The icy wind was blistering on my cheeks. I paused, realizing these were my last moments at the chalet. There’s a chance I would die out on the mountain, a chance Tav already had, but life in lockdown hell wasn’t for me. Whether my captor was Tav, or a deranged stranger, I couldn’t stay to find out.
I snowshoed back to the steps and leaned inside the door to grab my knit hat and two fistfuls of jerky for my jacket pockets.
“Adios, asshole.”
The smart house asked me to repeat my request. I grinned and slammed the door instead. With quick steps, I set off down the driveway, eyes on the faint tracks the mountain man had left just minutes ago. I moved softly but swiftly, eager to catch him in my line of sight from a safe distance. My only hope was following him out of here. If the wind or a storm came, I could lose sight of him and the tracks in a matter of seconds.
My heart rattled as I realized I hadn’t fully thought out the consequences of venturing out onto this unforgiving mountain in winter-like conditions. Just as the path of the driveway fell below the ridge and my view of the chalet dropped out of sight, I was surprised to find the mountain man’s tracks had crested over a small snowbank and moved away from the driveway.
One minute into this journey and I was already off-road.
I cringed as I struggled to follow the tracks his snowshoes left, his strides wide and forcing me to find a rhythm somewhere between a fast walk and a jog. The exercise felt good, the stretch of my tight muscles from sitting inside for so many weeks was a welcome change. It felt like part of me had atrophied, or many parts. Maybe that’d been one of my coping mechanisms, even with Tav, shutting down and tuning out until the memory itself atrophied.
I thought of my nightmare last night, only this one a figment of reality. Life with mom had been oftentimes chaotic and sometimes outright traumatic, particularly when she was missing him.
I blinked as the sound of his boots drew closer. “Look at you, pretty girl, dressed in your Sunday best just for me.”
My heart rate spiked as I forced my snowshoes faster. I couldn’t keep letting these lost memories plague me. I was torturing myself, the only thing worse was that I might not actually catch up with the mountain man and then I’d find myself lost on this mountain and alone with my thoughts. Most people can’t handle their dark hearts laid bare.
I slipped then, the tip of my snowshoe sliding off a rock I hadn’t seen buried under the snow.
Kill or be killed.
I sucked in a breath, using my ski pole to poke around my next step. I stopped at the edge, unable to see where the man’s tracks went from here. Had he simply jumped down? Or backtracked and went another way when I was lost inside of my own head?
“Why are you following me?” His voice was thick, like the snarl of a wild animal.
I didn’t answer, turning to find the stranger at the edge of a stand of evergreens.
His eyes were hard, trained on me like he might pierce my heart with an arrow and claim the meat for his own.
I miss my old life.
“Answer me or else.”
“Or else what?”
His eyes narrowed, forehead furrowed before he took fast strides across the bank of snow and leaned in close to my face.
His breath smelled like jerky and chewing tobacco. “Or else I leave you on the mountain to die.”
I backed away, forgetting I was on the edge of a rock, and fell backwards off of the edge. I landed in another giant drift, snow cradling me easily as I barely cracked the thick crust of ice that lay on top.
“I need to know why you’re helping me.”
“Why? You’d die up there if I didn’t. Is this your way of saying thank you?” He leaped down after me, agile despite his body’s wide breadth. He wore what looked like a real fur around his neck, something he’d caught or trapped out here, I had no doubt. Was it a wolf pelt? This man was a dominant predator on this mountain and I might be his next prey. Had Tav encountered him too?
I snuck out from under his massive form and struggled to my feet. I clambered for the ski poles, my only protection against him.
“What’s your name?”
“None of your business.”
“Who told you to bring me food?” I pressed, needing his answers.
“Don’t know.” He spun, heading off down the mountain again. I struggled to keep up, finding it easier to land each of my steps inside his larger ones.
“Do you live up here? Are there more of you?” I cringed with my last question.
“More of me?” He huffed, casting me a sideways glare before turning back. “You mean how many neighbors have you got up here?”
I nodded, hating the shrinking feeling he gave me.
“There are more.” He was off again, tracking away from me. “Mostly trappers, livin’ off grid but ask any of them for directions and they won’t let on none the wiser. If you see them, that is. The men that live up here are only seen when they want to be.”
He was so at home here while I was so out of place, it rattled me. He rattled every nerve I had, and yet my entire existence relied on him the further we walked from the chalet.
“How many hours away?” I asked.
He laughed. “Hours? Guess this is your first time on the mountain then?”
I didn’t answer. When he didn’t continue, I finally mumbled that it was my first, and would be my last.
“We’re about forty-five minutes out from my cabin, if that’s where you’re going.”
I had nowhere else to go, and at least knowing I was less than an hour from the nearest...what? Neighbor? Did mountain men have neighbors? Could I rely on him to save my life if it came down to it? I was pretty sure at the current crossroads I had only myself to pull me out of this one.
“Will you tell me about the man that told you to bring me food?”
The mountain man paused his steps, squaring on me fully. “He was alive last I saw him.”
“When was that? The last time?”
