Beneath the Trees

by Laurel Saville

  The other two men nodded at her as Jack said their names. Darryl was burly, somewhat scowling, with a ball cap pulled down over his forehead. Liam was tall and leggy, stretched out casually in the too-small chair. He had almost comically chiseled good looks, his square jaw covered with a few days of dark-blond stubble, his hair a thick brush growing above the severe cliffs of his cheekbones.

  Colden wanted to get going. She looked at her watch. Nobody was moving.

  “Are we waiting for something?” she asked.

  Jack nodded reluctantly, then pointed his chin toward the door.

  “Yeah, that guy.”

  Colden turned and tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her surprise. Larry was ambling across the room. She furrowed her eyebrows and turned her hands up at Jack, asking for an explanation. He shrugged, rolled his eyes, and looked away. Larry came to the table, introduced himself, shook hands, and said her name once by way of a greeting. Again, no one moved. She looked from man to man and saw that all their eyes were lowered to the floor. Finally, Liam lifted his head and began scrutinizing Larry.

  “Don’t I know you, mate? Haven’t we met before?” he asked, the slight accusation in his voice softened by an Australian accent.

  Larry shook his head. “Nope, don’t think so.” He remained standing, stamping his feet and blowing on his hands. “Well, shall we get going?” he asked.

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Colden saw the problem immediately. There were now four men. One woman. The helicopter would have only four seats. She was angry that he was here. Yes, she found him creepy and annoying, but this was more important and potentially damaging: he was now jeopardizing her place on the expedition. He didn’t belong here. He was an academic, not a field biologist. He wasn’t part of this team, and he wasn’t part of the plan. Plus, he was overweight. He was soft. He was wearing sneakers. She waited for someone else to deal with the situation. Again, it was Liam who spoke up.

  “Well, we shan’t get going until we figure out who the ‘we’ is going to be,” he said cheerfully.

  Colden figured Liam was in his late thirties, although his face was deeply lined in the way that comes from years of outdoor work. He stood up. He was well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a vaguely military bearing. Not someone to be messed with.

  Larry looked up at Liam with a furrowed brow.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “Only four seats, mate,” Liam said. “We hadn’t planned on you.”

  Colden tried to catch Jack’s eye. He stared into his coffee cup.

  Larry shrugged. “You’ll be making several runs. Bring me on a couple and her on a couple.”

  Colden fumed. Of course, he’d pick her, not Jack, to be the expendable one. Jack was senior to her, more experienced, and from the organization that was funding this work, but still. Colden also knew that there was a more fundamental and embarrassing hurdle to Larry’s participation. She was not going to be the one to bring it up. Liam sucked his teeth.

  “Well, my friend, there’s a weight restriction, too,” he said.

  Larry stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “We’ve got quite a lot of gear,” Liam added. He paused and then said, “Necessary gear. And then three other men. Also necessary.”

  Colden suppressed a smile. Liam had quite a way of stating things. Larry wasn’t getting it.

  “And her,” Liam said, nodding in her direction. “She knows the terrain and the targets. She will be telling us where to go. So, she is also quite essential.”

  Larry rolled his eyes. “Not for every run, she isn’t.”

  Liam kept talking. His tone was breezy and matter-of-fact.

  “Well, even if that’s true, there is another problem. Not sure what you’re carrying, lad, but I’d guess pushing past two hundred and seventy-five? That puts us over the weight limit. No matter who else is on board with you.”

  Larry looked from one person to another, and Colden watched as comprehension slowly started to sink in. She wondered why he was pretending to care about this project that was so out of his comfort, academic, and research zones.

  “Fine,” Larry said, lowering himself to a chair. “You guys go as planned. Take me out later.” No one moved. “I just need to get a sense of the landscape,” Larry said. “That’s what I’m here for. To get the big picture and bring that information back to the department.”

  Colden doubted this was true. She suspected he had simply elbowed his way into this somehow simply because it was high profile. Larry carried on, undaunted.

  “I’ll go on one of the surveys. When you don’t have as much equipment. When you’re not netting. When you don’t need Darryl. Or her.”

  He glared at Colden. She didn’t care. She was going, and that was all that mattered.

  “Go,” Larry said, shooing them out, trying to take control. “I’ve got stuff to do, anyway.”

  Larry shrugged off his coat and set down his briefcase. The other four stood, shouldered their packs, and pushed in their chairs.

  Let him have his moment of pretend-being-in-charge, Colden thought. I’ve got a job to do.

  They did helicopter runs for four days. Colden saw the mountains she knew so well from a totally new perspective. The naked trees reaching up like penitents toward the severe skies. The alabaster expanses and icy ribbons of frozen ponds and lakes. The blankets of somber hemlock and firs interrupting the snow-covered hillsides. The sudden adrenaline rush as a form took shape and began to move in the otherwise-still landscape, the long legs and shaggy brown head of a moose resolving itself against the white ground as they approached. Then the propulsive shot of the net, followed by the animal tripping up and falling to the ground. The ’copter’s descent, with Darryl scrambling out before it was fully landed, racing to embrace the animal’s legs in ties and its face in a blindfold that rendered it immobile and quiet.

