The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  “You’re not my type,” she whispered.

  “What’s your type?”

  “Intellectual.”

  “I’m not smart enough, huh? Just a stupid hick? I thought you were disappointed when Maggie arrived.” He towered over her. “Was I wrong? I thought . . .” He backed away to the hearth and kicked it. “I should give up on women. I’d be better off chasing bears. Good day, Ms. Britain. Sorry I interrupted your Sunday nap.”

  * * *

  The downpour of rain didn’t relinquish its intensity. Instead, the rain continued to beat the weak areas of soil until the ground began to cave. Puddles formed, filled up, and then spilled thick streams across the muddy road. As if oblivious to the effects of weather, Austin never halted his step, nor changed his course. He ploughed on, the rain puddles drenching his Levis as Darlene’s expressions shot through his mind. She seemed to understand, or at least was compassionate to him. He felt no condescension from her, and that was a welcome relief. The fact she hadn’t pried into his family business was another relief. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Besides, no outsider would ever get the whole dynamics of his family situation. It wasn’t what it seemed.

  Once they’d said goodbye, he’d continued to walk alone, but it wasn’t long before he was back at the cabin being greeted by his mother. She stood in the doorway, a compact mirror in hand. “Oh, there you are,” she squealed. She went to kiss him, gave him a once-over, and stepped back. “I’m glad I got to say goodbye to you before I left.”

  “Where are you going?”

  His mother handed him her keys. “Be a dear and drive my car over here for me.”

  Austin knew this mood well. His mom was caught up in her own world, with her own agenda. He never would understand where her thoughts were or why she acted like she did, but he did know it would be foolish of him to ask her any more questions. She’d never paid a moment’s notice to them when she got like this. She continued to rattle on about the rain and needing to go and whatever else was on her mind. Maybe this was the way women were. If that was the case, he’d never understand them.

  Austin drove the car to his mom, held the full umbrella perched above her, and guided her to the car. There he opened the door for her and kept the umbrella as a shield until she made it safely into the car. After taking the umbrella, she smiled and blew him a kiss.

  The pouring rain drowned out any sounds of the motor. Austin stood in the rain, staring after the car long after it had turned the corner and slipped away. He stayed that way until the front door opened and his father leaned out and asked, “What ya doing, boy?” The question snapped Austin out of his thoughts. He walked into the house, realizing for the first time he was drenched and cold. As he shed his wet clothing, his father asked, “Did she go?”

  Austin didn’t answer. His fingers were numb, and he struggled to untie his boot laces.

  “That’s just like her,” his father continued, “waltzing in, upsetting everything, and then waltzing out again.”

  Austin continued to work on his shoes, not wanting to get involved in this conversation. He’d hurry downstairs and get in the shower as his father fumed with emotions. But suddenly his father hooked him into the conversation by saying, “Give me your keys.”

  “Why?” Austin asked.

  “Give them to me.”

  “But . . . you just wrecked your truck.”

  * * *

  “What?” Darlene asked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the dark in the kitchen, her hand on the phone. She was still half asleep. Maybe even dreaming.

  “My dad. Have you seen him?” The voice sounded worried.

  “My dad left me when he divorced my mom,” Darlene mumbled and hung up the phone. A strong urge to cry came over her. “Dad,” she whispered, making her way out of the kitchen.

  She was almost to the staircase when the phone rang again. This time the dark ocean of sleep parted from her, and she realized it had been Austin on the phone. “Hello,” she said into the receiver.

  “Darlene, this is Austin. I’m not looking for your dad right now. I’m looking for mine. I want to know if he’s over there.”

  “I was still asleep when I answered the first time.”

  “I could tell.”

  She rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t think he’s here. Why?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Before she could say a word more, she heard the click of the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  Darlene flinched. She turned to see her mother standing on the stairway, clutching her bathrobe closed. “Austin. He was wondering if his dad was over here.”

  “At this time of night? Oh,” she groaned. “This is all my fault.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We had an argument tonight. Or last night. Whatever it was.”

  Darlene knew what she meant. She had no idea of the time, either. “He wouldn’t desert Austin because you guys had a disagreement.”

  “He was upset.”

  “I was at their cabin, remember? It got even worse after you left. That lady declared freedom meant going wherever your instincts take you.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “She did.”

  “Oh, poor Jackson.”

  “Poor Austin,” Darlene said.

  “Austin. How did he take it?”

  “Hard. He told me earlier he thought his parents would get back together. It was a real shock for him.”

  “I can imagine,” Camille said. “And now his dad has disappeared. We can’t leave him alone. Let’s go keep him company. He may not want us, but it’s better than waiting and worrying by himself.”

  It didn’t take long for them to drive to the Armstrong’s cabin. The darkness of the night pressed on them as the car’s headlights cut through its dismal mood. The rain had changed into snow in the late hours of the night, and Camille drove with tension apparent in her face as she clenched and unclenched her jaw, driving cautiously and mumbling the whole way about the icy roads.

  Darlene waited to ask her question until her mom had stopped the car and they were walking up to the Armstrongs’ front door. “What did you and Jackson fight over?”

