by Jeremy Bates
“That Zach guy didn’t cancel it like you told him to?”
“Says he did. Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is there was this flashy pink sign-up sheet in my teacher’s box today after school with about twenty names on it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Call everyone on the list tonight and tell them it’s off. They won’t be happy.”
“That doesn’t seem so terrible.”
“I just feel so fake. So wrong. I can’t believe I’ve let it go this far.”
Jack nodded, apparently thinking over what she’d told him, and she found by simply being in his presence the task at hand didn’t seem as daunting as it had before. Nothing rattled him, it seemed, and that vibe and confidence was contagious. Although he hadn’t done anything yet, hadn’t even offered any advice, she suddenly felt very grateful to him, just for being there for her.
She was falling fast and hard for him. She knew that. Hell, a blind dog would know that. And perhaps she was falling too hard and fast. But she didn’t care.
“Well,” he said finally, “why not rent a cabin?”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Rent a cabin on the lake for tomorrow night. It’s off-season right now. A lot of people, I’m sure, would be leasing. They’ll probably want a week or a month commitment, but I bet we could talk someone into just one weekend.”
A ray of optimism broke through Katrina’s gloomy state of mind, but only for a moment. She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It’s not right.”
“I think it’s a great solution.”
“It’d be lying.”
“Does that really matter at this point?”
“Yes, it does,” she said. “If I’d been honest from the very beginning, we wouldn’t be having this bizarre discussion.”
“But we are,” Jack replied. “So you have to do something, right?”
“I am going to do something. I’m going to call everyone tonight.”
“Like you said. They’re not going to be too happy about it.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“You sure then?”
“No more lying, Jack.”
“You’ve already told everyone you have a cabin, so you’re not really lying, are you?”
“Telling someone something and acting it out on a grand scheme is very different.”
“Only if you get caught.” He shrugged. “Look. You go and cancel, everyone’s pissed. Maybe they start talking. Maybe they start thinking you don’t really have a cabin after all. Or you go through with what I’m saying and everyone’s happy. It’s a simple decision, really.”
Katrina was a little surprised by Jack’s moral indifference in the matter, but she wasn’t about to criticize him. He’d been much too kind to her already. And maybe he was right. What he was saying might not be the right thing to do in the ethical sense, but maybe it was the right thing to do in the practical sense. It reminded her of an incident that occurred during her first year of teaching at Garfield High. She’d caught one of her grade twelve students cheating on a midterm exam. The student had a bunch of thumb-sized cheat sheets in his fist. One had fallen to the floor, landing under his chair and slightly behind him. She picked it up as she patrolled the classroom without him noticing and confirmed what it was. Instead of pulling him out of the class and reporting him to the principal, which would have likely resulted in his failing the course and perhaps being denied the university of his choice, she asked to speak with him later in the day. When they met again she showed him the cheat sheet and explained to him the potential consequences. He went white, was on the verge of tears, apologized profusely—and most importantly—got the point. His name was Henry Vreeland, and he still kept in touch with her to this day. His last e-mail had been to tell her he’d graduated from Columbia Law School.
“Let’s say I wanted to do what you’re suggesting,” she said. “I can’t. Not really. I already made plans with my sister for her to visit.”
“Bring her,” Jack said. “There’s only so much Bavarian-themed mini-golf and wagon rides you can take. She’d love it. Listen, you want this over with, right?”
“I just want my boring life back.”
“Did you tell these other teachers you owned a cabin or were just renting one?”
She thought back. “Renting.”
“Well,” he said with a triumphant smile, “you’re not really lying at all, are you?”
No, she supposed she wasn’t. But she would still be lying to herself.
“You really want me to do this?” she said.
“Because I’m confident it will work. Besides, I was serious when I asked you if I was invited. I wouldn’t mind a weekend away with a beautiful woman.”
Katrina didn’t say anything. Right in the practical sense.
“So?” he pressed.
“What if there aren’t any places for rent?”
“Let’s check right now.”
The hotel room was furnished with knotty pine furniture, a fireplace, a king bed, a kitchenette, a cabinet holding a large TV, and a Jacuzzi tub built for two. There was no computer. Jack, however, had an IBM laptop, which he set up. He asked to use her Visa to pay the five-dollar fee for Wi-Fi access, saying he’d lost his card and was waiting for a replacement. He logged onto the Internet. While she made two coffees, he found a vacation rental site that listed cabins for rent in the area.
“Apparently Lake Wenatchee is a popular vacation spot,” he said, scrolling through several pages of listings. “See anything you like?”
She shrugged. “Any one will do. It’s not like I’m buying it.”
Jack clicked on a link for a newly renovated luxury alpine villa. He began reading, “Outdoor hot tub, satellite TV, granite counters, cathedral ceilings, dishwasher—”
“Enough,” Katrina said. “Next.”
Jack shot her an incredulous look. “You kidding? This place is perfect.”
“I told everyone it was just a cabin.”
“Tell them you were being modest.”
“I said there wasn’t even furniture.” She shook her head. “No, Jack. I can’t. This one is ridiculous.”
