Stutter Creek

by Ann Swann

  Maybe Ginger would be home by now. She attended college three days a week in Pine River. She planned to teach kindergarten someday. Miller’s Outlet, one of the two clothing stores in town—the other being Wes’s Western Wear—might be putting out their summer stuff. If not, perhaps the two of them could meet up before Ginger left the city. Aunt Martha was right, she did need to get out and have some fun.

  ***

  After her sandwich, and the conversation with her dad, Beth felt restless. She decided to go for a short hike, to clear her head. Outside, in the fresh air, things always seemed better. She stopped just outside her property line in the edge of the woods. The soft sunlight was filtering down through the pine canopy like golden rain. She admired the falling light, thinking what a lovely painting it would make, and how hard it would be to get the light just right—she’d tried her hand at watercolors in college—when she heard a tiny sound like a small animal snuffling around in the leaves.

  Turning carefully, not wanting to frighten a deer or perhaps even a fox, just wanting to catch a glimpse of it, she was treated to . . . nothing. Gestalt, she thought; go gestalt, like Dad always said. Look at the whole forest and see what doesn’t fit. Don’t look at the individual trees; look at the patterns of dark and light. Look for something that breaks the pattern . . .

  Still, there was nothing. Everything seemed to be in its correct place.

  Slowly she turned around again. There! Another noise. This time it sounded like feet sliding on soft earth. Goose pimples appearing on the backs of her arms, she whirled around counterclockwise and caught a spot of movement. Her blood momentarily froze, rooting her feet to the spot; then anger boiled up and spilled over.

  “Come out, dammit! I know you’re there. You’ve been watching me and I’m sick of it! Come out where I can see you—coward!”

  A dozen yards away, a man stepped out from behind a towering ponderosa pine. Beside him, alert and imposing, stood the large dog that had come to visit her.

  Beth stamped her foot, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. She wasn’t frightened. She was mad. She wanted to speak but her breath was trapped in her throat. To get it out she would have to start yelling.

  “Sorry,” the man said, holding on to the dog’s collar. “We didn’t mean to startle you; in fact, I was trying to let you pass on by so that we wouldn’t startle you.” He looked down at the dog affectionately. “But old Turk here seems to have forgotten everything I taught him about surveillance—”

  As if on cue Turk pulled from his grasp and leaped straight at Beth. The man opened his mouth as if to halt the huge dog, but before he could utter a word, Beth was on one knee, arms open wide.

  He raised one eyebrow suspiciously. “So,” he said. “You’ve corrupted my ferocious guard dog.” He slid the sunglasses off his nose and hooked them onto the neck of his shirt as he spoke.

  Beth’s gasp was audible. “John?” Her voice was incredulous. “Big John, is that you?” She couldn’t believe her eyes. After all these years of searching, looking for him in the shade of every evergreen, poking around his slowly crumbling cabin like a thief, leaving surreptitious notes tied with hair ribbons that blew away on the first strong breeze. . .after all that, here he was standing in the middle of the forest not fifty feet from her back door. Her heart seemed to be walloping the inside of her chest like a velvet-covered hammer. Her tongue was stranded in the desert of her mouth. She couldn’t seem to work up enough spittle to form any more words.

  Beth looked him over closely. His blond hair was short, beginning to gray; a soft, close-trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face; his clothes were camouflage; and his eyes, the sea-glass green eyes that had haunted her memories all through the years, were staring at her as if they’d never seen her before.

  Finally, she blurted out: “So you’re the owner of this magnificent animal who has been taking such good care of me?” Get a grip, Beth. You’re not a teenager anymore.

  The tall man ducked his head and muttered. “Guilty on both counts.”

  Beth thought he might be blushing, but beneath the shade of the pines, it was difficult to tell. Finally, when she could breathe again, she whispered, “Don’t you know me? It’s Beth, Beth Brannock, I mean, Evans. You know, Tom Brannock’s girl.”