  Jack was always the next out, assisting Darryl and then assembling the collar around the animal’s massive neck. Colden ran with the equipment bag, her fingers stiffening in the cold as she grabbed syringes and bottles, snippers and labels, and took blood and hair samples, ran her fingers through the animal’s thick fur, looking for ticks, feeling for bones where she hoped there would be a layer of fat instead, dodging Jack who, once the collar was set, used a stethoscope to listen to the heart and lungs, and stretched out a white tape measure. Colden was always shocked at just how big the moose were, their heads as large as her body, ears almost as long as her forearm, legs like saplings. Then, everything was quickly packed up, Jack and Colden stepped back toward the waiting ’copter, and Darryl gingerly released the moose and shooed it, stumbling, confused, but unharmed, away and back to its life.

  Colden watched the moose grow small and distant as the helicopter pulled away and felt her own heart thump boldly in her chest. Sally was right—this was exciting. This was exactly what she had been working toward with every class and test she took, every grant she wrote, and every hour she spent staring into the landscape, hoping for something interesting and mysterious to materialize. She would be back to staring at a computer screen and charting data soon enough, but for these days, the cold slapping at her cheeks, the ’copter wings thumping overhead, and the moose’s hot, damp breath in her face made every hour she had to spend indoors seem worth it.

  No wonder Larry wanted to be in on it. He was there every morning when they arrived at the airport. He didn’t need to be, as Liam never took him out until the last run of the day. But there he was, in the lame little lounge, making himself appear busy with papers or his laptop. She asked him once if his hotel room wouldn’t be more comfortable, but he just grumbled something about better Wi-Fi at the airport. She shrugged and reminded herself that she didn’t need to care what Larry did, as long as he wasn’t in her way. Liam took him up for a couple of brief outings. They came back looking like a couple who’d been on an awkward, uncommunicative first date. She lost track of how many runs the team did together,
but by the end of it all, they’d collared and taken blood and other samples from fifteen moose. Nine more than they’d gotten last year.

  One morning, Jack made the point in front of the whole team, including Larry, that Colden’s vast and specific knowledge of the mountains had been an invaluable contribution. She blushed unexpectedly at the professional compliment. In addition, the condition of the animals had been generally good. The parasites were fewer than they expected. Only one moose gave them concern, but she was mature and had most of her reproductive years behind her. Even Larry’s looming presence couldn’t dampen her—or everyone else’s—enthusiasm at the overall success of their mission.

  It all ended late on a Thursday afternoon. They packed their gear and lingered, making small talk, unwilling to separate and break the spell and camaraderie of the last few days.

  “Let’s go get a pint,” Liam said suddenly. “Anywhere near here decent? Maybe with a pool table?” He looked directly at Colden as he spoke. “You’re local; you must have a favorite spot.”

  “Sure, I know a place,” she said, holding his gaze.

  “Lead the way,” Liam said.

  “Yes, let’s go,” Larry interjected. “My treat.”

  Liam slowly drew his eyes off Colden’s face and looked at Larry as if trying to remember who he was. Colden turned her head and rolled her eyes. Larry was trying again to be one of the cool kids. When nothing else worked, use money.

  “Good idea,” Liam conceded, clapping Larry hard on the shoulder. “Your treat, eh? I like the sound of that.”

  The restaurant Colden chose had a few pickup trucks in the parking lot when they arrived. It was that almost-end-of-day hour, well after lunch had finished but before dinner had begun. The five of them gathered around a table, and Liam immediately took charge, ordering pitchers and appetizers for everyone to share.

  After they’d clinked mugs, Larry started to say something. Some serious, academic question that he was prefacing with a dry dissertation designed to prove that he knew arcana about moose.

  Jack lifted his hand to stop him, muttered something about everyone being off the clock, leaned back, and said, “Liam, tell us a story.”

  Larry lowered his drink and his eyes, his body stiffening and shrinking into itself slightly, a slug touched by a fingertip.

  Liam began telling stories, and the awkward moment passed. All his tales involved various, often dangerous, frequently funny mishaps and malfunctions he’d experienced—bears coming out of sedation faster than expected, caribou running off with a net tangled in one leg, an enraged female moose charging them, an idiot jumping up from his seat at the sight of wolves below and unbalancing the ’copter so that it almost crashed. He was entertaining and self-deprecating. He had a deep and throaty laugh. Colden knew there were plenty of real calamities in his line of work. Large, confused, and scared animals are notoriously dangerous. Helicopters are fickle aircraft. Scientists and academics sometimes lack common sense and practical abilities. Liam made it all seem like a lark.

  She noticed that Larry listened, distracted, snickered a bit, but seemed generally annoyed and put out somehow. She didn’t care. She felt unusually buoyant and gregarious. They’d had great success, and she was ready to unwind. This was not something that came naturally to her. It was not something she generally felt she needed or wanted. The beer, the laughter, and their achievement loosened something in her that was more usually overshadowed by her drive to be on the move, looking, searching, and making things happen.

