by Hunter Shea
A bear is better than what you think is around when you get the bad feels. And at least there’s a whole house between you and it.
Regardless, being this tense, if she went into some kind of cardiac arrest, how was Andrew supposed to get her past the bear and into the car?
Buttons.
He could scout it out for her.
“Up you go.”
It was a struggle, lifting him onto the counter. The old dog was far heavier than he looked. Her wrists and elbows were not happy with her plan, the abused joints aching terribly.
“What’s outside?” she said, pointing at the window. Buttons sniffed her hand, his nose pressing against the screen. He simply panted, as usual, tail wagging.
I bet he wants to go outside now, you dummy.
Edging him aside, Kate inched closer to the window.
She sagged with relief when she saw nothing but the trees and their car. The porch was mercifully empty.
Feeling sorry for putting Buttons in harm’s way – though in retrospect, there was no harm in it at all – she gave him a few treats and let him come up into the bed with her and get under the covers.
“Did I dream that something was out there?” she whispered in his flaccid ear.
First I think there are shadow men in my house, now phantom bears outside the cottage. I don’t even know what to believe.
She remained awake until first light, wondering what she could trust about herself anymore.
Chapter Twelve
“Look for scat on the porch when you leave.”
Andrew stared at Kate with his shirt in his hand. He was getting ready for a nice run, just enough to flush the niggling hangover from his system.
“Scat?”
“I thought I heard a bear on the front porch last night.”
“So, you want me to look for bear scat.”
She looked up from her tablet. “It’s not like you’ll really have to look. If it’s there, you’ll see it right away. I’ve been reading up on bears, and Maine only has black bears.”
Tugging his shirt over his head, Andrew said, “Is that good or bad? I always forget which one is worse.”
“Good. Brown bears are nasty, bordering on evil. They eat their own cubs, for crying out loud. No, black bears are smaller, shyer, and tamer.”
He had to take his sneaker from Buttons, the old beagle resting his head on it. Back in the day, the dog would have chewed it to tatters, slobbering all over it.
“So I don’t need to worry about bears when I’m running around.”
“Not the black bears. There hasn’t been a fatal bear attack in Maine since the 1800s. If something’s going to hurt you, it’s either a moose or a tick.”
Andrew took a cold water from the fridge, swallowing down his vitamin. “Well, I’m not going to run screaming from a tick.”
Kate looked at him seriously. “You should. They have Lyme disease up here now. Go put your big boy pants on and cover those hairy legs. We can’t afford to have us both sick.”
Rather than argue with her, he quickly changed, knowing he was going to be wearing shorts no matter what once things heated up. They’d been through so much, he figure he was owed not coming down with Lyme disease.
“How do I look?” He did a little dance by the bed. She pinched his ass.
“Sexy. Before you go, can you please get me a drink so I can take my meds like a good patient?”
He gave her a soda, her morning beverage of choice, and half a protein shake. She made a face at the shake. With one look, he got her to drink the shake with grim acceptance. Kate looked awful today, despite her chipper mood. It was obvious she’d been up all night. He’d felt her tossing and turning and had almost asked her to turn down the TV a few times.
She unscrewed the cap of her mason jar and fished out a handful of pills.
“Scat patrol is in effect,” he said, opening the door.
Thankfully, the porch was poop-free.
“No bear, hon,” he said. “Or at least if there was a bear, he or she didn’t have to go potty.”
He paused when he saw four gouge marks on the wooden railing. Had they always been there? He’d spent very little time on the front porch. They looked like claw marks, or they could just as easily have been saw marks if someone had tried to do a little handiwork, using the porch rail to rest something against.
Maybe it was Kate’s bear. It didn’t have to poop, but it left its mark anyway.
Since there was no way for him to be sure, he was not going to tell her and get her all riled up. Knowing Kate, she’d make him stop running for fear of him being mauled or eaten by Gentle Ben. Andrew needed to run more than Kate needed to wonder if there were actually bears around.
“You feel better now?” he said to her.
“Yes. Much. Run free. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“You have no choice.”
No driveway for him today. The sun was out and the path was calling. It was easier going now, muscle memory helping him to avoid some of the worst dips and obstacles in his way.
In fact, he was able to do his usual reckless-abandon scurry, knees rising so high with each stride, they nearly touched his pumping elbows. It only took a few minutes to get his heart rate in full gallop, sweat starting to pour down the sides of his face and small of his back. The ground was still wet, squishing under his feet, mud flecking his pants.
For once, he was running out of habit rather than anger. The beer last night had really helped to settle him down, dulling all the sharp edges that usually troubled his days and nights.
His shoulder nearly clipped a tree. Spinning away, he stepped into a clump of wiry brush. It took some effort to extricate his legs.
Good thing Kate made me wear long pants.
Lungs burning, he checked his watch. He’d been running for twenty minutes.
A hole had ripped open in his pants leg. No matter, he was done running for the day. His head felt clearer, the aches in his bones replaced by the hum of endorphins.
