by Kelly Wacker
Sula sprinted after him, darting between trees and around rocks. She wanted him to think he was being pursued. Though it pained her to be so unkind, she wanted him to feel as if he were in dire mortal danger. And truly, his life was in danger if he didn’t learn to stay away from people.
As she ascended, she lost sight of him, and her speed declined as the ground became steeper, rockier, and more uneven. When she stepped on a flat rock, it shifted unexpectedly as her weight came down on it. The dislodged rock skidded downhill, and she went with it, her torso pitching forward uncontrollably, her legs going out behind her. Unable to recover her balance, she hit the ground hard and slid a few feet. She growled in frustration, knowing that, in fur and on four feet instead of two, she would not have fallen and would have been near the top by now.
Thankfully, the pistol was still in her hand. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, she scrambled quickly to her feet. Breathing heavily, she fired the second cartridge. The screaming pyrotechnic arced between two trees and exploded near the crest of the hill. She hoped Notch was on the other side thinking that the horrible humans and the terrible screaming things were still pursuing him.
Sula took a moment to catch her breath and considered loading another round for good measure but decided against it. It seemed like enough. At least she hoped so. She slid the discharged pistol into her back pocket and leaned forward to knock the dirt from her pant legs. Feeling a bead of sweat roll down her face, she reached up to wipe it away and witnessed a large red drop land with a splat on the toe of her boot. Shocked, she touched her fingertips gingerly against her forehead and then inspected them. Her fingers were wet and sticky with blood.
“Jesus, Sula!” Betty said, seeing her coming toward the cabin through the trees.
Sula ambled toward her with blood dripping down her face, the front of her shirt stained bright red, her forehead throbbing with pain. Betty grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the cabin. “Let’s use the bathroom in here, and whatever you do, don’t look in the mirror.”
Of course, Sula immediately stared at herself. Even though she knew facial cuts bled profusely and usually looked worse than they actually were, she was still startled by what she saw. Blood oozed from a jagged gash above her right eye, flowing in rivulets down her face. Betty grabbed her chin, turned her face away from the mirror, and dabbed the wound with a wet hand towel.
“You need stitches.”
“Are you sure? Let me see.” Sula tried to pull away to have a closer look, but Betty held tight.
“Trust me, Sula. I have a husband, two sons, two hundred head of cattle, forty horses, dogs, and a fluctuating number of barn cats. I know when something does and does not need stitches.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, scrutinizing her. “And you definitely need a few to close this wound. Might need to make sure you don’t have a concussion, too.”
Sula reluctantly agreed to let Betty take her to the health clinic. Walking through the cabin, a towel held to her face, Sula stopped to survey the living room with her one eye. One of the sofa cushions had a long tear, a ceramic table lamp lay on the floor broken into two pieces, the flat-screen TV was facedown on the floor, and an upholstered chair was tipped over backward. Betty had rushed Sula into the bathroom so fast she hadn’t seen anything on the way in.
“Oh, jeez, Betty…I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? You didn’t leave the window open that let the mountain lion in, and you didn’t break this stuff.” She paused and sniffed the air. “Could be worse. It doesn’t smell bad, so I don’t think he sprayed anything.” Betty pushed Sula through the room, toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get you to the doctor.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Standing on the deck, Melissa smiled and waved good-bye to her parents. The tires of their Toyota Highlander crunched the gravel as the vehicle rolled slowly down the hill and then picked up speed and disappeared around the curve. It had been wonderful spending time with them. Living so far away, she didn’t get to do it often. She was happy they had enjoyed themselves so much and was beyond delighted that they liked Sula. Melissa had been an independent child, living on her own since she went off to college, but her parents’ approval still meant a lot to her.
And it seemed that Sula enjoyed her parents’ company, as well. More than once during their initial meeting, Melissa had hung back, observing their interactions. While the introductions when Sula had arrived in the early morning had been a bit stiff, she and her father had returned from their excursion as chummy as if they were longtime fishing buddies. Her mother warmed to Sula immediately, and over the course of the afternoon and evening, they had engaged in serious discussions and good-natured teasing. Laughter had been abundant, and it felt like a family gathering, though minus her brothers.
She entertained a short fantasy of taking Sula to her parents’ home for Christmas dinner. Dave would be there with his new girlfriend, and by then maybe Robby might even have someone special to bring. They’d have to find some extra chairs to fit everyone around the dining-room table. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. Coming back to the present, she wondered if a meaningful long-distance relationship was possible. It wasn’t uncommon in the academic world where full-time positions were scarce and couples often found themselves employed by universities in different states or even along different coasts. It wasn’t necessarily the kind of relationship she wanted, but Sula was too good to let go.
The raspy screech of a hawk overhead jerked Melissa from her ruminations. She looked up at the blue sky and shaded her eyes with her hand, searching for a bird of prey. Then she discovered that the sound hadn’t come from a hawk, but a blue jay perched in a nearby pine. The bird, clutching the branch tightly, pitched forward, and the call of a red-tailed hawk erupted from the bird’s beak. “Well, aren’t you clever.” Melissa talked to the bird as if it could understand her. “You’ve learned to disguise yourself very convincingly.”
