by Vella Munn
What was she thinking of? Michon shook herself mentally and blinked, trying to focus on the men on either side of her. This was her world—not canoeing down the John Day River.
She made a halfhearted attempt to enter the conversation, but her spirit wasn’t in it. Some of it, she knew, was because she was tired. The rest, she also knew, was because she wanted to see a man with a sunburned nose sitting across from her instead of one in a three-piece suit.
Joseph asked a few polite questions about what she did for a living and then asked Paul if he’d mind if she danced with him. Naturally Paul didn’t mind. Michon slowly got to her feet, resigned to a slow, shuffling waltz pressed against Joseph’s thick belly. The trio playing on the small stage in one corner of the lounge seemed to be falling asleep on the job. Michon couldn’t help but wonder if this was the way they wanted to be spending their evening.
That didn’t seem to bother Joseph. As they danced he kept up a nonstop monologue about his business dealings, his new car, the money he had in investments. If he was trying to impress Michon she couldn’t help but wonder why he bothered. There was something about the stiff way he held her that told her he wasn’t used to dancing with many women. She could be wrong, but Michon was willing to bet there was a Mrs. McCullum back in Chicago. There were probably children as well—teenagers wanting cars, trying to decide what college they were going to ask their father to put them through.
It struck Michon as terribly sad. Joseph McCullum was miles away from his family, spending the evening with two people he barely knew. He might even be entertaining the idea that the young woman with him could be talked into going to his motel room—not that that would ever happen. Was that what he really wanted out of life? When he’d been a young man, was this what he thought his future would be?
Life takes some unkind twists, Michon thought. We start out with such high hopes, but, bit by bit, they’re replaced by reality. Family responsibilities, the need to earn a living, a thousand unplanned turns in one’s life, have a way of adding up to an existence that falls short of youthful dreams.
And wasn’t that exactly what Michon’s life was? When she was a girl she told her friends that there were only two goals in life worth attaining—a career that made each day worth getting up for and a man to love. She didn’t have either of those.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Joseph said. “Am I boring you?”
“Oh, no,” Michon said quickly. Suddenly she decided to be honest. “It’s me. I’ve been kind of depressed lately. I think I need a change of scene or something.”
Almost before she was aware of it, Joseph had stopped dancing and was holding her away so they could look into each other’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be depressed, Michon. You’re young, attractive. You have your whole life ahead of you. Wait until you’re my age. That’s when reality sinks in. That’s when you realize that the best is behind you.”
Michon tried to shake her head. “Please don’t say that. You have a lot of years ahead of you.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But my options are gone. I’m locked into what I’m doing. Don’t let that happen to you. Not until you’re sure that’s what you want.”
Michon couldn’t pull her eyes away from Joseph’s. There were lines buried deep in the flesh around his eyes, and if there had ever been a spark in them it was gone. “Don’t you like what you’re doing?” she had to ask.
“I don’t know.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve been doing it for so long that I can’t imagine doing anything else. Besides, I don’t have any choices left. I have to make the best of what I have.”
Michon allowed Joseph to start steering her back to the table, but his words didn’t leave her. Just before they reached Paul she stopped. “If you had your life to do over, what would you change?” Maybe she had no right asking him such a personal question, but she felt she had to know…for her sake.
Joseph’s smile was wistful, but he seemed to need to talk. “I’d like to take a few chances. I wouldn’t settle for what was safe. And I’d look for a woman who understood what I was talking about.”
By the time they joined Paul, Michon was fighting tears. She was sad for Joseph McCullum and the life he’d settled for. But she was also sad for what she was now very much afraid was going to happen to her if she didn’t do something about the direction her life was taking.
Take chances, he’d said. Find someone who understands.
Michon looked at Paul, who was grinning like a cat who’d just swallowed a canary because he thought he was showing his client the time of his life. Was he happy with his life? Michon rather suspected that the answer was yes. The only problem was that what Paul wanted out of life wasn’t what Michon wanted. As her hands strayed over the lines of her fragile wineglass she realized that having a cupboard full of cut-glass wineglasses was so far down on the list of things she wanted out of life that it didn’t even fit on the page.
She had no idea what time it was when Paul finally said they should leave. Although her eyes burned from the cigarette smoke and her head ached from the non-stop music, in a way she was sorry to see the evening end. It had provided her with the time she needed to do some serious thinking.
“I’ve seen deadwood in my life, but that takes the cake,” Paul said after dropping Joseph off at a motel. “When you say you’re tired, you sure do everything you can to make sure I don’t forget it!”
Michon jumped at the hostility in Paul’s voice. “I didn’t hear Mr. McCullum complain.”
“Of course you didn’t. He’s a tired old man who probably doesn’t know what a really good time is. You’re capable of doing a lot better than you did tonight.”
“Oh? Didn’t I perform up to expectations? You want me to jump through a hoop?” Was Paul trying to pick a fight? If so Michon was in a mood to give him what he wanted.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” Paul turned away from the road long enough to give her a withering look.