He pushed a palm through his beard. “Few days after he paid me to share my rations with you I saw him on television. News stations replayed the footage of him walking out of the woods over and over, like he was some Goddamn hero. I couldn't understand it, it wasn't like he survived anything.”
“Wait, Tav was rescued? Was he on skis?”
“Sure was. Looked like he’d just slalomed down Everest. The look on their faces was like they’d just seen Jesus. Your husband must be an important man.”
Frustrated tears pricked my eyes. “Did he tell them about me?”
“Tell them about you?”
“He said he’d rescue me, have them send a helicopter—”
The man shook his head. “No helicopter can land up here. Not with the wind that whips around these peaks. Your best bet is the ice bridge up around the corner of the pass. But that’s only safe for snowmobiles, that’s why I traded him for that little car you drove up here. Hauled it down the mountain and gave it a jumpstart. Runs just fine, but that’s why I was surprised to see him on skis on the television. Where the hell is my snowmobile?”
“Wait, snowmobile? Trade? What are you talking about, Tav would never—”
“Listen, I don’t know who Tav is, but I’ve got a car at the house he signed into my name and a snowmobile that needs replacing. Life on the mountain all winter is about impossible without access across that land bridge.”
“I feel like we have the wrong person.”
He shrugged. “Maybe the snowmobile broke down, was havin’ some issues with that belt the last few times I ran it.” His face turned tentative as he thought about it.
“Is he paying you to bring me food?”
“Of course he is, I wouldn't share my winter provisions otherwise.”
“How much?”
“Thousand dollars a box. Sundays only.”
My nerves quaked as the implications of the arrangement settled over me. “Do you have other people you deliver boxes to on the other days of the week?
”
He narrowed his eyes, a quick shake of his head. “‘Course not.”
“Then...why do you address the boxes to The Sunday Wife?”
He held up his big paw-like hands. “Listen, I’m just following orders. I’ve got no interest in your personal lives.”
More tears threatened as my heart rammed into my rib cage.
“He set me up with a postal box in town for payments, didn’t expect the love letters too, but I guess if I was away from my wife for weeks on end it might be a romantic gesture.”
“Love letters? A romantic gesture? You mean the notes that come with the boxes?”
His face bled with exasperation. “Not in my job description to ask questions. He sends cash, I’ll put whatever he wants in the boxes.”
“So...you’re my caretaker?” I finally asked.
“S’pose so.” He was walking again, quicker than before.
“Well, I don’t need one. Thanks for your help, but your services aren’t needed anymore.”
I heard his chuckle, but he didn’t bother turning to me. “Sure. How much food did you get at that fancy cabin, anyway?”
“Enough for at least a few months if I ration myself.”
“Last snow doesn’t leave until Fourth of July at this elevation. Rationing will get you starved up here. You have to be part of the ecosystem when you're on the mountain.” He shoved a hand in his pocket, snapping off a piece of jerky and chewing before throwing it my way. “Welcome to Deception Gorge, it’s kill or be killed, sweetheart.”
Twenty-Seven
Tav was here.
That was my first thought as I came upon the small trapper’s cabin.
Our car, the small utility vehicle we’d climbed up the mountain in, now sat in the backyard of the trapper’s cabin.
“Did he give you a title or anything?” I asked.
The man stopped at his front door. “Sure did.”
He disappeared inside the small cabin and my mind whirled. What would that title say? And had Tav really been so desperate to survive that he’d been willing to sign over our car? Or had he done it to save my life? As part of the payment for my caretaking? Did this make Tav my savior or captor? And where was the gun?
A headache pressed at the base of my skull. I tossed my ski poles into the snow and worked my neck muscles back and forth with one palm.
The mountain man returned a moment later, faded green scrap of paper folded in his palm. He passed it to me when he was near enough and I opened it, fingers shaking. He watched as I scanned the front side, confirming that it was the title to the car Tav drove, but instead of his townhome in Virginia Beach listed as the address, it listed an unfamiliar address in Alexandria. I flipped the paper over, eager to see his signature as if it would confirm his survival.
“‘S’that your husband’s name?”
I nodded, a chilly tear cutting down my cheek. “That’s his signature.”
“Figured so.” He slipped the paper out of my hands and folded it neatly before putting it back in his top pocket.
“But that’s not his address.”
The man shrugged, walking back into the house without another word.
So now what?
I took a few steps closer to the car, peering through the darkened windows. I laughed at just the thought of the burly mountain man behind the wheel of this little two-wheel drive, hardly any horsepower sporty vehicle. “Can I look inside?”
He stood at the doorway, jacket off and another piece of jerky in his paw. “Sure, but you won’t find anything. Cleaned it out before he left, said I could keep the rest. Wasn’t much. Few emergency flares and a box of receipts and pictures and junk.”
“Receipts?” I perked up. “Can I see them?”
“Threw them out.”
“Where’s your garbage?”
His guffaw echoed off the snowbanks around us. “Burned it.”
Deflated, I unbuckled my snowshoes, then propped myself on the front step of the cabin.
