by Sia Wales
“I’m telling you, it’s true!” exclaims the big guy with the dark brown shaggy hair and beard. “I’d just come down Baker Peak, about two miles north of Lake Griffith, when a huge cougar crossed the road in front of my car. It scared the life out of me!”
“That can’t be right. Cougars have been extinct from the east coast of the Atlantic for years now,” replies the stocky guy with the reddish blond hair that seems out of place alongside his olive skin. His dark face is aged by exposure to the sun and wind. He looks like he hasn’t changed his clothes for a couple of days.
“I’ve seen a cougar up close in the Rocky Mountains, but it was nothing compared to that beast.”
“Impossible. There are no cougars that big, not even in the Canadian Rockies.”
“Really, Ella May, as soon as these guys and the other clients leave, I’m closing up and heading home,” whispers Scott.
“If you want me to go…” I shrug my shoulders at him.
“Come on! You can’t be saying that it was taller than me when it was on all fours!” insists the first tourist.
“I’m telling you, it was! As big as a bear, golden beige, the same color as the border of an old map,” insists the bearded man, as I gather my things ready to get out of there.
The wizened guy laughs heartily, rolling his eyes, slapping his pal on the shoulders. “The stories you tell!”
“See you tomorrow,” I mutter as I make my way out from behind the counter.
“True or not, we’d better let people know. I’ll tell the rangers this evening.”
The robust guy cuts in.
“Tell ‘em that it wasn’t up in the mountains.”
“Just where was it?” asks Scott, confused.
“A few feet from the rangers’ cabin.”
“Well, I’ll tell the guys to keep their eyes open,” says Scott. I wouldn’t swear on it, but I sense a hidden meaning in his words.
“Have you heard anything about giant cougars ‘round here recently? You’ve lived near the Rockies, ever seen anything like that?” continues the bearded guy, looking cautiously at Scott.
“No, but it would be best not to get near them.”
“Hey, pal, I don’t know what you put in your flask, but I’d like a sip of that too!” exclaims his friend, laughing. “What you saw must have been a bear cub,” he adds.
I leave them to their chat and slip out into the cold night air.
I don’t feel like going back to Jeff’s house right now; he won’t be back yet. I don’t want to be tempted to start researching stuff on the internet again, like I did last night; my head wouldn’t let me rest, not even if I fell asleep. But I take the road towards home anyway, cruising along at a leisurely pace, going over in my mind what Locke had told me.
When I get home, I feel the cold in my bones, so I decide to take a long, hot shower. But not even that manages to banish the chill; I dry myself hurriedly with a thick towel and climb into some comfy warm clothes.
I go downstairs, wondering what to make for dinner. Stir-fried chicken, I decide; it would keep me busy for a while. I chop up the peppers, tossing them in the pan with some oil and onions. The phone begins to ring. It could be Scott or Jeff, or even my mother.
It’s Jamie, bursting with excitement. After class today, Bryan called her, inviting her to come to the Rise, the bar he works in. She’s not a hundred percent sure about what to think of Bryan, but she seems eager for me to join her. I chat distractedly with her for a while as I cut the chicken into thin strips, trying to concentrate on not cutting myself.
I suggest she picks me up in her car; she agrees. She has to hang up, she says, to call Tess and invite her along too.
When the chicken and veggies are just about ready, Jeff walks through the front door.
“Stella?” he calls out, from the parlor. He seems relieved to find me there.
The smell of onions frying draws him to the kitchen, his mouth already watering.
“Hi, Jeff.”
The room is full of smoke that the broken stove fan hasn’t managed to suck out. He throws open a window, then goes to the pan to take a sample of my creation. I throw a salad together and prepare the table.
“You’re early,” I say.
“Really?”
“It’s not even eight o’clock. I was expecting you back later.”
“The meeting at the race track was quicker than I expected.”
It’s good to see him beginning to trust my talent – albeit limited – in the kitchen. He even helps himself to a second mouthful.