  She might have gone on and on identifying herself but John finally held up his hand. “Of course I know you, Bethie. I’d know you anywhere.” His gaze was direct, his voice kind. “Can’t believe you’re here, that’s all.” Then he grinned, his eyes crinkling merrily. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s been awhile.”

  Beth caught herself reflecting his grin right back at him. “Only twenty-odd years,” she crowed. “Heck, I’ve barely had time to turn around and here you are again, just like that summer . . . ”

  “Yes, just like that summer.” His face was thoughtful.

  Silence surrounded them. Even the birds seemed to be intensely waiting.

  In the heightened atmosphere, Beth could feel each ray of sunshine on her skin; she could hear each leaf that floated, soft as a raindrop, to the forest floor. It was like suspended animation, this feeling.

  John simply stood there. He’d begun to suspect it was Beth in the cabin. He and Turk had spent the entire night watching, making certain nothing, or no one, came snooping back around. But until now, he hadn’t been sure it was her, or that she was alone.

  He glanced down at her hand stroking Turk’s rough head. He wasn’t really surprised that Turk had taken to her so readily. She had quite a way with animals, as he recalled. They’d saved more than one baby bird and at least one injured squirrel that infamous summer.

  “And your dad?” he asked at last.

  Tears welled but did not overflow. “Lost him two months ago,” she whispered. “Cancer.”

  John frowned. “I’m very sorry, I thought I would, I mean I hoped I would, you know, get to see him again. I really thought a lot of that man.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I know he thought a lot of you, too.” She sniffled and dug for a tissue in her pocket. Turk looked into her face, concerned. “It’s okay,” she told the big Shepherd. “I’m all right.” Then, she sat on the nearest stump and wrapped her arms around Turk’s neck.

  John wanted to slip an arm around her, pull her head onto his chest, cry right along with her, but he had to remind himself that they weren’t kids anymore; in fact, he didn’t really know this woman at all. He’d known a young girl, years ago. But that was then, as they say.

  He crouched on his heels a few feet away, hands dangling loosely between his knees, at a loss for words.

  Beth wiped her nose, hoping against hope that it wasn’t getting all red and stuffy.

  They sat quietly for a moment, watching the sky darken above the pines. Beth untied her jacket from around her waist and stuck her arms in the sleeves. “Getting chilly,” they both said at once.

  She stood and John pulled the jacket onto her shoulders. His hands grasped the tops of her arms as he settled the jacket about her securely. Without a word, he turned her like a slow-motion top. Face to face, he knew she was the one he’d been looking for all these years.

  Beth met his gaze and her dream came back to her in a rush. She thought she should pull away, she couldn’t believe this was her old friend, the one she’d searched for over the years. “Still can’t believe it’s you,” she said, reaching out as if to touch his face, but not quite touching it after all.

  “And I can’t believe you ruined a perfectly good guard dog,” he replied tenderly, the kiss—if indeed that’s what he’d intended—delayed good-naturedly.

  Beth laughed. “And it only took a couple of hot dogs and some gentle persuasion.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Okay, half a dozen hot dogs, actually.”

  John looked puzzled.

  “He’s visited me at the cabin a time or two,” Beth explained.

  Still shaking his head, John said, “I’ve seen him rip the arms off guys my size without a second thought. I don’t get
it, I just don’t get it.”

  “Believe me,” Beth replied, paraphrasing her father, “there are so many things we don’t get.” She paused, “I’m discovering more and more of them everyday.” She thought about the colorful little lights, the text messages, Heaven. She sighed, wondering what he would think if she told him everything.

  Walking back to her cabin, the silence was thick with unspoken questions and shared memories. The ground was squelchy beneath their feet. The pine needles created the best, the springiest, carpet in nature. In her mind, Beth recalled the shy, lanky boy, tanned beyond belief from never wearing anything more than cutoffs, the boy who had grabbed her hands and hoisted her up onto the gigantic boulder at the southern end of Stutter Creek. It was their special place, the one with the worn rope swing, the only spot where there was a pool deep enough for real diving and swimming.

