Beneath the Trees

by Laurel Saville

  “Get your act together. You’re no use to her if you are injured,” she said out loud.

  Colden slowed down, became more careful in her progress, and followed the barks. She was close now. She looked at her watch. She’d only been running for about twenty minutes. It seemed like hours. There. There in a dip in the land, a gap in the understory, there was a dark patch, the filtered sun reflecting white on something shiny and black. Daisy. Sitting. Panting. The leaf litter around her was roughed up, as if there had been a scuffle of some sort.

  “Daisy. C’mon, Daisy,” Colden urged, squatting, holding out her hand.

  Daisy whined and stayed where she was. Colden felt Daisy’s fear and was mortified that the dog was afraid to approach her.

  “C’mon, Daisy girl,” she whispered. “It’s OK. C’mon, girl.”

  Daisy lunged toward Colden, then yelped and fell back.

  “Fuck.”

  Colden scrambled toward Daisy, sweat and tears blinding her. She wiped her arm across her face, but her high-tech wicking shirt would not absorb the salt water and smeared debris across her eyes instead.

  “Stop crying, you idiot,” she demanded of herself.

  She stroked Daisy’s heaving side. She ran her hands over her body. Scratches. A little blood. Then her front leg. Swollen. Serious edema. There. There it was. A thin wire just above her elbow. A snare. No, not a wire. A thin cord. Whatever. Her dog had been caught in a rabbit snare.

  Colden sat back on her heels and spoke softly to Daisy, urging her to be still. The dog’s struggling to get free had tightened the string, so it was almost hidden in her flesh. Already. If Colden simply released the snare, blood would immediately rush into the leg. She didn’t know if that was good or bad, but it had to be painful. The snare was a simple, homemade thing, the kind described in everything from Boy Scout manuals to survivalist treatises. She tried to loosen the slipknot. Daisy squirmed and nipped at Colden’s fingers, which were already wet with the dog’s blood; Daisy had bitten her own flesh as she tried to free herself. Even though Colden tried to go slowly, suddenly the string was loose, and Daisy was licking and biting frantically at her leg. Colden stroked the leg, trying to soothe the pain, her fingers mingling with Daisy’s tongue and teeth. Daisy flopped over onto her side in exhaustion. Colden took everything out of her pack, stuffed it in the exterior pockets, unzipped the front, and maneuvered Daisy in. The dog squirmed and wriggled a few times, then settled. Colden zipped her up, snugged the top gently around Daisy’s neck, slid her arms through the straps, stood up with forty pounds of dog on her back, and started her trudge through the forest.

  She paused only once, and that was to send her dad another text. She just said that Daisy was injured, she was on her way out, and she would go directly to the vet. When she got there almost three hours later, he was there, waiting for her.

  “Snare. Front leg,” was all Colden had to say when he came to the door of the truck.

  Dix lifted the dog from the passenger side. Her broad, pink tongue flashed repeatedly over his face. They went into the office together, handed the dog over to a tech, and sat in the waiting room, silent and grave.

  “It’s my fault,” Colden eventually said. “I wasn’t careful enough. The leash handle broke. I should have bought the more expensive one. I shouldn’t have let it slip through my hands. I should have held on.”

  Dix wrapped one long arm around her shoulder.

  “This is too hard, Dad,” Colden said. “I was really starting to love her. And then I didn’t keep her safe.”

  “The world is full of tempting dangers,” Dix said. “She went and got herself caught up in one. It happens to the best of us.”

  21.

  Brayden sat on a rock in front of his shelter. It was hot and still. So was he. The bugs were ferocious, but he never slapped at them anymore. He waited. Most times, he found, they didn’t even bite. If one did, he slowly, methodically, brushed it off his body. He had become someone who moved as little as possible. Not because of laziness. It was an internal change. It was about economy of energy expenditure. He moved only as required. Plenty was required—collecting firewood, keeping his camp tidy and concealed, fishing, foraging, setting snares. In between what was necessary, he sat or lay or even stood completely still. He could easily watch deer stepping gingerly among the birches and maples, silent on their slender legs and sharp hooves, their fur the color of last year’s dead leaves, not afraid of him because they didn’t see him, their eyes and brains cued to react to movement. He watched the leaves of the large beech tree just in front of his cave twitch and sashay in the small gusts of warm, humid air that found their way to his retreat. He listened to the sparrows signing their chirping melodies. There was a chipmunk who would now eat directly from his fingertips, even come up his leg and sit on his thigh, nibbling on one of the sunflower seeds he held out for it.