  “Nothing. I was tired and so was he. Look, the house has so many lights on, it appears like it’s on fire. Poor Austin must be worried sick.”

  Camille’s guess wasn’t far from the truth. Austin greeted them with his hair a tousled mess and the color drained from his face. Every time he sat down, he’d shoot back up and ask, “Where is he?”

  “I don’t understand. He’s truck was damaged. How could he fix it so fast?”

  “He took my truck,” Austin said. His face clouded over as he said this.

  “You need to sleep,” Camille said, taking him by the shoulders. “Your father is a grown man and he’ll be okay. Walking around, running yourself ragged is not going to do you any good.” Austin began to protest and Camille countered it by saying, “Your father is responsible. He’ll come back.”

  “Then why hasn’t he called? He has a cell.”

  “He might not have reception. Don’t you worry.” She patted him on the forearm. “But you really must get rest. We’ll wake you if we hear any news. Promise.”

  “But I don’t think I can—”

  “Nonsense. Hop in bed. Do I have to come to your room and babysit until you go to sleep?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Darlene watched as Austin turned back to his room. At the click of his door, her mother began walking up and down the hallway, past the ugly brown, white, and black cowboy hats decorating the walls. Fighting sleep, Darlene watched her pace until six in the morning.

  Chapter Nine

  The anxious energy in the room shifted up several gears. Camille looked up from the breakfast she was preparing. Austin stood silently cast in the yellow rays of the early morning light, his hair tousled in sharp peaks as though each point represented a decimal or two of the headache pain he was probably experiencing. H
is face looked worn and heavy, as if he had aged to forty over the long night.

  “Heard anything?” his voice rasped out.

  “Sorry,” Camille said, unable to maintain eye contact with him. She went back to chopping mushrooms for the omelet. “Breakfast will be ready soon.” That was a stupid thing to say, but what else could be said? Focus on the mundane—bring a sense of groundedness to this situation, she advised herself silently.

  “He didn’t even take his wallet. I found it on top of his dresser. Why didn’t I ask him where he was heading?” Austin asked, scratching his head. “That one simple question and we’d know where to search.”

  “You didn’t know,” she said. This was a tough thing for a boy to take on. “Can you make a list of places he liked to go? We can look for him after we eat.”

  “I wish I knew what they were,” Austin said. “My dad only moved out here a couple of months ago from the city. I came to visit him for the first time last week.”

  “What city?” she asked.

  “Denver.”

  She dished him up a plate of eggs and burned bacon. He wolfed the food down and headed toward the back door the same time Darlene, who had gone outside to peek at what the weather looked like, ascended the stairs. Both of them stopped short at the sight of Maggie approaching on the walkway, wearing tight jeans with a white, low-cut blouse. Her pulled-back curls showed off a perfect forehead and penetrating green eyes. “Can I talk with Jackson?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No.” Camille grabbed her coat and handed Darlene hers.

  Maggie glanced at her son. “Where’s your father?”

  He flushed and then stammered, “Dad left for a drive last night and never came home.”

  “What do you mean never returned home? You make everything sound so dramatic. He probably left for Colorado to be with me.”

  “What are you doing here?” Darlene asked, stepping around Austin onto the porch. “Didn’t you say you were leaving for home last night?”

  “Well, yes,” Maggie said. “I did. But the snowstorm stopped me. It really came down last night.”

  Wind twisted and blew through them, as if determined to let everyone know of its foul mood. Normally Camille would have suggested they talk inside, but she didn’t want Maggie to stay longer than was necessary. “If that’s the case,” she said, “then we need to get searching for him immediately.” She sidestepped everyone and hurried toward her car, Darlene trotting behind her.

  “I told you he went to Colorado to see me,” Maggie called through the wheezing wind. She stomped her snow boots back to her car. “His truck is powerful and he was determined. There’s no way he didn’t make it out of here.”

  “Good. I am glad to hear it.” Camille slammed her car door. She didn’t feel like telling the woman he wasn’t in his old truck, but in his son’s, which might not be as reliable.

  Darlene also shut her door but rolled down her window. “Austin, want to come with us?” she called.

  “He’s with me,” Maggie said.

  Darlene looked at Austin, and when he didn’t speak, she rolled up the window. “I don’t like that woman,” she muttered.

  Camille gripped the steering wheel as she drove through the snow. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t either,” she confessed.

  The next couple of hours the girls drove around aimlessly in the snow, watching for Austin’s truck. By noon there was still no sign of Jackson, so they decided to return to Camille’s cabin. The phone rang as they climbed out of the car, and Camille scrambled to answer. “Hello. Hello. Anyone there?” She gasped into the phone.

  “Camille, is that you?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Oriana—your long lost friend.”

  Yes, Oriana, the reason she was here at this cabin in the first place. “How are you? And your daughter? I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “Cindy had her baby and they both made it. Can you believe it? Her baby is in intensive care right now, but he’s alive!”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Thanks. How’s your stay at the cabin? Are you getting the rest you’ve needed?”