  She allowed herself to register the fact that Liam had pulled out a chair for her and then placed himself in the one right next to it. He’d then slowly and casually closed the gap between their seats until she could feel the heat from his body. He topped off her beer and pointed at something on her menu, asking her if she’d tried it before. The fingers of his hand were muscled, well used, with large knuckles, and one was bent at a funny angle from what must have been a bad break. No wedding ring. As the light outside the windows dimmed and the lights inside came up, as the pitchers emptied and new ones arrived, as her cheeks began to ache from sustained laughter and her stomach filled with nachos and artichoke dip, fried foods, and pizza slices, she felt increasingly that she and Liam were contained in a small, clear bubble that only they could see or feel.

  Then it popped. A waiter was unexpectedly at her side, tapping on her shoulder. Liam was leaning around her from the other side, protectively. Colden couldn’t quite work out why the young man was standing there, so clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed.

  “What’s up?” Liam asked the waiter on her behalf.

  “The gentleman at the bar asked me to bring this over to the lady.”

  The waiter set a martini glass in front of Colden. The brightly colored drink looked like an expensive and gaudy jewel next to her pint of piss-yellow beer. Colden turned in her seat, away from Liam, toward the bar. A dark-haired man in a pair of jeans, an oxford shirt, and lightly worn day hikers raised a glass, similar in shape but different, darker, in contents, at her. He had a tightly trimmed beard. She couldn’t place him. It wasn’t until he smiled, showing his bright, white teeth, that Colden was momentarily transported to that coffee shop in Albany. This was the guy who had sat across from her so unexpectedly. The lawyer. Or lobbyist. What was the guy’s name? Allen? Aiden? No, Andrew. Drew. He’d told her to call him Drew. What was he doing way up here? It was disconcerting to have a piece of Albany appear in the Adirondacks. Colden gave him a desultory and unenthusiastic wave.

  “Boyfriend?” Liam’s breath was warm, moist, and gently teasing against her neck.

  “Nah,” she said, trying for lightness. “Just some guy I know from Albany. Have no idea what he’s doing up here.”

  Of course, she did have an idea. She was the one who had chastised him about coming to see the raw materials of his employer’s wealth.

  “Nice drink,” Liam grinned.

  “Not really my cup of tea,” Colden said.

  “You mean the drink or the dude?”

  Colden laughed.

  “I should go over and say thanks.”

  “Don’t be gone too long.”

  As she stood, Colden tried not to be irritated. She didn’t want to leave Liam. She blamed Drew and his stupid pink drink.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He was alone at the bar, several empty seats on either side of him, as if he was surrounded by a moat. Locals would have him instantly pegged as a city slicker and give him a wide berth. Hopefully, he didn’t notice this self-protective, preemptive rudeness from her neighbors.

  “What brings you up here?”

  “Took your advice,” he said. “Came for a visit.”

  Colden didn’t really want to start a conversation. But she didn’t want to be impolite, either.

  “Well, hope it’s going well. Not the best time of year to see the ’daks in all their glory,” she said.

  “Honestly, it’s a biz trip.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That makes more sense.”

  Colden didn’t know what else to say. She realized she was buzzed. It had been a long time since she drank more than a couple of beers. She didn’t know if she should stay or turn away. Her thoughts were vaguely garbled and foggy.

  “Well, thanks for the drink.”

  “Colden?” Drew asked, his voice low and grave. “I could use your help with something. Could I give you a call sometime?”

  She blinked in confusion. The bold and provocative tone she remembered from their first meeting was no longer in evidence.

  “It’s work related,” he said, unfolding his wallet where it lay on the bar. “Here, take my card. Call if you can. There’s some . . . um . . . something I’d like to sort out, and I could use a local’s perspective.”

  Local. In some people’s mouths, that word had the whiff of insult. Colden reminded herself that he was just being descriptive. She found herself wondering why he wasn’t flirting with her like he had in Albany. Which annoyed her—not so
much that he wasn’t flirting, but that she noticed. Which was a sign that she cared. She didn’t want to care.

  “Aren’t your clients local?” she snipped.

  Drew shook his head. “Not local in the way I mean,” he said. “Not local in the way I need.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  Colden sounded more flippant than she meant to.

  “It kinda is.”

  Drew was not joking.

  She took the card. Slid it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “OK. I’ll call you. I’ll try to help.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “I should get back. Good to see you, and thanks for the drink. Enjoy your visit.”

  As she turned to her table, she saw Larry on a direct path toward her.

  “So many admirers,” he hissed as he passed her on his way to the bathroom.

  Ugh. Gross, she thought as she settled back into her seat.

  She felt Liam draping his arm over the back of her chair. He tipped his head toward hers. She felt the tickle of his goatee against her ear.

  “Keep me company tonight,” he whispered.

  His words caused her insides to flush in an unfamiliar way. He moved his arm closer to her back. She felt his bicep against one shoulder blade, his forearm against the other. She took a deep breath and let herself relax into his embrace. She allowed her head to brush his cheek and closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them and saw Larry lowering himself clumsily into a chair. He was still glaring at her. Or maybe that was just his habitual expression. Maybe she took everything he did too personally. Maybe she should just lighten up.