Walking back to the cottage, he decided he’d stop in town and get more beer. Maybe he’d even buy a bottle of Dewar’s. His dad had been a connoisseur of cheap whisky. Andrew always thought his father looked so grown up, so cool, so in command of all he surveyed, when he had a highball glass of the amber whisky in his hand. He’d tried Dewar’s himself several times but couldn’t get over the burn. His own tastes were on the pricier, smoother side.
Now was as good a time as any to try again. He wasn’t feeling very much in command of all he surveyed, so a little mimicking of his father couldn’t hurt.
In a rare break in the trees, he was afforded a narrow view of the lake. It was still as glass today. The old kayakers were nowhere to be seen. Sometimes up here, he felt like the only person left in the world. The silence and solitude could be overwhelming. Right now, they felt just about right.
A kayak. I really should rent one from that place by the barbershop. It’ll be nice to get on the water. I’m pretty sure I can strap it to the roof of the car.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the little homemade shelter until his wrist banged off one of the support branches.
“What the heck is this?”
He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it when he first set out on his run. Not far from the cottage, someone had gathered fallen branches and fashioned them into a kind of makeshift tepee, the triangular opening revealing a bed of leaves and pine needles inside. Heavily leafed branches were woven between the supports to keep out the elements.
Crouching down, he found a stick and poked around the floor of the tepee. It smelled damp and mossy with a hint of old shit.
It smelled wretched, but an animal hadn’t done this.
Andrew looked above the structure and could just see the cottage through the low-hanging branches.
It could be kids. It looked wide enough inside to fit up to three preteens comfortably. He hadn’t seen a single soul in these woods since they settled in weeks ago. If there were kids about, he would have at least heard them. The cottage and surrounding acreage were so quiet, so far removed from the regular white noise of civilization, he joked to Kate they could hear a frog fart from a hundred yards away.
And when was this little hut away from home erected? He was pretty sure it hadn’t been here a couple of days ago. On the other hand, when he ran, he noticed very little. Maybe the people who’d rented the cabin before them had creative kids who watched a lot of Survivor.
It could be some homeless person erecting a shelter to keep out of the storm. There didn’t seem to be anything left behind, no sign of food or scraps of clothing. Maybe whoever built it had just needed a place to stay for a night and had moved on.
It could be a bunch of things, and all of them bugged Andrew. Maybe if it were deeper in the woods, he wouldn’t mind. But he could see their cottage from here. Why build it so close, unless it was to keep an eye on them?
“You’re being paranoid.”
Yes, he was, and he wasn’t going to make any apologies for it. Where he and Kate had grown up, paranoia kept you safe.
He jogged to the house, saw that Kate was asleep.
“C’mere, Buttons,” he whispered. The beagle came scampering over. Andrew clipped the leash to his collar and walked him to the tepee. “Go on, sniff around.”
Buttons went inside, tail wagging to beat the band, sneezing when the pine needles tickled his snout.
Now, the old dog was no bloodhound, but he was a dog just the same with a heightened sense of smell. Maybe he could at least point in the direction where their mystery neighbor had gone.
Inside the tepee, Buttons flopped onto the ground.
“What are you doing? No sleeping on the job. Get up.”
His tail thumped the bedding, eyes drooping closed.
“Look, I know you’re old as the hills, but you can’t be that tired. Show me who made this.”
He tugged on the leash, but Buttons wasn’t having it. The beagle closed his rheumy eyes.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Could dogs sniff out intent? If someone had been crouching in there with a head full of bad things, would Buttons – or any dog, for that matter – pick up on it, even if they were long gone? Was there a scent to evil? Would it linger like a ghost, an emotional specter?
How have you jumped all the way to evil?
On the plus side, Buttons didn’t seem the least bit concerned.
“Okay, let’s go inside and see Mommy.”
That got Buttons on his paws. Mommy was everything to him. Even a comfy tepee couldn’t keep him away from her for long.
By the time Andrew showered and changed and ran to town for some supplies, all thoughts of the sinister tepee had vanished. He had no idea why it had disquieted him so much. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous he felt, until it was best to forget about it.
The Dewar’s and ice-cold craft beer chasers helped.
* * *
“You want to come out on the porch?”
Andrew’s tongue had gone soft at the end, porch coming out porsh. They’d watched a Coen brothers movie together, laughing at the madcap absurdity, a bowl of popcorn on the bed between them. It was a hot day. He’d found a standing fan in the supply closet and set it to oscillate, keeping it by the open sliding door to suck in the fresh air.
She didn’t know how many beers he’d had, but sometime during the middle of the movie, he’d poured himself a glass of Dewar’s whisky over ice. When she’d looked at the drink with surprise, he’d said, “You always said I’m a carbon copy of my dad.”
“I thought you hate Dewar’s.”
“Hate is a strong word. I’m beginning to see why my dad liked it so much.”
It was actually good to see him relaxing. He needed it before he popped a blood vessel in his brain. Or someone in the face.
She laughed when he winced with each sip, forcing the alcohol down.
“Smooth,” he said, winking.