  Not too long ago, he’d found a couple of packs a bear had liberated from a campsite and dragged away. The packs were ripped apart, but Brayden was able to open the pockets the bear couldn’t get into. There wasn’t much, but the few packets of nuts, seeds, trail mix, and ramen he found were a distinct treat for him. One he was willing to share to get the companionship of a chipmunk.

  He listened to the rhythmic pounding of a woodpecker not far away, the call of loons from the pond where he fished, a plane far overhead. Then, a dog barking. That was rare. Brayden loved dogs. He’d always wanted to have one, but his dad would never let him. Never said why. Brayden thought his father’s only reason was just that Brayden wanted one so badly. Another way his dad could control the situation. Could be an asshole, just because, apparently, it felt good to him to be an asshole. The barking kept up. Brayden smiled at the sound.

  He’d seen a woman in the woods earlier in the day with a dog. He was out setting some snares. He’d seen her before. Once. He recognized her long, dark-blonde hair, the blue pack, the determined way she walked. That first time, she had been setting up a tent not too far from here. That seemed a long time ago. She didn’t have a dog then.

  This time, this day, he’d seen her and the dog on a trail. He was only thirty feet or so away, but he knew they wouldn’t see him. People didn’t see what they didn’t expect to see. So busy, they were always looking for what they thought they knew or wanted to be there. He stood very still, mostly hidden behind a tree, moving nothing but his eyes. He watched the dog pause and lift its head in Brayden’s direction, scenting on him. The woman pulled gently on the long, bright yellow leash that connected the dog to some sort of a belt around her waist. She never glanced his way. She was focused on whatever was ahead of her.

  He had a friend with a dog, he remembered. They’d go into the woods, and the dog helped him hunt coyotes. Raccoons, too. As he sat at his camp, listening to the dog bark reminded him of the way his friend’s dog sounded when it treed a coon. That had been fun, being out with a friend and his dog. That was a nice memory. Brayden didn’t have many of them. He knew good things had happened to him in the past. His entire life wasn’t all bad. He even did some good stuff with his dad. Scouts. Fixing things. Working together from time to time. The sum total of actual time that his dad spent abusing him, it wasn’t that much, really. There were so many more hours in the day, so many other days in the year. There was more to his life than just that horrible stuff.

  So, why didn’t his agony match the actual quantity of abuse? Why did it seem that one bad thing, the really bad thing, that happened only a few times, well, maybe several times a year for a lot of years, why did that thing take over every other thing? He didn’t understand. He wished it wasn’t so.

  The dog barking stopped. He wondered if it was that woman’s dog. Already, he could barely remember what the dog looked like. It was just a fleeting memory. She must have gone home. Home. He imagined her in some nice log cabin, dog asleep at her feet, fire roaring. Well, not a fire now. It was too hot these days. But still. Brayden’s home was behind him, behind a tarp and a layer
of evergreen boughs. Not that different from the home his chipmunk kept in his hollow in a punky log. Brayden’s home was simply a bigger hollow under a very large rock. Still. It was the best one he’d had.

  22.

  The e-mail said that Drew was coming north. He had a meeting with his clients, information to share, and he asked Colden if he could meet Gene. He said there was no need for her to keep being an intermediary. Colden didn’t want to, in any case. She didn’t like the cloak-and-dagger vibe of the situation. She also wanted and needed to be with Daisy. The vet had removed her leg. There was just too much damage from the couple of hours without blood flow, and they were concerned about infection, paralysis, and nerve damage. The vet told Colden not to worry, that dogs don’t have an emotional attachment to their limbs and that she’d be getting around perfectly well as a “tripod” in no time. Still, Colden was miserable about the situation, and Daisy needed her help while she healed and adjusted to her three legs.

