She rubbed his tummy. “He does seem to have a rather short fuse.” She looked up at me. “So…what’s the plan?”
“I’m going to do some scouting around today. See if I can’t find us some dinner.”
“And then?”
“Well…we’ve got to eat. And we need it to quit snowing.”
“And then?”
“We’re going to eat until we can’t eat anymore, pack up, and head out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Hadn’t gotten there yet. I’m only tackling one crisis at a time.”
She laid her head back and closed her eyes. “Let me know when you get it all figured out. I’ll be right here.”
I made a dozen more snowballs, packing them tight, and set them away from the fire on the far side of the chair. I cut strips out of one of the wool blankets and wrapped them around my hands. I grabbed the bow. “If I’m not back in an hour, ice that leg. Remember, thirty minutes on, sixty off.”
She nodded.
“And keep drinking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not kidding. Thirty on. Sixty off.”
“You sound just like my doctor.”
“Good.”
I STEPPED OUTSIDE. The wind had picked up, swirling the snow off the ground, sending miniature twisters up through the trees where they rattled the limbs and played out. I climbed through the trees and up the hill behind the camp. The ridgeline circled the lake. Lake on one side, another valley on the other.
I stared at the layout of the camp. People, Boy Scouts, somebody had to get here from somewhere, and on something. They didn’t just drop in out of helicopters. It was conceivable that they only got here via foot or horseback, but where were those trails? If we were in fact inside the Ashley and they only allowed foot and horse traffic, we couldn’t be too far inside it. Otherwise, they’d never get up here.
I circled south, and it didn’t take me long to find it. A narrow, winding, snow-covered footpath, wide enough for two horses abreast, that led down away from the lake, through the notch in the valley behind us. Certainly, if they were escorting boys up here carrying packs, they didn’t make them walk across the state to get here. A few miles maybe, but no more. Unless this was a Boy Scout camp for Eagle Scouts only, and I doubted that. It was too big. Designed to serve large numbers of people.
I was getting cold. While the wool worked better than the frayed denim, the strips were doing little to ward off the cold. I needed to get back to the fire.
Ashley slept on and off most of the day. Regardless, I continued to ice her leg. Sometimes she woke. Sometimes not. Sleep was the best thing she could do. Every minute spent sleeping was like a deposit in the bank that she’d have to draw on when we decided to pull out of here. Which I had a feeling was sooner rather than later.
Late in the afternoon, as the light dimmed from gray to more gray, more dim, I slipped out with the bow and returned to the ridgeline where I’d seen the majority of the tracks. I pulled myself up into the arms of an aspen and sat down. The cold made it difficult to sit real still. Toward dark I saw a white flash out of the corner of my eye. I studied the snow. When it moved again, the picture came into focus.
Six rabbits sat within fifteen yards of me. I drew slowly, aiming at the closest. I came to full draw, let out half a breath, focused on my front site, and pressed the release. The arrow caught the rabbit between the shoulders, sending it tumbling. When the others didn’t move, I nocked a second arrow, came to full draw, focused again on my front site and let the arrow fly.
I walked in with two rabbits’ bodies skewered on a green aspen limb and hung it over the fire.
Ashley sat with the jigsaw across her lap. “Just two?”
“I shot at three.”
“What’s the problem?”
“One moved.”
“So?”
“You know…if you hit with this percentage in the major leagues, they put you in the Hall of Fame.”
“I can let it slide this time.”
I slow-cooked the rabbit and even happened to find some salt in the pantry.
Ashley hovered over a leg, her lips greasy, rabbit in one hand, a bowl of soup in the other, a smile from ear to ear. “You cook good rabbit.”
“Thank you. It is pretty good if I say so myself.”
“You know…” She chewed, tasting her food up near the front of her mouth. “It doesn’t really taste like chicken.”
“Who told you it did?”