“It definitely would be romantic.”
“This isn’t a game,” she said, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. “I still don’t even think it’s a good idea.” But those were just words, and she knew it. The more she thought about what Jack had proposed, the more she believed it was an ideal solution. She placed a hand on his shoulder affectionately.
“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “I hear you. How about this one then? Lakefront property. A-frame, true log cabin with loft. Open living/dining room with country kitchen, laundry cubby, and one bath. Nearby amenities: horseshoes, mountain biking, rock climbing, freshwater fishing.” He looked up at her, eyebrows raised.
“How many bedrooms?”
“Just one. The loft.”
“That sounds more like it.”
Jack checked the availability. “You want it, it’s yours.”
“How much?”
He shook his head. “I talked you into this. I’ll cover the expenses.”
“How much, Jack?”
He clicked a link. “Weekly rates go from $740 to $850. And look at that—nightly rates. $120 midweek, $150 weekends. But like I said, I’ll pay.”
“You will not. This is my problem.”
“Do you want it?”
She thought of a hundred reasons why she should say no.
“Okay,” she told him. “Book it.”
Later that night Katrina awoke bathed in sweat, jerked into a sitting position as if from an invisible hook. A scream too big for her throat never made it out of her mouth. All that emerged was a strangled cry. The world seemed to tilt before righting itself. She was breathing hard and fast as she recalled the gruesome images that had been crawling through her head.
It was the same nightmare that had pl
agued her sleep ever since Shawn had passed away. In it she and Shawn were chained to a wall in a dirty, windowless dungeon. The big wooden door would creak open ever so slowly, as if the person on the other side was taunting her with the suspense. A faceless man would appear. She would watch in frozen horror as he cut and pulled Shawn apart like a chicken on a cutting board. The images were so disturbing she didn’t know where her mind could have dredged them up from.
She heard the ticktock of a wall clock, loud in the otherwise silent room. Ticktock-ticktock-ticktock. It went on and on, perfect and indifferent. Slowly the overwhelming sense of dread drained from her body, leaving in its wake a bottomless despair.
“You okay?”
Katrina started. She had completely forgotten she was in Jack’s bed. After they’d booked the cabin, he’d taken her to dinner— this time to a wonderful French restaurant—then they’d returned to his hotel where they’d made love with, if possible, more passion and abandonment than the first time. She looked at him. The blinds were open a crack, and enough glossy moonlight seeped into the room for her to make out the strong lines that delineated his face. Handsome and strong and, God, so attractive. He was lying on his back, propped up on his elbows, his head cocked toward her. He’d taken his ponytail out earlier, and his hair now fell down over his shoulders like a silky lion’s mane. He reminded her of the blacksmith in the romance novel she was reading. Only Jack was infinitely more interesting and complex. Knowing she was not alone, the emptiness in the bottom of her stomach vanished. “No, I’m fine,” she told him. “Go back to sleep.”
“Bad dream?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
He sat up next to her and took a hand. “Want to talk it off?”
“No. But thank you.”
“I’m a good listener.”
She knew he was. “Thanks, Jack. But go back to sleep.” The veil of darkness made her feel secure, like she could tell him the deepest secrets of her heart. But she remained hesitant about opening up to him. She wasn’t ready to talk about Shawn yet. Soon, maybe, if their relationship continued along the same lightning-fast track it had been on. But not yet. “You’ve already done so much for me,” she added. “More than you know.”
“Remember,” he said. “I’m here for you.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything more. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Those last four words were the most reassuring thing he, or anyone for that matter, could have told her. She felt like a castaway who had not only finally hit shore, but had found someone waiting there on the beach for her.
She lay back down, pulling herself against Jack’s hard body so they felt like one, and vowed she would always be there for him as well.
Chapter 10
Saturday morning.
Katrina was sitting on her front porch, drinking a freshly brewed cup of coffee, trying not to think too much about the evening’s upcoming event, when her cell phone rang.
It was Zach.
“Just a quick question,” he said cheerfully, almost cockishly. “I went ahead and chartered the school bus. But I need to give the driver directions to your place.”
“Aren’t you the go-to man?” she said, allowing sarcasm to edge her voice.
“Yeah, well, someone had to do it.”
“Did you find out who made that sign-up sheet?”
“Nope. I asked around. No one knew.”
“Guess I’ll never know.”
“Guess not.”
“So you want the directions?”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Uh, yeah.” She could almost hear him frowning. “If you have them.”
“Why wouldn’t I, Zach? It’s my cabin, right?”
She gave him the directions.
“All right, cool,” he said hesitantly. “So we can show up around seven?”
“That’s fine.”
“Okay. I guess that’s it then.”
“That’s it.”
“See you tonight, Kat.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Er, right. Later.”
They hung up.
Although certain friends had called Katrina “Kat” her entire life, she hadn’t liked Zach calling her it back on the highway, and that fact still hadn’t changed.