  Dix said he’d take Drew over to Gene’s. Something in his tone made it seem that this was not just a courtesy, but preferable to all parties. This made Colden uncomfortable. She didn’t like the idea of these distinct and disparate parts of her life colliding, especially when she wouldn’t be there to supervise or even observe. But there was no way she’d send Drew over to Gene’s alone. An intermediary was essential.

  Drew arrived at her house in a little Subaru. Colden was surprised. She’d expected a BMW or an Audi. Didn’t lawyers always drive nice cars? She was somehow pleased and disappointed by his choice of vehicle. Mostly, she was glad to see him. His broad smile and crooked teeth had somehow insinuated themselves into her psyche and become a familiar and welcome sight. She introduced Drew to her father in the driveway.

  “Well, shall we go?” her father said, surprising her.

  “Sure!” Drew replied.

  They got into Dix’s truck and left. Colden had hoped for some time to see them together, to sheepdog some conversation. Men. Like dogs, it didn’t take them any time at all to simply connect and get to the work at hand.

  They were gone for a few hours. It seemed longer than necessary to Colden. She wondered whether the extra time meant things were going well. Or perhaps, not well. She heard the truck coming up the drive before she saw it. She looked over at Daisy. The dog was zonked out in her crate. Colden went outdoors. Dix and Drew got out of the truck, smiling and chatting. Colden felt a flash of jealousy. She was peevish that she’d been left out of something, something important.

  They lowered their voices when they saw her, like teenagers seeing a teacher coming down the hallway. The three of them stood in the driveway, a bit awkward with one another. Colden asked them how it went. Her voice felt falsely cheerful.

  “Great,” Dix said.

  “Really well,” Drew quickly added.

  Colden looked from one to the other, hoping for more. She didn’t get it.

  “Beer?” Dix asked, turning to Drew.

  “Sure! Why not?” Drew replied.

  Colden felt vaguely alarmed that Drew was about to come into her house and it was not at her invitation.

  “How’s Daisy?” Drew asked.

  “She’s sleeping.”

  Colden crossed her arms and planted her feet. No one moved toward the house.

  “What’s going on? Why are you two being so weird?” she demanded.

  “Nothing’s going on,” Dix said, stepping away from the truck and waving Drew forward. “We’re not being weird.”

  Colden watched them walk away, wishing they’d return, wondering what had happened out at Gene’s, and then followed. Dix and Drew were already pulling on beers when she stepped into the kitchen. Dix handed her one.

  “Such a beautiful area,” Drew said to Colden. “Your dad showed me around a little.”

  Colden took this in, her father and Drew joyriding.

  “You’re staying for dinner, right?” Dix confirmed, speaking to Drew.

  “Love to,” Drew said as he tipped back his bottle. “Long drive ahead. Nice of you to offer.”

  “Oh, don’t drive back to Albany tonight,” Dix said. “Not if you don’t have to. We’ve got plenty of room here.”

  Colden looked from one man to the other.

  “Wow. Quite the male bonding went on out there at Gene’s, apparently,” she said.

  Dix and Drew stared at her, neither responding.

  “So, what did you guys find out?” she continued. “Who’s the culprit?”

  Dix dropped his eyes. Drew did the same. When he looked up, he took a long swig of beer before answering.

  “Uh. Well, Gene wants to keep that confidential. However, we got it all squared away. Came to a great agreement. Nothing a few Benjamin Franklins and a good chat couldn’t resolve.”

  “Confidential? Well, surely that doesn’t apply to me,” Colden said.

  Drew bobbed his head up and down. So did Dix.

  Drew shrugged and said, “’Fraid so.”

  Dix mouthed the word sorry.

  Colden was about to protest further but was interrupted by the sound of Daisy whimpering and the back door opening at Sally’s arrival. Colden left the kitchen—Dix could handle introducing Sally—and hustled to Daisy’s side. She used a sling to lift her up and help her limp outdoors.