“You’re right, I do. Paul, the only person I can be is me. I can’t wind myself up like some doll and perform on command. Tonight I didn’t feel much like talking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.”
“What about?”
Michon opened her mouth but nothing came out. How could she tell him about restlessness and feeling like crying and being stirred in a whole new way because a man with faded jeans had kissed her once? “Never mind. I need a change, that’s all.”
“What kind of a change? Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you know that my business success depends on how clients react to me. I just thought I could count on you to be sensitive to that.”
“I am. But, Paul, it isn’t my world. Maybe I shouldn’t feel like this, but I don’t want to spend my life catering to the whims of other people. Okay, so I’m selfish, but I want to do something for me.”
Paul’s look showed that he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Like what? I swear, you’re not making any sense at all tonight.”
“I’m not?”
“Hell, no. What do you mean, do something for yourself? Do you want a new apartment, another car? A spring outfit? Is that what you’re talking about?”
Material things. Was that the only kind of wanting Paul could relate to? Michon shook her head, feeling wrung out because she was becoming more and more convinced that she and Paul weren’t speaking the same language. “No. That’s not it at all,” she tried. “Paul, I don’t like my job. I don’t like what’s happening, or not happening, in my life. I feel like I’m on a treadmill, going nowhere.”
“Do you want to get married?”
Michon stared openmouthed at Paul’s profile in the car’s dark interior. He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d asked her if she wanted to rob a bank. Marriage was a word that had never come up between them. “No,” she whispered.
Paul sighed loudly. “That’s a relief. Look, don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame you for wanting to get married—it’s what wo
men still want—but I’m not ready to settle down yet. I thought you understood that about me, but the way you’re talking tonight, well, I wasn’t sure.”
Being married to Paul would be a trap, one she was sure they’d both regret. “I want to quit my job,” she said without thinking.
“And turn your back on that salary?” Paul’s expression said he was convinced she’d lost her mind. “Look, Michon, you’re no doctor or lawyer. Sure, you went to college for a couple of years, but you’re not going to find another job as good as the one you have, with the skills you have.”
Michon could only shake her head. In Paul’s mind a job was only as good as the salary it commanded. “Maybe I’ll turn into a hitchhiker and travel around the country carrying a backpack filled with old clothes.” She was teasing, but even that sounded more exciting than what she was doing now.
“The hell you will. Michon, I’ve never seen you take a chance in your life. You don’t even stretch the truth on your income tax return. You hitchhike and I’ll eat my hat.”
“What if I take a canoe trip down the John Day River?”
“You’d never do that!” Paul snorted.
“Why do you say that?” Michon asked, bristling.
“Be serious, Michon. You like your creature comforts too much for that.”
Michon was torn between anger and fear that Paul was right. “How do you know?”
“I know you.” Paul placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him.
No you don’t, Michon raged silently. You don’t know me at all.
When Paul kissed her good night and left her at her front door, Michon could only open her eyes to the knowledge that she had finally seen through the shallowness of their relationship. They’d gone together because she wanted someone in her life, even the wrong someone.
But no more. “Someone” wasn’t enough. Joseph McCullum had said it. Take chances. Don’t settle for what’s safe. Paul was safe. And Michon was ready, eager, to step beyond that.
She was ready for the John Day River. If it—and Chas—would give her the chance.
Chapter Four
Harold Bishop’s cubicle at the high school campus was at the far corner of the gym building. To reach it Michon had to make her way past locker-lined corridors filled with giggling teenagers. In an attempt at self-preservation she hugged the walls, grateful for her small stature, which allowed her to blend into the surroundings. If any of the students took a close look at her she was certain she’d be recognized for what she was—an outsider.
It amazed and somewhat saddened her to realize she’d grown so far away from her teenage years that she felt out of her element inside a high school. Clothing styles had changed. But more than that, Michon had the feeling that she’d entered a world peopled by young adults who spoke a language she had only a rudimentary understanding of. The current slang expressions echoed off the walls and ceilings, vibrated inside Michon’s head, and caused her to frown in concentration. Was she really so much a member of the adult world that she had little understanding of why a certain hand gesture would send a group of boys into loud catcalls?
Despite a couple of wrong turns, Michon finally located the door marked Physical Education Department. If Mr. Bishop hadn’t already agreed to see her this afternoon, Michon might have lost courage and scurried back to her car.
But she’d come this far. She’d taken the afternoon off, gathered her mental arguments, even gone through a receptionist, the assistant principal, and a counselor to locate the man in charge of the John Day canoeing expedition. She’d said little about her reason for wanting to talk to Mr. Bishop, reasoning that her arguments would be better made in person.
The man who looked up from a small, cluttered desk flanked by nylon mesh bags filled with basketballs and a pile of unclaimed shirts, shorts, and socks wasn’t much taller than Michon, but his broad shoulders, bull neck, and lettered sweat shirt clearly identified him as a member of the physical education department.
