Silence greeted her again on the other end, making her stomach twist into knots.
“Okay,” Mark finally said, catching her off guard. He had sounded frustrated only seconds ago. Now his tone was calm, eerily so.
“Really? You aren’t . . . you aren’t upset that I’m not coming home right away.”
“No, I’m not upset. You take as much time as you need to talk to your grandfather.”
She furrowed her brows.
“Let him know that we’re a serious couple now—and he has to accept and respect that. No more pseudo-emergency calls. No more fake disappearances.”
She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. So Mark had rightly guessed Pops was the mastermind behind this fiasco. She could deny that he was, but she didn’t think she would be very convincing.
“And when you come back home, I want to do the proposal all over again. It’ll be just us at our favorite restaurant at our favorite table. No big production. No public announcement. I want the focus to be on us. All right?”
“Of course!”
“Because that’s what this is about, Jay. Not our friends or families, especially not your grandfather. It’s about you and me, baby. And when I ask you this time, you won’t feel any pressure. You can just speak from the heart. You can say yes.” He paused. “You will say yes, won’t you?”
“Of course!” she said again.
“Dinner’s almost done, sweetie,” Brenda cooed in the background. “Come into the dining room. You’ve got to see this table that Shana made. It’s gorgeous!”
“Look,” Mark said tiredly, “I’ve got to go.”
Janelle sat upright. “Sure, I understand.”
“You get some rest. Like I said, have a good, long conversation with your grandfather. I’ll see you in a couple of days . . . hopefully.”
“You will see me, honey. I promise! I’ll take care of this.”
He chuckled. “I know if anyone can, you will, baby. Talk to you later.”
“Mark?” Brenda shouted again.
“Talk to you later!” Janelle repeated back to him, trying her best to be heard over his mother. “I love—”
He hung up before she could finish. Janelle stared down at her cell phone.
“I love you,” she muttered to the empty cabin.
CHAPTER 6
Missing Hiker Found After Helicopter Search
Hiker Says He’s Just Happy to be Alive
Sept.17, 2014
By Bob Eunice, Special to the Rapid City Journal
There are few things more terrifying for a visitor to the Black Hills than being stranded on one of the many peaks that make up the scenic mountain range. But that is the situation in which 28-year-old Portland, Ore., resident Kurt Abramowitz found himself last week while hiking along Overland Trail.
Abramowitz gave an exclusive interview to the Rapid City Journal after he was found and rescued by Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office helicopter on Sept. 14 at 5 a.m.
Abramowitz is now recovering at Lead-Deadwood Regional Hospital after amputation of his left arm due to injuries he sustained prior to his rescue. He is also being treated for acute dehydration.
Abramowitz said he was originally headed on a road trip to meet up with friends in Austin, Texas, when he decided to make the impromptu stop and go on a hike in the Black Hills to “check out the views.”
“I never should have had that last beer,” Abramowitz said, thinking back to his first night on the trail. “I was going to head back but I thought I’d break open a quick one and watch the sunset. You know, chill out after a hard climb. But then it got dark and then the rain came in and well, you guys pretty much know what happened after that.”
Abramowitz said the rain and subsequent hailstorm disoriented him and he accidentally wandered off the trail on the way back to his campsite. He fell, was injured and ended up stranded on a steep ledge.
“I was freaking out,” Abramowitz said. “No one knew I was up there. I was all by myself. I sat alone for two days watching the sun come up and go down and I wondered, ‘Am I going to die up here? Will anyone ever find me?’ By the third day, I pretty much figured I was toast.”
But friends alerted local police that Abramowitz hadn’t arrived in Austin and had last posted photos of his hike on Facebook and Instagram.
After the rain ended and the fog abated, authorities conducted an air search. A helicopter located Abramowitz three miles from the trailhead.
Thanks to the joint efforts of the Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office, the Lead Police Department, the Deadwood Police Department, and the Mammoth Falls Police Department, Abramowitz was rescued.