She finished her coffee while watching a yellow warbler foraging on her front lawn, then went back inside and rinsed her mug out in the kitchen sink. She was trying to decide whether she was hungry or not when a car horn honked outside. She returned to the living room and peeked through the front window. A beetle-black Porsche was parked behind her Honda. It was sleek looking with a swoopy nose, those distinctive headlamps, and a discreet rear spoiler. She’d noticed the same car parked out front the Blackbird Lodge yesterday, but she’d never suspected it belonged to Jack. He was a surprise that kept getting better and better.
The driver’s door opened and Jack stepped out, dressed in chinos, a white linen shirt beneath a cream-colored cardigan, and boat shoes a shade lighter than his brown leather belt. He looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht docked in Monte Carlo.
Katrina rubbed the top of Bandit’s head. He was lying in the middle of the floor, sulking. When he’d noticed her packing earlier, he’d worked himself into a frenzied excitement, assuming they were going on another road trip together. When he didn’t see his leash go into the suitcase, his frantic energy dissipated, and he began making heartbreaking whining noises. “I’m only going to be gone for one night, buddy. You got all the food and water you need in your bowls. But no chewing the furniture. Got it?” That was a bad habit of his, a way of letting her know he was not happy being left on his own. “Come on, give Mommy a kiss.”
She lowered her cheek to his snout. He gave her a halfhearted lick.
“That’s a good boy.”
She grabbed her suitcase and stepped out the front door. Jack was now on the porch, leaning against the banister. He might be dressed like he’d just stepped out of a James Bond movie, but he looked very relaxed and casual at the same time, as if he’d thrown on the first thing he’d pulled out of his wardrobe. She couldn’t say the same for herself. She’d put on her makeup, washed it off, and put it on all over again, to get it perfect. Then it had taken her nearly an hour to decide on her present outfit, a three-quarter-length dress with butterflies and matching butterfly jewelry.
Jack complimented her on how she looked, which made her light up. He took her suitcase and stuffed it in the Porsche’s tiny trunk.
“Pretty impressive wheels,” she said.
He opened the door for her. “320-horsepower 3.4-liter flat six. I’m a car guy.”
“And a gentleman,” she said, slipping inside.
Katrina had never been in a Porsche before—the closest thing would have been Shawn’s Lexus—and she quickly realized why people who had the money bought one. The engine purred with effortless ease, and the ride down Wheeler Street was smooth as silk, making any other car she’d been in seem a laboring beast in comparison. They made a tight right onto Ski Hill Drive. The tires bit into the road while the snug sports seat held her firmly in place. When they made a right onto Highway 2, Jack kept to the speed limit as they passed a Howard Johnson and a Best Western and all the other hotels positioned at the westernmost point of town to be the first to greet visitors coming in from Seattle. As soon as they passed Icicle Road and there was nothing around them except hills and trees, he stepped on the gas. The sports car bulleted forward.
“Any preference for music?” Jack asked her, taking a pair of Ray-Bans clipped to the sun visor and putting them on.
“What do you have?”
He nodded at the digital interface on the dash. It was touch-screen and synced with his iPod, which he told her was stowed away in the center console. Pretty neat. It made her want to trade in her Honda. She scrolled through the exhaustive list of artists. He had a little bit of everything and a lot of classic rock, which suited her mood. She tapped a Buffalo
Springfield song, and the opening chords came through the speakers.
She said, “So this guy—Charlie?—is meeting us at the cabin when?”
“Supposed to be there at nine. We should be right on time.”
The morning was crisp and blue, the sun a gold coin burning brightly in the east. The countryside was sprayed with a fiery blast of autumn colors: a field of orange huckleberry bushes, mustard-yellow alpine larches and aspen, deep-red vine maple. The towering sugar-peaked mountains remained rooted in the background, unmoving, millennium-old monoliths seemingly impervious to human concepts of time and speed.
“So you must be doing well to buy toys like this,” she said, patting the leather seat of the sports car.
“I’m actually between jobs right now.” He shifted to fifth and overtook a green sedan. They must have been doing more than seventy miles an hour, though Katrina felt perfectly safe, which was due either to the well-engineered car or Jack’s assertive driving. Probably a little bit of both.
“What did you do before?” she asked. “No—let me guess. Bank robber? International assassin? Treasure hunter?”
“Nothing so glamorous, I’m afraid. I used to own a small gym. A ring, some punching bags, weights. When I retired from that, I made some decent investments. They paid off well.”
Katrina was slightly disappointed by the mundane revelation. Jack had been an enigma to her. Uniquely handsome, larger-than-life personality, a drifter. All the ingredients for intrigue and mystery. The fact he was an ordinary guy with an ordinary background seemed anticlimactic. Almost like finding out your favorite movie star was a foot shorter in real life. Nevertheless, she had to admit she was partly relieved. There was no future with a man who lived a secret life, but there was with one who paid taxes, obeyed laws, and perhaps even went to church.
Future? she thought, feeling a warm buzz inside her that was equally wonderful and frightening.
“Do you go to church?” she asked.
He glanced at her. She could see a tiny version of herself reflected in his mirrored lenses. “That’s out of the blue.”
