. Once he believes that, he’ll move on.”
They gathered around
the fire pit—Sandra-Cassandra with Colton, Aaron, Honey, and Sammy. They didn’t have the makings for s’mores, but they had everything else they needed.
“I hope hot dogs will do.” She offered the plate of buns and hot dogs. They passed it around.
Aaron said, “Hot dogs are great. Do you have chili?”
“Right here.” She handed him the bowl.
“Hot dogs are fine. It wasn’t your responsibility to feed us this evening anyway, though we appreciate it, and comfort food is welcome considering the day we’ve had, but so we’re clear, I’m still expecting the meal you promised us in the not-too-distant future. I hope you understand that.”
“We’ll save a fancy meal at the table for later. Right now I prefer this.” She balanced her plate on her knees and reached for the mustard.
The flames danced in the fire pit as the logs popped.
Colton nodded. “Suits me.”
It suited Honey and Sammy, too, and they snuggled up close, their eyes begging.
Aaron asked, “May I?”
“Table food?” Colton asked.
“A small bite.”
Aaron took a nonanswer as assent and shared a little of his food with the dogs.
Sandra and Colton shared a smile. It warmed her more than the food or the fire.
“Aaron, I have a question for you,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Remember what you were saying about the animal shelters and volunteering?”
He leaned forward excitedly. “Yes, Miss San . . .” He stopped. “What should I call you?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Miss Cassandra, then, if you don’t mind. I like it because it’s a little different. I think Dad’s right. It’s OK to be different. To be yourself.”
“I agree, Aaron. The trick is to know who you are, so you can be you.”
“It can be hard,” Colton said. “Choices, decisions, trying and hoping you’re doing the right thing. I’ve made enough mistakes to know, but sometimes”—he smiled at Aaron—“sometimes you get lucky.”
Sandra said, “You have to take it on faith and move forward.”
“And trust yourself?” Aaron asked.