She went inside and began to tidy up the cabin, putting fresh linens on the bed and cleaning the kitchen. With her parents on the way home and Sula at work, the day was hers. She pulled her notebooks, laptop, and the box containing the book and pictures from the shelves and arranged them neatly on the dining table. She opened the composition book with a design on the cover that looked like planks of wood and began making notes, recording thoughts and half-formed ideas. A few days previously, she had taken her laptop to the lodge to use the Wi-Fi and accessed research databases and museum websites to learn more about landscape painters in the American West. Specifically, those working in the early twentieth century. She wanted to see what their paintings looked like. Not surprisingly, most of them were plein air painters like Ursula, who set up their easels in the field and painted on site. From what she saw, Ursula’s masterful paintings rivaled those of the artists who had achieved enough prominence to have been collected by museums, like those she saw in Denver, or to have articles written about them.
Melissa tapped her pen against her chin as she made a mental calculation. Including the ones in her house, she had documented thirteen paintings. She felt certain she had enough information to write a short article about them. Their provenance, the history of ownership of the paintings, could be established, and she could connect many of them to specific places and within a window of time. She even knew the identity of the artist and a few details about her life.
She put down her pen and opened the photo album, turning to the photo of Ursula. Photography was a strange thing when you paused to consider it. Melissa recalled the observations of an art historian she admired who poetically described a photograph as a moment snatched from the river of time. By capturing a fleeting moment and freezing it forever, it could distort your sense of time and space. Ursula smiled unceasingly at her in the photograph, the past and present compressed. But, in truth, she wasn’t really smiling at Melissa; she was smiling at her lover.
She shook her head, as if by doing so she could settle
the free-form thoughts floating around in it. Sula was at work now, but she really wished she were in the room. Melissa wanted to talk with her. She felt inspired, ideas were percolating, yet she wasn’t sure if she should write about the paintings. Writing implied publishing, and although Sula had given her full access to the paintings and encouraged her investigation, Melissa wasn’t convinced that she was fully comfortable with the idea of her great-grandmother’s work being known outside of the family and close friends.
Melissa flipped her phone over and stared at the “no service” icon on the screen. Feeling at an impasse, she decided to go to the lodge, where she could text Sula and make plans to see her tonight.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
“No.” The man seated next to the only unoccupied rocking chair on the porch looked up at her. He appeared tired and sweaty. Melissa assumed the three children rocking their chairs furiously belonged to him.
Melissa sat and took her phone out of her bag. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?”
“I suppose…” He shot a warning glance at the kids, who seemed to be engaged in a game to see who could rock the fastest. “This feels cool compared to where we’re from.”
“Oh? Where’s that?”
“Missouri.” He pronounced the name of the state as if it ended with an “a.”
“It’s not heat. It’s the humidity, right?”
“Isn’t that the darned truth.” The man nodded and then apologized before giving the kids a verbal warning in a stern voice. “Y’all behave while your mother gets us checked in, or you do not get to go horseback riding.”
“No!” the children wailed in unison. They immediately stopped rocking and began to blame each other for the “stupid” game that was going to get them into trouble. Their father clutched his forehead with his hand, looking exasperated, as if he had just realized he had replaced one problem with another.
Melissa didn’t try to continue their conversation, leaving him to manage his unruly brood, and unlocked her phone. She scrolled through her messages…her parents had just gotten home. Beth sent a picture of her cat sleeping in a potted plant and asked if things were still going well with the mountain woman and if she was ever coming home. Home seemed very far away right now, and she really didn’t want to think about the fact that she was leaving soon. She and Sula needed to talk about a lot of things.
She had a message from Sula, sent late the night before, wishing Melissa a good night and asking when she’d see her again. Smiling and hopeful, she typed a reply. Tonight?
The screen door creaked, and Melissa glanced over to see a woman, presumably the mother of the unruly kids, holding a folder similar to the one she herself had received from Betty upon check-in.
“I hope you all enjoy your stay with us.” Betty’s voice and then her body followed the woman out the door, her booted foot propping the screen door open. She pointed toward the stables. “And don’t forget, if you get signed up in the next half hour you can go on the chuckwagon-dinner ride tonight.” The children erupted in whoops and hollers of delight as their parents herded them off the porch toward the stables.
“Hey, Betty.”
“Oh, hey!” Betty turned and beamed. “Didn’t see you there.” She looked back and forth, her gaze sweeping across the porch. “Your parents still here, or have they taken off already?”
“They left this morning. You know, they fell in love with it here. I think you might have some new guests in the near future.”
“Well, I can’t complain about that. I’m very glad to hear it. Tell them I’ll hook ’em up with a good rate.”
“Will do. Hey…how’d your raccoon situation go?”
“My raccoon what?”
“The raccoon removal. With Sula.”
“Oh, that.” Betty chuckled. “Fine, fine…Sula’s an animal whisperer, you know.”
“I’ve figured that out.”
“Have you now?” Betty gave her a sideways glance.
“Well, she has a way about her, you know?”
“I do.”
“She really loves animals.”
“She does.”