“Nobody, it’s just that everything tastes like chicken.” She tossed her head and pulled out a small bone. “Nope. That’s not entirely true.” She pulled out another small bone. “Since I’ve been hanging around with you, nothing really tastes like chicken.”
“Thanks.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, the only thing between us was a plate of bones and two empty bowls. We lay flat, savoring full stomachs. Of everything, I enjoyed the salt best. And given the amount of exertion and sweat I’d expended since the crash, I needed all the electrolytes I could get. For now, straight sodium would have to do.
She nodded at the Monopoly box on the table. “You play?”
“Not in a long time.”
“Me either.”
Three hours later, she owned three-quarters of the board, had hotels on most of her property, and I was close to broke, since I had to pay rent most every time I rolled the dice. “You’re tough.”
“We played some as kids.”
“Some?”
“Okay…maybe more than some.” She rolled. “So what’s your plan?”
“Well, I thought we’d let the snow stop and then see if…”
She counted as she moved her piece down the board. “I’m not talking about our plan to get out of here. I’m talking about the one when you get home. The plan with you and your wife.”
I shrugged.
“Come on. Spit it out.”
“I…”
“Stuttering will get you nowhere.”
“If you’ll just let me get a word in edgewise.”
“I am. Now spill it. What’d you do, and what are you going to do about it? Nice guy like you can’t be all that bad.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah? Welcome to Earth. Everything here is complicated. So what did you say?”
“Said some words.”
“Yeah, you and everybody else. What kind?”
“The kind I can’t take back.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause they’re…she…” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Were they true?”
“Yes, but that didn’t make them right.”
She nodded. “Sooner or later, you’ve got to quit playing your cards so close to your chest. I’m trying to help you.” She pointed at the recorder. “You’re a lot better at talking to that thing than you are to me.”
“I told you that in the beginning.”
“You haven’t been talking into it very much. What’s up?”
“Maybe I’m running out of things to say.”
“You know…whatever you said, you can always take it back. I mean, what could possibly have been that bad? They’re just words.”
I turned, poking at the fire and staring into the flames. My whisper was low. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but if you want to hurt someone…way down deep, use words.”
ASHLEY SLEPT IN FITS, talking in her sleep. After midnight I stirred, added wood to the fire. I slid the bag off her leg, running my hand along her thigh. The swelling had gone down and the skin was not as taut. Both good signs. Alongside her, spread across the plywood, portions of the puzzle were starting to take shape. The picture was fuzzy, but one section looked like a snowcapped mountain.
She lay in the firelight. Long legs. One elevated. The other flat out. Relaxed. The growth of prickly hair on her calves and fuzzy hair on her thighs told the story of how long it’d been since the crash. Her head lay tilted at an angle. T-shirt reste
d on her collarbone. Underwear lying loosely across her hipbones.
I touched her temple. Pushed her hair behind her ear. Ran my finger down her neck, along the line of her arm. Down the tips of her fingers. Bumps rose on her skin.
“Ashley…?”
She didn’t stir. Made no response.
The crackle from the fire was louder than my whisper. “I…”
Her head turned, a deep inhale, followed by a long, slow exhale. Her eyes were moving left and right behind her eyelids. The truth wouldn’t come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
A week later we were back at the doctor’s office. You were throwing up in every trash can between the car and the office. I felt pretty low. Every time I told you that, you nodded. “You should. You did this to me.”
It’s hard to argue with that.
Twins required more ultrasounds more often. The 3-D kind. Your doctor wanted to make sure we were on track. And given my place at the hospital, they were, in a sense, taking care of one of their own. A nice perk.
They called us back. More goo squirted from a tube. Another wand smearing it across your tummy. They strapped the monitor around your stomach, and we could hear both heartbeats. Dueling echoes. Everything normal. Right?
Wrong?
The technician paused, backed up, ran the wand over you a second time, and then said, “Be right back.”