“This is really good, Ella May! You’re better than your mom. She was sketchy in the kitchen,” he says tenderly, smiling to himself.
To tell the truth, my mother is a disaster in the kitchen, sometimes I had to force myself to shovel down her cooking. I’m surprised – and rather sad – that he still remembers this detail about her.
Jeff is pleased to hear about my trip to Cape Cod. He’s probably relieved that I hung out with Tess and Tyler over the weekend. I wonder if he would approve if he knew that I was planning to go back to Wolfeboro with Vuk. Not that I’m planning on mentioning it, of course.
“Jeff?”
“Yes, honey?” he asks warily. I hate it when he calls me that, it reminds me of my mother.
Do you know a place called Baker Peak or something like that? I think it’s to the north of Lake Griffith,” I as nonchalantly.
“Sure, why?”
“A hiker who knows Tyler said he’d been camping there and that he saw a cougar as big as a grizzly near the rangers’ cabin.”
“Let me guess,” Jeff laughs. “He was on his way home; he hadn’t been eating right, hadn’t had a shower or slept in a real bed for a couple of days, right?”
“Sounds about right,” I agree.
“It’s not a great place to go camping.”
“Oh…” I mumble.
“People go trekking there usually… but anyway, your mom knows more about that area than I do.”
“Maybe I got the name wrong.”
“Maybe. But the giant cougar he saw was most likely a grizzly cub,” he adds, seeming to confirm what the blond hiker thought.
“Enjoy yourself golfing today?”
“Yeah, I had a great time, but it was tough going. I was battling it out with half of Boston’s high-flyers in finance. I’m beat now, lots of walking and talking.”
“Anyone I know there?”
“Yes, actually. Donn Brooks. He taught a few classes at your college, right?”
“Do you know him?”
“Everyone in the finance world knows him, honey!” exclaims Jeff, laughing.
I should have guessed.
Jeff looks at me suspiciously.
“What is it? Do you know him personally, this Donn Brooks?” He seems surprised, wondering why on earth I should be interested in one of Boston’s financial sharks.
“Yeah… I met him a couple of times in the library, and recognized him after he took my classes…”
“I heard about that. I couldn’t believe it when I heard.”
“What’s so unbelievable about it?”
“Donn Brooks is notorious for not doing anything unless it’s to his advantage… or to his bank balance’s advantage. Plus, he’s a little weird,” he adds on a more serious note. He looks at me intently.
“How well do you know him?” I’m getting the third degree, I’ve gotta wriggle out of this.
“Um…quite well.” But before he manages to fire off another question, I say, “Dessert’s ready!” I put the cake on the table along with a bottle of maple syrup.
“Smells good,” says Jeff, sniffing the air.
“Thanks.”
Luckily, we eat in silence, which bothers neither one of us; we’re both used to eating alone. In a certain sense, we’re perfect room-mates.
“I should be going into Boston tonight, if that’s not a problem for you.” I don’t want to ask his permission, that would be setting a prec
edent, but I prefer to keep him informed of my whereabouts when possible… when there’s nothing to hide.
“Need a ride? Are you going alone?” he asks caringly.
“No, I’m going with Jamie,” I reply, stuffing the last piece of cake into my mouth with an extra drizzle of syrup on it.
“Girls’ night out. Anyway, I wouldn’t have paid much attention to you, the Patriots are playing tonight.” Jeff seems enthusiastic, I’m not sure if it’s about the game or the fact that I’m going out with Jamie. He probably feels a little guilty about my work at the bar which leaves me so little free time to go out. When he finishes his second slice of cake, Jeff clears away the things from the table and I wash the dishes before going upstairs to freshen up for my night out. Jeff, predictable as ever, can’t wait to settle into the sofa for his game.
The phone rings and I almost trip down the stairs in my haste to answer.
There’s only one voice I really want to hear; any other would be a major disappointment. But I also know that if Jason really wanted to speak to me, he’d just materialize in my room.
“Hello?” I almost bark down the receiver.
“Stella, it’s me,” answers Jamie.