He stood up, kicked aside an equipment bag, and stuck out a massive hand. “Miss Lycan. Did you have any trouble finding this place? It can be an adventure for someone who doesn’t know her way around the school.”
“I’m here,” Michon said as she returned the handshake. “And you’re right. I don’t know my way around this place. I went to school here a while ago, but there have been several additions since then. I’m afraid my memory isn’t as good as I thought it was.”
“You went to school here? You didn’t happen to have Mr. Allison for English, did you? He’s been here about twenty years. Excuse me.” Harold Bishop grinned. “I’m sure you’re here for something other than traipsing down memory lane. Sit down, please. What can I do for you?”
Michon waited until she was settled into the armless plastic chair opposite Mr. Bishop’s desk. Her first impression of the man was a favorable one, but there was no way she could anticipate his reaction to what she was about to propose. At length she began.
“I understand you’re heading an expedition down the John Day River. From what the guidance counselor and Chas Carson told me, I understand that it’s part of a survival training program you’ve developed for some handpicked students.”
“Do you work for the newspaper? I think we sent them some information on it.” Mr. Bishop was playing with a set of hand grips, squeezing them slowly in his powerful hands. Michon thought she saw him wince a couple of times but she couldn’t be sure.
Michon shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She thought briefly about explaining about her need for a change in her life, but decided on another approach. “Actually it’s Chas who got me excited about what you’re doing. Would—I’d like to join the expedition.”
What would Mr. Bishop’s reaction be? Michon still only half believed that she’d actually gathered the necessary courage to make that statement. But she had to try. She simply couldn’t resign herself to endless days at Chantilla without at least making a bid for freedom.
Mr. Bishop’s response was slow in coming. “That’s the last thing I expected you to say. In what capacity? I’m afraid I don’t understand. You say you’re a friend of Chas Carson. Was it his suggestion that you approach me?”
Michon started to shake her head, but thought better of it. Mentioning Chas’s name might help her cause. If possible she didn’t want to tell Mr. Bishop that her relationship with Chas was only of one day’s duration. “Actually Chas mentioned that you might not have a woman able to accompany the girls. When I was in college I spent two summers as a camp counselor. I’ve had experience planning camp-outs, that sort of thing.” Michon could only hope that Mr. Bishop wouldn’t press her into having to admit that the summer camp-outs were a far cry from what was on her mind now.
“And you’re interested in the John Day expedition? I’m sorry if I sound confused.” Mr. Bishop stopped working with the hand grips and ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be a real job. There’s no money in the school’s budget to pay you.”
“Oh no,” Michon interrupted. “I have a job. Did you think I was applying for one?”
“That was my first impression.” Mr. Bishop grinned. “I must admit I was flattered. Not too many people are beating down the doors asking to get in on my crazy little project. The truth was, I had to secure private funding for the expedition before the school board would give its okay. But, back to what you’re saying. The students and Chas and I are going to be away from civilization for about a week. Are you sure you can commit yourself to that much time?”
She wasn’t being turned down! At least not without being allowed to plead her case. Michon gripped her hands together in her lap, still not completely understanding why this meant so much to her. “I have the vacation time coming,” she said briefly, not bothering to explain that she wasn’t sure she’d return to Chantilla even after the expedition was over.
“And you want to spend it with a group of teenagers on a river trip? Excuse me for sayi
ng this, Miss Lycan, but you strike me more as the type of woman who would spend her vacation in Hawaii or on a cruise. Are you sure you know what you’d be letting yourself in for?”
Michon nodded her head vigorously, admitting only to herself that she didn’t know what that week would demand of her, only that the time had come for that challenge, that change. “I can’t afford Hawaii or a cruise,” she said. “Besides, after Chas told me about the trip, I decided this was what I wanted to do. Do—is your wife going to be accompanying you?”
It was the teacher’s turn to shake his head. Or at least he started to. He stopped quickly, brow wrinkled. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten her name on the dotted line yet. She’s using her parents’ health as an excuse, but if you ask me, I don’t think she’s crazy about giving up a soft mattress. I don’t know.” He frowned. “Don’t get me wrong. I have to have a woman along to accompany the girls, but the truth is, I don’t know you, Miss Lycan. I’m much more concerned with having someone who will be able to keep a lid on high spirits, someone the girls will confide in, than an expert in outdoor survival. That’s Chas’s department. Of course the woman who accompanies us has to be capable of carrying her own weight.” Mr. Bishop stared at Michon’s long nails. “I have my reservations about your ability to stand the hardships. I don’t want to be hampered by someone who gives out halfway through.”
“I won’t.” Michon’s nails were digging into her palms and her mouth was threatening to tremble, but she was determined not to give in to her fears. “I promise you, I’ll finish what I start.” She decided to open up completely. “I feel as if I’m going crazy at work these days. I need to get away, learn a little more about myself.”
Mr. Bishop’s puzzled look prompted Michon to continue. “I’m tired of playing it safe. I want to see what I’m really made of. I need that. When Chas started telling me about the expedition, something about it set off a spark inside me. It’s what I need.”