“Bears especially,” Melissa said. Betty raised an eyebrow and cocked her head while she listened. “It runs in the family, it seems. Betty, you’re an old friend of Sula’s family…can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Betty stepped out on to the porch, letting the screen close behind her, and leaned against a porch post, arms crossed. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s up with Sula’s family and bears? Why do they all love bears so much? It seems like a multigenerational thing.”
Betty coughed and scratched her head before responding. “I can’t answer that question for you, I’m afraid. That’s one for Sula, but even she might not be able to answer it.”
“You’re probably right. I mean, why does one person like cats and another dogs, or prefer a chihuahua over a shepherd? Just personal preference, I suppose.”
Betty made eye contact and held her gaze. “Sometimes things are the way they are because it’s the way they are.”
Melissa laughed at the pithy statement, even though Betty’s expression was incongruously serious. “Thanks for that bit of cowboy wisdom.” Her phone buzzed, so she looked at it and held it up. “Speak of the devil.”
“I’ll let you get on with your business.” Betty put her hand on the door handle and paused. “And I meant what I said about a special rate for your parents…providing your dad catches me some more fish.”
Melissa laughed. “Thanks, Betty. I’ll let them know.” She turned her attention to her phone and read Sula’s message. It was sometimes difficult to accurately interpret the tone of text messages, but this one sounded enthusiastic.
Tonight? Yes! Chow mein, sesame chicken, or moo shu pork?
Melissa texted back, laughing softly to herself.
All of the above.
“Oh, my God, Sula! What happened to you?” Melissa put the palm of her hand against Sula’s cheek and inspected her forehead. A puffy red line arced above her eyebrow, and she counted seven stitches. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Sula gave her a tender kiss. “It’s a little sore, but I’m okay, really. Come in and sit down. We’ll eat and I’ll explain.”
“Please don’t tell me a racoon bit you. I don’t want to worry about you and rabies.” Melissa took a seat at the table and surveyed the take-out boxes in front of her. Sula had gotten all three dishes, plus steamed pot stickers. She nabbed a dumpling with her chopsticks, swirling it in the dipping sauce, and popped it into her mouth.
“No raccoon, no rabies.” Sula took a swig of beer. “I tripped, fell, and hit my head on a rock.”
“You fell?” Melissa narrowed her eyes. “You’re so agile and have great balance. I’ve seen you scramble up boulders like it was no big deal, so it surprises me that you’d trip on a rock. How’d it happen?”
“Well.” Sula laughed nervously. “First, I need to explain that Betty and I told a little white lie.”
“About what?” Melissa was intrigued and wasn’t sure where Sula’s explanation was going. She spooned some rice onto her plate and reached for the sesame chicken.
“The raccoon. There was no raccoon. We were hazing a mountain lion that had gotten into one of Betty’s cabins.”
“A mountain lion! Anna said you were getting racoons out of an attic. Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“Because you’re supposed to call your local police or wildlife officials in such situations. Betty was concerned that they’d kill Notch and the media attention, so she called me to—”
“Wait…Notch? Who’s Notch?”
“Notch is the name I’ve given this particular lion.”
“You’ve seen this mountain lion before?” Melissa was beginning to put separate pieces of information together, but she wasn’t quite there yet. “Why do you call him Notch?”
“Because of the notch in his ear. He’s—”
>
“The mountain lion who ran into me,” Melissa said.
“Exactly.”
“I think you’d better start at the beginning and explain to me how you know this mountain lion and then about the cabin,” she pointed at the stitches in Sula’s forehead with her chopsticks, “and how you got those stitches.”
By the time Sula finished recounting her acquaintance with the mountain lion, why she was trying to keep him away from people, the dramatic story of how she and Betty scared him away from the cabin, and how her head had come in contact with a rock, they were sitting on the couch in the living room with after-dinner drinks. Sula had crafted two deliciously tart and sweet whiskey cocktails made with fresh lemon juice and honey. The evening was cool enough for a small fire, and Sula lit several candles around the room. In the ambient light the high-ceiling room transformed into a cozy space.
“I can’t believe you were chasing a mountain lion.” Melissa shook her head, letting all the details sink in. “I’m glad you weren’t injured worse.”
Sula rolled the ice around in her glass, staring at it. “I’m really irritated that I fell.” She frowned, winced, and laughed at herself. “Ow…I guess I shouldn’t do that.”
“Poor Bear. I bet it bruised your pride even more than your head.” Melissa put her glass on the coffee table and touched Sula’s forehead lightly. “I have so many things I wanted to tell you tonight, but seeing your face I got totally distracted.”
Sula smiled at her with a lopsided grin. “I’m glad I have that effect on you.”
“Mm-hmm…you do. You disrupt my thoughts terribly sometimes.” Melisa stroked her cheek.
In one single, smooth movement Sula set her glass on the coffee table, leaned over, and kissed her with a ferocity that cleared Melissa’s mind of everything except the pressure of Sula’s lips against her own. Melissa trailed the tip of her tongue along the edge of Sula’s upper lip, and when Sula moaned softly, it was all the invitation Melissa needed. She pounced on Sula, though she remained mindful of her injury.