“Guess you’re stayin’ for dinner then.”
I didn’t reply, mind trying to work out why Tav had signed over his nearly brand new car to this stranger just to bring me a box of jerky on Sundays. For the price of the car he could have hired an entire search team to come find me on this mountain, so why hadn’t he?
“Thought you might want to hold onto this, though.” He dropped another folded paper in my lap. When I opened it, the letterhead of a real estate title company greeted me.
“He put the chalet in my name?” My brain struggled to understand why and how. He’d said this was owned by the department, a smart house in the beta testing phases that we could spend a long weekend at…
“Don’t know if it matters, but he told me what happened between you.”
Frustration laced my quiet syllables. “Excuse me?”
“The baby. Losing your mom. He said you needed some time.”
“Some time?” My heart hammered wildly. “What does that mean?”
“I asked the same question.” He uttered. “Said he didn’t know, only that when it was right, you'd be ready to come down off the mountain. Said until then, you wanted peace and solitude to heal from all that loss you’d suffered.”
My palms itchy and my vision blinked black.
My head hammered in my ears and the soft snowflakes that’d started falling now twisted and cascaded in a confused kaleidoscope.
“No.” My throat was cracked, my voice jagged. “No, that’s not…”
But was it?
Did this stranger know more about what had really happened than I did? He cleared his voice once. “He also said you’d run out of your pills and the doctor refused to refill them because he thought you were…” he cleared his voice again, “an addict.”
I shook my head, trying to chase his words away like annoying flies. I slipped a hand to my head, pushing my knit hat off and using it to dry the tears on my cheeks. “I don’t think that’s what happened.”
He nodded, then silently turned back into his cabin.
Twenty-Eight
Alexandria.
The word came to me in the middle of the night.
Alexandria was listed on the title, wasn’t it?
And Tav had mentioned helping his parents move hadn’t he? To Alexandria.
Was it related? Maybe only because Tav had been between rentals when he’d bought the car and he’d listed his parent’s home address instead of his.
I turned to the fire, warmth crackling through my veins as I clutched the ski pole in one palm. The flames licked the darkened stone of the fireplace, the loud snores of the burly trapper, Bud, in the next room oddly comforting amid all this silence.
At least I couldn’t hear the wolves howling anymore.
I shuddered again just thinking of when they’d started up this evening just as Bud had fed me some of his venison stew. I’d cringed at both: the stew and the wolves. I hadn’t really conceptualized the actual wild animals outside my window when I was perched up in the chalet, but through Bud’s paper thin walls, every yip and howl might as well have been on a loudspeaker.
I learned quickly he liked it that way.
And the stew.
I’d avoided all of the venison jerky that’d been in the boxes that arrived on Sunday, but the smell that wafted through his fur-cluttered cabin was too delicious to pass up. He was heavy on the herbs, thick on the gravy, and generous with the biscuits. Bud could have been a short-order chef as far as I was concerned. I hadn’t eaten that well at the chalet once since I’d been there.
I’d made a joke about getting out to see the neighbors more often, but Bud had only grunted, shoveled more stew into his mouth, and grumbled, “The folks out here don’t take to company.”
I sighed, thankful and yet still a little scared of the man I’d shared stew with tonight. The man whose couch I slept on as dozens of varieties of wild creatures hung on every available space of the walls.
I snuck the tiny folded photo
out of the pocket in my rucksack. I ran my fingers along the edges, squinting in the firelight to make out the expressions. My mother looked dreamy, far away in her baby blue Sunday dress and short heels. Bradley was gap-toothed and joyous as he teased me about one thing or another and I laughed and pointed at something on the ground between us. A few people lingered on the steps of the church in the background, but their faces were too far away for me to even make out who they might be.
I sighed, missing Bradley as deep as the marrow in my bones.
He’d been my best friend for so long, I think I’d secretly punished him for leaving me for the military. First my mom, then Bradley, from this perspective my life the last five years felt like a series of sad events, outside of meeting Tav.
I brought the polaroid closer to my eyes, working my lips back and forth as I wondered who had taken this candid of my family.
My mother stared at the photographer dreamily, the secret of the stranger reflected only in the lights of her eyes. I wished again for her to share with me her secrets, so many questions left unasked, so many reasons I still didn’t understand.
Were they all taken by Chuck? Had he really been a part of our lives from before I could remember?
I yawned, folding the polaroid back into its well-worn grooves when a tiny smudge over my mom’s right shoulder caught my eye. I’d thought it was dirt or a sun flare, but it looked like the shape of a person. Someone broad and tall, but not yet adult.
I scanned the angles of the shadowy face in search of familiar features. Maybe I was only experiencing the sense of humanness because the shadow took so much of a human form, but in truth it could have been the angle of a tree or fence.
It could have been anything.
But then why didn’t it feel like anything?
I slipped my fingertip along the shadowed edge, trying to determine if the hair was long or short, the jawline squared like an Ivy League star or just a smudge of nothing left to history. I could tell neither, but a shiver rolled through my veins anyway.
The Sunday Wife: A Lockdown Thriller Page 9