Ninety seconds and three hours later, your doc, Steve, strode through the door, having done a poor job of masking his concern. He studied the picture, nodded, swallowed, and then patted you on the leg. “Sheila here is going to run a few tests. When you finish, come see me in my office.”
I spoke up. “Steve…I can read doc body language. What’s up?”
He was elusive. More bad news. “Maybe nothing. Let’s run the tests.”
I’d have said the same thing if I was trying to figure out how to communicate bad news. Both heartbeats echoed strongly in the background.
You turned to me. Both hands spread over your stomach. “What’s he saying?”
I shook my head and followed him into the hall.
He turned. “Just let her run the tests. I’ll see you in my office.”
I didn’t need to. His face told me plenty.
We sat down opposite him. He was in pain. He stood up, walked around his desk, and pulled up a chair. The three of us sat in a triangle. “Rachel…Ben…” His eyes darted back and forth. He didn’t know who to look at. He started sweating. “You…have a partial abruption.”
Rachel looked at me. “What’s that mean?”
He spoke for me. “It means your placenta has torn away from the uterine wall.”
You crossed your legs. “And?”
“And…I’ve seen larger tears, but it’s not small either.”
“So…you’re saying…?”
“Total bed rest.”
You crossed your arms. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Let’s give it time. If we can slow it down or even stop it, everybody will be fine. No need to panic.”
In the car on the ride home, you put your hand on my shoulder. “So, what’s this really mean, Doc?”
“You need to take up needlepoint and find about a hundred movies you’ve been wanting to see. Maybe read several dozen books.”
“Will we make it?”
“If it doesn’t tear anymore.”
“And if it does?”
“We’re not there, so let’s leave that for then.”
“But…”
“Honey…one hurdle at a time, okay?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Daylight filtered through the tree limbs, lit upon the snow, and found me slipping along the ridgeline. The snowfall had not lessened. We were approaching three feet of fresh powder. Moving was slow and difficult. Without the snowshoes, it would have been impossible. Currently, the snow was dry and fluffy. It was still too cold to be sticky. If it grew warm, conditions could become near hellish.
I walked an hour, but saw nothing. Returning, I came down the ridgeline and walked up through the trees. Approaching the back of the A-frame, I spotted an eighth building I’d not seen before. Smaller, more like the shape of a shed. The only thing showing was the top of a pipe chimney rising up through the snow. The rest of the building was buried.
I circled it, trying to decide where the door would be, and then started pulling at the snow. When I hit a cement block wall with no door, I walked to the other side and dug in again. I didn’t find a door, but I did find a window. I dug it out, tried to lift it and couldn’t.
I kicked it, and the single pane shattered and crashed on the floor inside. I knocked off the sharp edges with the hatchet and crawled in through the hole.
It was a storage room of sorts. Old saddles, bridles, and stirrups hung on one wall. Zebco fishing reels with no line. Some tools, hammers, files, and a few screwdrivers. A rusty knife. Several jars of rusty nails, all sizes. A fireplace with a bellows where it looked like a blacksmith could shoe a horse. It looked like the workshop necessary to keep a camp like this up and running. On the other wall hung several old tires that looked like they could fit a four-wheeler. Some tubes, even a chain. I scratched my head. If that was true, if they brought four-wheelers up here, then we had to be on the outside border of the Ashley. Which meant we were closer to a road than I’d previously thought.
Part of me wanted to get excited. To let my heart race. To run down the rabbit trail of all the possibilities. But if I did, and if Ashley read it on my face, and she too got excited, and none of my hopes were true, then…false hope was worse than no hope at all.
I kept looking. Even that still didn’t explain how they hauled everything up here. What actually carried all the stuff? Pots, pans, food, supplies. Then I looked up.
Above my head, in the rafters, lay six or eight blue plastic sleds made for hauling equipment behind a snowmobile or four-wheeler or horse. Several lengths and widths. I pulled one down. It was about seven feet long, plenty wide enough to lie in, had runners along the bottom to track more easily in the snow, and didn’t weigh fifteen pounds.