  It was on that boulder that they would stand, swaying and laughing, daring the other to jump first into the clear, freezing mountain water. It was there that they also shared picnic lunches and talked over the world’s problems. It was there that he had confessed his feelings of loneliness, his feelings of never fitting in, of being on the outside looking in.

  She, in turn, confessed how she felt like she should miss her mother, especially when holidays came around or when they made Mother’s day cards in school or had Muffins for Mom days, things like that, but how her dad had always filled in so readily, never missing any of her events, so jovial and fun to be around… that some of her girlfriends were actually jealous of her. And it was the same with John, for even though they often felt as if they were totally on their own in the forest, they never really were; her dad was usually upstream fishing, or downstream urging them on, or better yet, right there beside them, jumping into the freezing water first.

  They had been quite a trio that summer. Between Beth and her father, the two of them had unwittingly shown John what he had been missing in the way of family.

  They walked on in comfortable silence for a while longer. It was as though the years had melted magically away.

  At last, Beth asked, “Have you always lived here?” She hesitated, and then continued bravely, “What I mean is . . . I’ve been to your cabin. I peeked in windows. You weren’t there. It looked like it was deserted.”

  John stopped in his tracks. “You—you were looking for me?”

  “Of course.” She wondered how much to divulge. “Every summer I would drag Dad up the mountain to see if you had returned.” She looked into his face for confirmation that it was okay to go on. “You disappeared, John.”

  It was a moment before he spoke. “I guess I did.” He seemed truly perplexed. “I never thought of it that way. I mean, I never thought I’d be missed.”

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “Did you marry?” he asked.

  Speaking at the same time, they laughed self-consciously. Around them, the woods clicked and rustled back to life. Overhead, the swaying pines soughed gently in the slight breeze. Nearby, a squirrel chattered and then disappeared into a dark spot high up in the fork of limbs.

  When they reached her cabin, they sat on the porch and she told him an abbreviated version of her life. She described, in loving detail, her daughter and new son-in-law. She also told him about the wonderful relationship her dad had enjoyed with Abby, the wonderful camping trips and sports activities, how she and her dad had delighted in showing Abby all their favorite places in and around Stutter Creek; and then her voice faltered.

  “I’m not hearing much about Abby’s father,” John prodded, eyes kind.

  Haltingly, Beth gave him the story on her marriage to Sam. With a hitch in her voice, she admitted how he had let her down, and how it had made her feel. “I never really doubted myself before, you know? Now, well . . .” She let the fall of her hair hide the rising heat in her cheeks. She wished she hadn’t said that. It was too close to the bone. She’d never even admitted those feelings to Cindy.

  John felt anger rising in his chest. How could anyone be so cruel to someone they were supposed to love?

  Beth shook her head. “I thought he was a good man. How could I have been so wrong?” She glanced at John’s face. “I thought we were in the home stretch.” She laughed bitterly. “I was actually looking forward to early retirement. I thought I would be working on that novel I’ve been toying with for so long.”

  John was quiet, unnerved. In his mind, he had prepared himself to accept that she was a married woman, not a divorcee. He just couldn’t fathom anyone voluntarily giving up on a relationship with the woman he had fantasized about for so long.

  “Maybe it was just me, or something I did.” Beth’s expression was thoughtful. “You know, he never really understood my desire to write. When I won contests for fiction back in college, he always patted me on the back and then encouraged me to finish my teaching degree. Just like a parent, you know. Something to fall back on.” She took a deep breath. “But he wasn’t anything like my dad. I think he might even have been a little jealous . . . although I didn’t find that out until we divorced. But he was a very good father to Abby, up until—oh never mind. I can’t believe I’m telling you this. After all this time, what must you be thinking?” She was obviously flustered, embarrassed by her intimacy.

  He was quiet for so long that Beth began to think all kinds of awful things. The porch felt suddenly small, cloying. Crickets chirruped; the shadows lengthened. It had been so many years. She didn’t really know him. How could she have blurted out her entire sordid story? Such an idiot!