“Oh…” I try to hide my disappointment. “Hi, are you ready?” I try to come back down off the clouds.
“I’m on my way,” Jamie says, happy and bubbly. I can hear loud background noises. “I’ll be there in five, hurry up.”
It’s just after 10 o’clock and Jeff is still glued to the screen, his shoulders curved forward as if he were personally trying to block the play of the opponents.
I sneak up to him to say goodbye, but he doesn’t notice me until I’m actually standing next to him, an arm around his shoulders. He glances up at me and hugs me back.
“Enjoy your game.”
“Don’t stay out too late,” he says, peering round my body so as not to miss a second.
I hear the beep of Jamie’s car horn as soon as I step outside. I hurry along, almost in the hope that the evening itself will end earlier the quicker we get there.
It’s still early,” she says, “But if we get there before the crowds, we can have a good chat.
I let her drive without even paying attention to what roads she’s taking. The only thing I do notice is the silence in the car and the inky black of the night sky outside.
One of these things strikes me as strange, and it takes me a second or two to figure out which. Jamie’s not chattering away in her usual manner. I hope she didn’t notice how phony my enthusiasm about going out tonight was over the phone earlier; but when I search her face, she shoots me a big smile, so I relax and put that thought out of my mind.
We take the I-93 to get to Boston, taking the B20 exit, passing through Albany and Berkeley, before we arrive at the Rise on Stuart Street. Jamie pulls up. The journey didn’t last long, but I’m amazed that my friend managed to drive the entire way without actually saying one word.
We walk along a small stretch of unlit street; the shops on the road are now closed, their windows darkened. Half a block away, we see the bright white neon lights announcing the name of the bar: Rise. The windows are covered with a black film and there’s already a small crowd of people milling around the entrance, waiting for it to open. I can tell that Jamie is already getting excited about the night ahead; this increases when we see Bryan coming towards us. He pulls us through the crowd and lets us slip into the bar before opening time.
His animal grace as he walks catches my eye. It seems like months since I last saw him, not days. He seems to have changed radically; he was almost as gawky and awkward as me before. How did this change come about? His face is slimmer, his cheeks not as puffy, more toned somehow. His neck is sinewy and his chest seems rock hard. His arms and shoulders have muscled up too. His amber eyes shine with an intensity that makes me almost squirm. It’s crazy. That golden chestnut color is the same that sparkles in the eyes of the Bradfords. Except for Locke, of course.
He must have been working out like crazy, surely his body can’t have just transformed overnight. He’s changed his hair too; instead of the bristly mane, his ash blond hair is now worn longer, it’s sleeker, held in place by mousse. It’s not hard to work out where he got the inspiration, but the Bradford family look can’t be acquired by mere imitation.
When we get to the counter, we pick a couple of stools by Bryan’s place behind the bar. I can’t understand why, but he keeps staring at me with those penetrating eyes, even though he seems to have accepted my decision that we are just friends.
I hope that he and Jamie can get together, but selfishly speaking, I’m a little put out by tonight’s plans. The three of us together––my friend, Bryan, and me. Perfect, I think to myself.
As he talks to Jamie, he keeps looking my way. Maybe despite what I said to him over the phone, he’s not quite ready to give up the battle. I don’t know whether it is embarrassment or some kind of alcoholic mix that I’ve downed, but something is turning my stomach. My forehead is covered in a film of sweat. I start to heave, and I try to breathe deeply, slowly to ease the nauseous feeling. I watch Jamie chatting away eagerly to Bryan; she’s totally into him. I close my eyes, listening to what they are saying, while trying to ignore the whistling in my ears. I lean my cheek against the cold bar counter, hoping it’ll give me some respite from the hot flush rushing through my body. My head is thumping, the buzz of voices seeming to swarm like bees around me.
“Hey, Stella, are you ok?” asks Jamie alarmed.
“Not really,” I whisper back. “Just give me a second, it’ll pass.”
“Stella, you’re not well!” she replies, categorically.