  “Oh, thank you so much for lending me your cabin rental.” Camille propped her elbows up on the table. “Actually I’m more tired than ever, but it is beautiful here. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

  “I hope it involves a man.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Ooh, how exciting! I knew you were supposed to have the cabin. I can’t explain, but I sensed it.”

  “We’ll have to see if you’re right,” Camille said. There was a beep on the phone. “Oh, that’s my other line. I better take it. Thanks for calling and sharing your wonderful news.” Camille frantically searched for the phone’s flash button. “Hello?” No one was there. What if it had been Jackson? Or the police calling to tell her he was dead? Beads of sweat bubbled on her forehead.

  “Let’s go to the Westguards and see if they know anything,” Camille said to Darlene, who was shedding her coat.

  “Why would they know anything?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t just sit here.”

  The snow squeaked under the pressure of the tires. The puffy flakes still slept on most of the land except where cars had trespassed on the beauty. Neither Camille nor Darlene stated the obvious: Jackson was probably stuck somewhere in the woods, trapped in drifts, hurt.

  At the Westguards’, Camille pounded the door. Phyllis answered, “Oh, Camille and Darlene, come in. I want to hear all about your adventures in Yellowstone. Did you have a good time with Jackson?” She smiled knowingly at Camille.

  “Yes, but we’ve come to talk about Jackson,” Camille said.

  “Ah, you want more information about the man with the big aloha? You two must be getting pretty serious. How wonderful!” She clapped her hands. “This would make Jackson’s mother so happy. I was friends with her long ago before she died. I know when she peeks down from heaven and glimpses him, she must surely shudder. The poor woman didn’t believe in divorce. My, how the world has changed.”

  “Jackson’s missing,” Camille blurted out.

  Phyllis’s eyes narrowed a crack, as if trying to see if Camille was joking. She looked at Darlene, who nodded confirmation. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “He never came home from a drive last night.”

  “How odd.”

  “We’ve searched everywhere we could think of,” Darlene said. “I’m getting so worried my stomach won’t stop knotting.”

  “You poor child,” Phyllis said, embracing Darlene. “Jackson knows how to survive in this country. Have you tried calling the Quick Response Service?”

  “We haven’t,” Camille said. “I knew you’d know what to do.”

  * * *

  Jackson awoke, screaming in the early morning sunlight. Extreme pain shot through his body in sharp, piercing jabs. He tried to move his right leg, but the ache intensified. A wave of dizziness fell over him. Stay awake, he told himself, willing his eyes open. When they did flutter wide, everything around him was blurred. Forcing himself to be patient, he focused on an object until he figured out it was a black gearshift.

  Trickles of heat blew on him from the vents. The vehicle must still be on, he thought, overcome by a crashing wave of agony. His eyes closed and he swallowed a scream. Once he mustered control over the unrelenting stabs, he glanced at a yellow Christmas tree air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. Austin’s truck. Why was he there? What had happened?

  * * *

  “Find out anything?” Darlene asked before Camille had replaced the phone on the receiver.

  “There have been dozens of accidents in the area,” Camille said.

  Phyllis gasped. “Dozens?”

  “The paramedics were busy all night, and the cops are patrolling the area for stranded vehicles. The snow turned the roads into skating rinks. Lots of cars spun out of control, even when the drivers traveled slowly. And—” And, Camille
thought, Jackson was upset and angry at me, so he probably wasn’t traveling slowly.

  “And what?” both Phyllis and Darlene asked.

  “One died. A mother of two children.”

  Darlene rushed out of the room. The bathroom door slammed shut.

  “Up for herbal tea?” Phyllis asked.

  “I’ll help.”

  Camille sipped her tea until the pounding in her chest became almost unbearable. “I need to go to my car and find Austin’s phone number. I want to see if he’s heard anything.”

  “I can give you the number,” Phyllis said.

  “Please, don’t bother. I think a breath of air will help.”

  “I understand,” Phyllis said.

  This kind lady understood without her needing to make any confession. That was nice, Camille thought, slipping into the car. She sat on the passenger side where Jackson had been the day before, stroking the fabric. She longed to be with him and have him hold her in his strong, protective arms. She loved his joking manner, his recklessness and unpredictability. She could almost see him with a teasing glint in his eye, chin tipped slightly back, amusement racing through his face as she made another stupid comment about superstition. She leaned back and peered at the roof of her car, remembering the strong link between them and how he could see into her soul. Where could he be?

  * * *

  A rustle drew Jackson from unconsciousness. A distant boom echoed through the cold. Perhaps a door? Voices converged in a mumbled stream, drifting into Jackson’s consciousness. He had an unexplainable feeling something was wrong. Every sense heightened: the dryness in his mouth, the chill prickling his skin, the ray of sunlight pouring on top of his closed eyelids. He strained to decipher the low hum of human voices.

  “Looks like we have a bad one. Call for backup. The front of the truck’s crushed in.”

  Crushed? Where was he? The coppery scent of blood hit his nose. Where’d it come from? His body throbbed with pain that seemed to come from everywhere. Becoming nauseated, he leaned forward and emptied his stomach. The bones around his knee shifted to contorted angles as a violent burst of agony palpitated through him. Tremors shook his whole body as he slumped into his seat.