“I wouldn’t wish what I went through on anyone,” Abramowitz said. “That’s a lot of alone time to be stuck in your own head, thinking about your life and stuff. You think about everything, and I mean everything. And I didn’t know how long I would be up there. Besides the pain, that was one of the worst parts. If the cavalry didn’t come when it did, I think I either would have died—or gone nuts.”
It was a weird dream—the type of dream that usually only came when Janelle drank too much Pinot Grigio on an empty stomach or when she fell asleep with the television still on in her bedroom, only to wake up and find some existentialist foreign film or slasher flick on the screen.
She dreamed that she was in a wedding gown—a beautiful ivory sheath of French lace with capped sleeves and a lavender satin belt at the waist held together with a delicate diamond broach. She was at an antebellum mansion, wandering from room to room searching for Pops. He was supposed to escort her down the aisle. A violin trio played the wedding march, signaling the start of the ceremony. Janelle could hear a woman shouting that the ceremony was about to begin as she rushed down the corridor, tripping over the hem of her gown and dragging her cathedral-length veil behind her. She yelled for her grandfather as she ran.
“Pops! Pops, where the heck are you?” she cried, almost out of breath.
Finally, when she reached the end of the corridor, she flung the last door open. “Pops? Are you in here?”
She found herself in a sitting room where the ceremony was taking place. She stepped inside and saw the room was decorated with rose, calla lily, and gladiolus freestanding arrangements along each floor-to-ceiling window. A canopy of ivy and silk was at the front of the room, waiting for the bride and groom to stand underneath it. All the guests were seated in the gilded Chiavari chairs. A smiling Mark stood in his single-breasted tuxedo next to the minister. And as the violins played their last note, Janelle realized that another woman in a wedding gown was already walking toward Mark. He offered the woman his hand, and she eagerly grabbed it with her white-gloved one.
Janelle came to a halt right there in the center aisle. This was her and Mark’s wedding, wasn’t it?
“What’s going on?” she cried.
Brenda rose from her chair in the front row and fixed Janelle with a smug grin.
“You snooze, you lose, honey! Mark got tired of waiting on you,” Brenda said proudly. “He decided to marry someone else.”
Janelle dropped her bouquet limply to her side. “Someone else? Who?”
She never got to find out who the bride was. She opened her eyes seconds later to the beep of her cell phone alarm and the rays of sunlight coming through the cabin’s bedroom blinds.
Janelle had taken enough college-level psychology to know her besieged subconscious was the culprit for what could be only described as her worst nightmare. She was worried about Pops. She was anxious about the state of her relationship with Mark. The dream had been the manifestation of all of this.
I’ll talk to Pops and be home in a few days, she reminded herself. Mark and I will pick up where we left off. No big deal.
Yet she couldn’t shake her sense of worry that some impending doom lurked around the corner. She couldn’t shake it even as she showered, dressed, and did a few haphazard strokes with a hairbrush before giving up any hope of taming her frizzy, unruly curls. She w
as in desperate need of a deep leave-in conditioner and a good detangler but knew there was no hope of getting either here in Mammoth. Later, she wandered around the cabin, assessing it in the light of day, hoping that would settle her mind.
Pops’s cabin was clean, though it showed its age. It was obvious that he hadn’t redecorated since the early 1980s judging from the sofa and armchair that looked like they should be encased in plastic. The periwinkle laminate flooring in the kitchen had been swept and mopped, but it was starting to peel around the edges. The particleboard was flaking under the veneer of some of the cabinets. She slid the toe of her boot along the hardwood floors in the living room.
“Could use a polish,” she whispered as she stared at the nicks and scratches in the wooden planks.
She raised her eyes from the floor at the sound of a car engine and peered out the window, expecting to see Pops’s truck bumping toward the cabin. But she saw nothing but pine trees and the last bit of gray clouds from last night’s storm. She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel.