The sun was just starting to set when the credits rolled.
“I’ll be happy to go to the porsh,” she said.
“Here, let me help you.”
“I’ve got it. Why don’t you get me a soda?”
She shuffled past the fan and clicked it off. This was the time of day for the loons to come out, and she didn’t want to miss them. There was something so tranquilizing about their musical ululations. When dusk came, she’d mute the television and listen for them, falling asleep for her nighttime nap to their lullaby cries.
Andrew came out with a soda for her and a refill on his whisky.
“So, you’re becoming a hardcore drinker now, huh?”
He tipped his glass. “I’m at least going to give it the old college try.” He looked wary, as if he expected her to scold him like a child.
“Well, you’ve earned it.” She kissed his cheek. A loon sang out and she smiled.
It was frustrating for her to feel so shaky inside when all she’d done was walk a few feet onto the porch. Her hips and shoulders ached especially badly today. What made her pause before sitting down was that microwave feeling that ran up her spine. It came and went in seconds.
What the fuck? I hate my body.
Normally, this was when she’d vocalize how much she wished she could trade her body in for a new one. Andrew would sympathize with her, or if it had been a bad day, give a small nod, absorbing her litany of complaints and desire to do some body snatching. It wasn’t until they’d come up here and gotten away from her comfort zone of discomfort that she realized how often she complained. People around them marveled at how she took each setback like a marine, but only Andrew knew the real Kate and how she was handling her illness.
Bravery was appropriate for her public face. But when she was home and it was just them, she felt she could collapse, gripe, cry, bitch, bemoan, and lash out.
Not to say that he took it all with aplomb. They’d had some hellacious fights over the years. Andrew never said he was tired of hearing her complain. When they fought, it was usually over something stupid like Where’s the remote? or I told you not to do the dishes; the doctor said you have to stay off your feet.
Andrew was a passionate man, just as she was a passionate woman, and their squabbles could be the stuff of legend.
They argued less and less with each passing year. For some people, it was a sign of maturity, of coming into their own as calm, rational adults. Kate worried that her illness was bleeding them of that sometimes wild, reckless fervor. And Lord knew, passion of any kind had been in short supply the past few years.
“Look, there he is,” Kate said, leaning forward and pointing at the loon in the middle of the lake.
“Wonder where his mate is.”
“Can’t be far.”
Another warble, and up popped the loon’s mate from under the water. Seconds later, they both dove, searching for dinner.
“You know,” Andrew said, “we’re turning into that old couple from On Golden Pond. Should I be alarmed?”
“Only if you don’t wanna suck some face.”
He kissed her softly, the sharp bite of whisky deliciously rolling around her tongue. When they’d met, Kate had been the one to drink Andrew and all their friends under the table.
Ever since she’d been put on the cocktail of meds, she’d had to give up drinking altogether. A good, stiff drink was one of many things she missed.
Kissing Andrew now reminded her just how much.
What I wouldn’t give for a nice cocktail and a roll in the hay. Scratch that, a few cocktails and a good old-fashioned fucking.
A sharp p
ain in her hip from leaning to kiss Andrew forced her to break away.
“You kiss way better than Henry Fonda,” she said.
Andrew sat back and took a sip of whisky, his face puckering for a moment. “You’re good, but that Kate Hepburn, she was a hellcat. It’s why I married you. She got me addicted to Kates.”
She punched his arm, hurting her fingers in the process. “You wish Katharine Hepburn gave you the time of day. Even when she was in On Golden Pond.”
“Hell yeah. She’d be my sugar momma and we’d be rich. This would be our permanent home, not just a summer escape.”
Kate was about to punch him again when something snapped in the woods. It sounded like someone taking a dry branch and cracking it over their knee.
It was loud, and it was close.
Andrew jumped up, spilling his drink on the crotch of his shorts.
“Whoa,” Kate said, giggling at his soaked crotch. “You’re too drunk to be wound so tight.”
He ignored her, going to the railing and looking around.
“Hey, I was only kidding,” she said.
What had him so excited? It was probably just a branch falling. They were surrounded by trees, and not all of them were healthy.
Andrew shushed her, which raised her dander just a bit. Her mother had been a world-champion shusher. Nothing got under Kate’s skin quicker than a shush.
After a few moments, he said, “You hear anything?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, my husband freaking out over a tree limb.”
“Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
He leaped over the rail, hitting the dirt hard and disappearing around the side of the cottage.
“Andrew, where are you going?”
The Adirondack chair was built on an angle that made it hard for Kate to get up on her own, but she managed. Buttons was on his feet too, nose between the wood slats, staring at where Andrew had gone. Unlike her husband, the dog didn’t seem all that concerned.
“Andrew!”
She noticed someone in a canoe. When they heard her, they stopped paddling and waved. She couldn’t see them well enough to tell if it was a man or woman, young or old. Waving back, she gripped the railing and leaned as far as she could without losing her balance, hoping to see where Andrew had run off to. His footsteps were unmistakable, fading with each passing second.