“Now that I think about it, I guess you’re right.” It’s my own fault, I think, for thinking I could handle a normal night out with pals. I feel unsteady, perched on the stool. “Would you mind if we cut out of here early?”
“Of course not. Too many people, too much noise for you here, right?” Her tone is icy as we weave our way towards the exit.
I shoot her a dirty look. “I needed to barf even before I started drinking.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought it would pass.”
I can’t even look up, I’m afraid I might tumble to the ground. I grab her arm.
“Hold on a second.” The exit seems so far away, I feel I won’t make it, so I take a few tentative steps back and fall onto another bar stool, where a workmate of Bryan’s looks at me questioningly. He’s exotically handsome, perfect bronze skin, thick dark lashes framing deep black eyes.
“Could I have an empty bucket, please?” I manage to say breathlessly.
He looks back and forth between Jamie and me for a second, quickly grasping the situation. He grabs a bucket and hands it to me. “Help her get outta here,” he yells over to Bryan, knowing that we’re friends. I guess that he doesn’t want the unhappy task of having to mop up the floor. Jamie slips her arms through mine and gently leads me towards the door, but before we cross the dance floor, Bryan arrives to help. He apologizes for having suggested a night out, knowing that when I’m not feeling great, I prefer to be left alone. He runs his hand across my forehead.
“You’re pale, Stella,” he says, worried.
“Yes,” I reply in a whisper. “Just get me out of here, even if you have to carry me out.”
He puts a supporting arm around my waist, I lean into him. He seems to enjoy the close physical contact. “I’m as fit as a fiddle,” I grin sheepishly. But as I allow myself to be half dragged out of the bar, I freeze for a moment. I thought I spotted Donn in the crowd, holding his hand out towards me, inviting me to go to him. I move my arm in his direction, my fingers reaching out to him, but dare not try to get nearer.
Bryan keeps leading me to the exit, but I see a fleeting image of Donn again. I come to a halt near the entrance to the bathroom.
“Let me just lean up against the wall for a bit,” I ask him, releasing my arm from his hold.
I’m shaking as I collapse against the wall, the pounding rhythm of the music keeping time to the thudding in my head. The volume is deafening, I slide to the floor, my cheek still against the wall and close my eyes.
Bryan crouches down next to me anxiously, not knowing what to do, what to say.
“I’m feeling better now,” I assure him, forcing myself not to throw up.
He looks at me in silence for an interminable minute.
“And here we are again,” he murmurs. A strange light glows in his eyes. “What I’m wondering is if this time you’ll let me kiss you,” he muses, his tone as serious as I’ve ever heard it.
At this point, I can hold it down no more. I throw up into the bucket.
Bryan turns his face, disgusted by the stench.
“Stella?” Someone far off is calling me, but I can’t open my eyes.
A terrifyingly familiar voice.
“What happened? Is she ill?” The voice is closer now, it seems perturbed.
“I don’t know what came over her,” explains Bryan.
“I think maybe she drank too much.”
“Baby girl…” whispers Donn, leaning over me.
“Oh no, not you too…” I cut my words short; I feel my gastric juices rising again from my stomach, but there’s nothing left in there to throw up.
“Oh yes, it’s me,” he replies, his voice somewhat relieved to find I haven’t lost my sense of humor.
He pulls my hair away from my face with tender, expert hands and places the bucket in front of me. Then he turns his gaze to Bryan, loathing in his eyes.
“I don’t think I’m going to throw up again. But… I’m not feeling great.”
“You’re feeling weak,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“You can say that again, sir.” I murmur feebly.
“You just need some fresh air,” he suggests.
“How did you see me… here, on the floor, in the middle of all these people?”
“Remember, I can find you anywhere, baby girl.” His voice is like a silken caress to my ears. He is so close to me that I have to strain my neck back to look him in the face. His eyes are hypnotic, irresistible, they throw me into confusion. I close my eyes, trying to break the spell, but when I open them anew, I drowsily realize it’s impossible to resist the charm.