6:39.
It was still early. The sun had risen not too long ago. Maybe he hadn’t left Deadwood yet. Maybe he was just now checking out of a hotel, or he had decided to grab a quick breakfast before his drive home.
He’ll be here soon.
While nibbling on a piece of stale toast, Janelle decided to do a bit of snooping. It was something she had done a lot when she was younger, when she spent the night at her grandparents’ house or was stuck inside on rainy days. In her boredom, she would entertain herself by playing detective or pretending to be a pirate hunting for buried treasure under old coats, comforters, and dusty board games stacked in the attic.
Today she planned to rummage through the cabin’s closets, dig through drawers, and peek underneath the bed. What else could she find out about Pops that he hadn’t told her? What other secrets did he have besides a girlfriend of five years Janelle hadn’t known existed?
She looked under the bed first, then searched the closets. Pops was fastidiously neat. She noted this as she pushed aside a rack of shirts and jeans and examined the orderly stack of hats on a shelf and line of cowboy boots at the bottom of his closet.
She shifted her attention to his night table. When she saw an opened box with a half dozen metallic packets inside, she cringed.
“Ultra thin . . . for ultimate sensitivity,” she read aloud before tossing the box back inside the drawer in disgust. “Some things can’t be unseen,” she said drily.
She slammed the drawer shut, then walked across the room to his pine dresser. She opened the top drawer, yanking hard to free it; the bracket seemed to be broken. She didn’t see anything particularly eye-opening or shocking inside of the drawer. She opened a second drawer and discovered a pile of athletic socks and underwear—also unexceptional. She was about to slam that drawer shut, too, when she noticed the bright yellow edge of a manila envelope beneath the pile of white cotton. It practically beckoned her. Janelle pulled it out. She slowly opened it and found a sheet of paper inside. She began to read. When she did, she took a step back, almost bumping into the bed behind her and dropping both the paper and envelope to the bedroom floor. She stared at the paper in shock.
It was a marriage license issued by Lawrence County, South Dakota, in July of last year. Her grandfather’s name was on the license, along with Connie Marie Black Bear.
Janelle clamped her hand over her mouth, holding back her cry of surprise.
Her grandfather and Connie were married? Why hadn’t Connie said anything? Why would she keep a secret like that? Why wouldn’t he . . .
Her rapid thoughts came to a screeching halt as her eyes scanned the document again before landing on the spot that was supposed to be signed by the officiant. It was blank. Neither Connie’s nor Pops’s signatures were on the document, either.
So did they get married?
Not on that day, judging from the marriage license.
But did they get married after?
Janelle’s brows furrowed as she collapsed back onto the bed, still clutching the license. Her sweaty fingertips left imprints on the paper. What did all of this mean? Now she had even more questions for her grandfather to answer.
After some time, she finally rose to her feet and returned the license to its envelope and the envelope to its drawer, careful to cover it with the pile of socks and boxers again. She left the bedroom, no longer interested in snooping, afraid of what else she might find.
Janelle returned to the quiet living room, rubbing her shoulders. She adjusted the thermostat—raising the cabin’s temperature by another two degrees—and glanced at the mantle clock again.
7:26 . . . still too early.
She turned away from the clock face. She hadn’t wasted much time.
Damn it, where are you, Pops?
The problem was Janelle was restless. Her body was still on East Coast time. Her mind was still set to the schedule of the city with its early rising, quick jog on the treadmill before breakfast, racing for trains, and trying to make it through busy intersections before the light changed from yellow to red. If she were back at home, she’d be literally running from the parking garage to the nearby Starbucks to grab a cup of iced mocha latte before her nine-thirty department meeting. She’d be dodging past fellow morning commuters on the sidewalk—bouncing back and forth erratically like a chrome steel bearing in a pinball machine—while she scrolled through her phone checking text messages and emails from Mark, work, and friends. It seemed strange to be sitting on her hands doing nothing. It felt odd to not get some job, any job done. She was waiting for something to happen, and that sensation unnerved her.