I turned it at an angle, slid it out the window, and was in the process of climbing out when I looked up a final time. There, lying on top of the other sleds, were several sets of snowshoes. I’d almost missed them. This time my heart did race. Someone had put them there, which meant someone might have used them to walk up there, and if they could do it, well…
Four pairs in all. They were dusty, old, and the bindings were stiff and cracking, but the frames were strong, as were the supports. And they were light. I found a pair that fit, strapped them on, and returned to the A-frame, pulling the sled.
Ashley stirred, stared over her shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Your blue chariot.”
“Is there a really fast horse attached to the other end?”
“Very funny.”
I pulled the harness off the old sled and anchored it to the new one. Between the wool blankets and sleeping bags, I felt like I could make Ashley a good bit more comfortable. “You get to ride forward in this one.”
“That means I’ve got to look at your backside the entire time.”
“Well…what remains of it.”
“If you ain’t the lead dog, the view never changes.”
It was good to hear the humor return.
THAT AFTERNOON WE CONTINUED our game of Monopoly. Or rather, Ashley continued swallowing up real estate and charging exorbitant rental rates. At one point she was shaking the dice in both hands, saying, “You’re going down, sucker.” She rolled an eight, which bounced her completely over my few, pitiful properties.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re just a little bit competitive?”
She sat back, triumphant. “No, what makes you say that?”
By late afternoon I had mortgaged every piece of property I had and was just hoping I could pass GO one more time and collect $200 before she, the bank, foreclosed on everything I o
wned and took the shirt off my back.
I never made it. I landed on Park Place, and she laughed like a hyena for ten minutes.
An hour before dark, I set the puzzle in her lap and said, “I’ll be back.” I strapped on the snowshoes and began slipping along the ridgeline in search of something to eat. The snow wasn’t falling as heavily, but it was still falling. Still accumulating. The entire world was muted. Every sound deafened. Silence was the loudest noise I heard.
I considered how different life had become. No phones, no voice mail, no beepers, no e-mail, nobody paging me over the hospital intercom, no news, no radio. No noise other than the crack of the fire, the sound of Ashley’s voice, and Napoleon’s nails scratching the concrete floor.
Of all those, I caught myself listening for one sound in particular.
I walked thirty minutes, maybe a mile, where I found a lot of tracks merging into a ravine. The snow was all torn up. I set up under an aspen and waited. Didn’t take long. A fox appeared, ran through the ravine, and disappeared before I could draw. A doe soon followed, but it winded me, threw its tail in the air, blew loudly through its nose, stamped the ground, and took off at light speed. That’s about when I figured my hide beneath the aspen wasn’t all that great, given the prevailing wind. Either that, or the animals were smelling the soap. This hunting stuff wasn’t as easy as it looked on TV.
It was almost dark so, rather than move, I stayed put five more minutes. One rabbit appeared and began hopping down into the ravine and up the other side. It hopped twice going up the other side, stopped, caught a whiff of me, and I let the arrow fly. Fortunately for us, I did not miss.
An odd light shone through and across the snow as I retraced my steps, returning to Ashley. Napoleon was gone again, and Ashley was asleep in the chair. The puzzle on her lap. I boiled some water, steeped the tea bags for what was certainly the last time, and sat alongside her while I turned the rabbit above the fire.
When I’d sufficiently burned it, she woke, and we ate slowly. Chewing every bite longer than normal. Savoring what we could. It was barely enough to feed one, much less two.
Napoleon returned shortly thereafter. I had really grown to like him. He was tough, tender when needed, and did a pretty good job of taking care of himself. He walked in, licking the sides of his muzzle. His face was red and stomach taut and rounded. He walked back to his section of mattress, walked in a circle, rolled over, and stuck his feet in the air. I rubbed his tummy, and he started involuntarily kicking one leg.
The Mountain Between Us Page 21