  In the lowering light of the summer evening, Colden pouted. She didn’t like being excluded. She didn’t understand why or accept that it was necessary, especially in this instance and with these people. She could not imagine why Gene would not trust her with whatever information he had.

  Daisy squatted awkwardly to pee, lost her balance, was caught by the sling, and then looked up at Colden, her tail slowly wagging and her tongue hanging out. She looked slightly confused but not in pain. She was a little drunk on medications. She tried to lick her stitches and almost fell over again. Her ears pricked, and her eyes focused on something in the yard. A bright yellow tennis ball in the faded grass. Tears sprang to Colden’s eyes.

  “After all these weeks of wishing you’d stop chasing the damn ball, now that’s the only thing I hope for, my friend,” she said.

  Colden turned to lead Daisy back to the house. As she did, she saw, through the kitchen window, Sally, Dix, and Drew laughing at something. They made a bright circle of smiles. She found it terribly unsettling that Drew had broken free of the secure mooring she had created in Albany and was now floating around the rest of her life.

  Daisy and Colden took a few small, slow steps. Daisy stumbled. Colden leaned over and lifted the dog into her arms. She pressed her nose against Daisy’s neck. She used to smell like cut grass and pond water. Now, she smelled like iodine and alcohol. Together, they stutter-shuffled their way back into the house.

  The next hour was busy with dinner preparation and small talk. Colden let her irritation go. It wasn’t until they had almost finished eating their meal that Sally asked Drew if he’d found out anything about Larry. Colden glared at her.

  “What?” Sally said. “I’m not allowed to ask?”

  Colden didn’t really want her personal embarrassment shared over the dining table. Apparently, it was too late for her to be delicate in this way. Her parents were treating Drew like an old family friend.

  “It’s OK, Colden,” Drew said, smiling at her and laying his hand on her arm. “In fact,” he said, addressing everyone at the table, “I did find out a little bit.”

  Drew told them that at first, the Larry trail held only a few breadcrumbs. Then, things changed when Colden got his former and full name. Drew had found that Larry, Lawrence, had a few glitches in his professional career many years earlier when he worked at a small college in the Southwest. He was accused of some irregularities in his research, then of sexually harassing a colleague. Nothing stuck in either charge. Everything was dropped, and his record was basically clean.

  “Do you think there’s a connection between those things?” Dix asked.

  “Likely,” Drew said. “Not provable, but the person he
allegedly harassed was listed as a coauthor on a few papers. There’s some connection.”

  “So, someone he worked with found out he did something wrong in his research, charged him, and then he started to harass her?” Colden suggested. “Tried to silence her for daring to cross him?”

  “Maybe,” Drew said.

  “What else could it be?” Colden insisted.

  “Innocent until proven guilty,” Drew said.

  “Where there is smoke, there is fire,” Colden shot back.

  “I think,” Sally interjected with a pointed calm in her voice, “The issue we should be considering is what we can or should do from here. We can’t do anything about what happened in the past. We just want to stop him from bothering Colden. And from harassing people in the future.”

  “I’m not bothered by him,” Colden said defensively.

  “Well, I am,” Drew said cheerfully.

  “Unfortunately, we have no proof,” Dix said. “There are no literal or figurative fingerprints that connect him to the e-mails or books.”

  “Unless he was stupid enough to use his own credit card to order the books,” Sally said.

  “Unlikely,” Drew replied. “And even if he did, we have no way of getting that info. It appears that we have no case to pursue at this stage.”

  “No case unless he does something worse,” Colden noted.

  No one spoke for a few minutes.

  “I read something interesting recently,” Dix said after taking a few swallows of water. “There was this woman, a columnist or comedian or something. She was harassed by someone online. Social media stuff. There wasn’t much she could do, legally speaking. So, she did something completely unexpected. She talked to the guy. Well, one of the guys. The worst one, I guess. She confronted him, kindly, and basically asked him why he was doing what he did. Told him how she felt. He stopped.”