I’ve still got résumés to review, she told herself. She still had a baby shower to plan. With an iPad and a 3G wireless connection, there was no reason why she couldn’t work on that stuff out here.
Janelle sat on the couch, grabbed her iPad, and scrolled through her emails. She felt a rush of bliss, like a junkie getting a badly needed fix, as her index finger swiped across the glass screen and furiously clicked digital keys. She spotted a message from Mark with the subject line “Morning” She opened it eagerly.
Hey Jay,
Sorry, if I sounded off last night, baby. I just want you back home. I’m lost without you—literally. I can’t find a damn thing in this house! I’m constantly opening boxes in the guest room and office, looking for stuff I know you wouldn’t have any problem finding. I need you back.
I know you said it may be a couple of days before you can book a flight back home, but I saw a few good deals with US Airways. Maybe you could book one of those flights. Only one was a single transfer through Minneapolis for Wednesday. I’d book it soon and take advantage of the discount.
Can’t wait to see you, baby! Call me when your flight touches down.
—M
BTW, speaking of not being able to find things . . . Mom wants to know what you did with the vase she put on the entryway table. You know, the one she gave us as a gift. It’s disappeared and I told her I don’t know where it is. Any ideas?
Janelle grimaced. In fact she did know where the vase had gone. She had given it to an elderly neighbor who had said how much she loved it when she stopped by two weeks ago with a green bean casserole to welcome them to the neighborhood. Because Janelle had thought the vase belonged in an exhibit case of the Mütter Museum, along with the other oddities—not in her foyer—she had happily given it away. She should have known Brenda would notice its absence.
Janelle’s fingers hovered over the screen for a beat before she began to type.
Janelle Marshall
April 22 at 7:38 a.m.
To: Mark Sullivan Jr.
Re: Morning
Hi,
Thanks for the telling me about the Airways deals, luv. You’re amazing!
She paused. Was she gushing too much? “You’re amazing.” Did it scream inadequacy and a feeling of desperatio
n? “I hope you still love me despite all this,” is what she really wanted to say. She pursed her lips, rapidly clicked the delete button, and resumed typing.
Hi,
Thanks for the telling me about the Airways deals, luv. I miss you too and can’t wait to get back home in a couple of days. I can’t get there soon enough.
—J
She paused and started typing again.
Oh, and no idea where your mom’s vase is. Guess it got moved during the housewarming. Did you check the garage?
She slid her fingertip along the keypad and hit the “SEND” button on screen, feeling guilty about lying to Mark—but only slightly.
“It was an ugly vase anyway,” she mumbled.
For the rest of the morning, Janelle read and answered emails: a panicked query from Lydia about the PowerPoint presentation, one from Bryant Consulting Group’s vice presidents, who had a complicated 401(k) question, and a two-page rant with diagrams from one of the employees who swore there was a conspiracy to have him fired from the company. She reviewed work files, scanning over spreadsheets until her eyes blurred. All the while, her anxiety remained in the background, like an ongoing backbeat of a song that kept an ever-increasing rhythm. She couldn’t resist looking up every time she thought she heard an approaching car or the thump of footsteps on the front porch. More than once she peered out the window, willing her grandfather’s mud-splattered F-150 to pull into the driveway—only to turn away in frustration when it didn’t manifest.
A little before noon, she heard the sound of gravel crunching under tire wheels, but Janelle didn’t look up from the email she had been drafting for an applicant. These phantom sounds had been toying with her all morning. She wasn’t going to get her hopes up again. So when she heard the sound of a key unlocking the door soon after, she almost leaped from the couch in surprise. Her iPad clattered to the floor and slid across the room. She stumbled to the welcome mat, tripping over the knitted quilt she had slung over her lap to keep warm. Her body tensed as the door swung open.
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