  Finally, John stretched his long legs and leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Sounds like a real ass. Want me to make him disappear? I can do that you know.”

  Beth gasped. Then she realized he was only joking. “Only if you guarantee it will be slow and extremely painful,” she replied.

  He guffawed.

  She was thankful that he didn’t push her for details or offer false sympathy for something she really shouldn’t have blurted out so readily. Encouraged, she changed the topic: “But what about you? Have you got someone up there at the cabin wondering what is taking you so long?”

  John looked away. Now it was his turn to feel embarrassed. Dare he tell her why he had never married? Not yet, his common sense whispered; she’s been through so much, no need to add to the burden. “No wife, no partner at all,” he said. “Just me and Turk.” He turned half toward her. “The job, you know; travelling the world. No time for romance . . .”

  He was aware of how pompous he had sounded. “What I meant to say was that my years in the Army gave me a terminal case of wanderlust.” He then offered her a simplistic version of what his career had entailed: early years in the Army learning how to defend both himself and others, going into private security, working for different multi-billion dollar companies always operating in war-torn countries. Constantly moving around, socking his money away, and eventually, dreaming of the little cabin in the woods. “When Turk was injured, something just hit me. I know he’s just a dog—”

  “Don’t listen, Turk,” Beth covered his furry ears with her hands.

  “—but for some reason, the look in his eyes, the way he needed me that day. It made me realize it could just as easily have been me.” His voice faded. “Except there would’ve been no one to look after me. To worry about me while I healed.” He looked at her then. “No one but Turk.” He slapped both palms down on his thighs. “That’s it. That’s my life.” He shrugged and held out his hands as if to indicate there was no more left to say.

  Beth nodded, shocked and surprised that there wasn’t a wife or a special someone in his life. Not even an ex-wife, apparently. Was he being truthful? Or had she hit a nerve, asking about his romantic life? “So now you’re retired?”

  “Yep,” he was obviously relieved when she didn’t question his marital status further. “Looking forward to fixing up the cabin, planting a little vegetable garden . . . just breathing easy for awhile.”

 
Beth nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.” She ran her hands down Turk’s back and shoulders. “But someday I want to hear the whole story of these awful scars.” She felt very forward saying that, like she was forcing him to come back again, like a second date or something.

  “How about tomorrow?” he suggested. “I think we’ve actually got a lot of catching up to do.”

  Unable to speak, all Beth could do was bob her head up and down like a chick pecking for grain.

  “A picnic,” John continued, standing. “I’ll be here before lunch. Got a new ice chest and a brand new bill of groceries; bound to be some picnic stuff in there somewhere.” He hesitated. “You do still like to hike, don’t you?”

  More head bobbing. “Yes, of course.” Her breath was so shallow her voice cracked. “What do I need to do?”

  “Not one thing.” He laughed. “Let me handle everything.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head as though she were still a little girl.

  He wanted to do more; he was so thrilled to find her there, he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and whirl madly around and around in a circle the way they had done that summer, holding hands and whirling like idiots to see who would get drunk and fall over first, laughing and throwing leaves and twigs at each other in mad made-up-on-the-spur-of-the-moment games of crazy tag—if I hit you with anything at all, you’re it! They had really brought out the kid in each other, no doubt about it. Yet the news of her father’s death hit him hard. The man should have had twenty or thirty more years. Suddenly it occurred to John that, in the back of his mind, he had always considered Beth and her dad to be kind of like his defacto family.

  But the question was . . . did she feel the same? He was amazed to hear that she had continued to look for him. Why had he never considered the possibility that she might feel the same way he did when she got older? Because I never had anyone to confide in. Because I never felt worthy of a family like that. Always assumed I was some kind of weirdo falling for a young girl like that. But now, four years age difference was nothing. And look at all the years that had gone by . . . nope, best not to look. Besides, things always happen for a reason. Come to think of it, that had been her dad’s philosophy. And John had taken it to heart all those years ago. He certainly wasn’t going to start doubting it now.