by Warren Adler
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, folks,” Harry said, obviously relieved. He stood up and rubbed his chin, looking very much like someone who needed a drink.
Again Scott thought of the stash of booze buried not far from where they sat.
“Let’s drop it, Harry,” their father said, with a sense of authority. “We accept your apology and leave it at that. We’re here for…well…the experience and reliving old memories. Right, kids?”
The repetition was beginning to grate.
“Sure, Dad,” Scott said, nodding. He winked at Courtney who shrugged with resignation.
Their father looked up at the star-studded sky. “In the face of that magnificence, how can anything on this planet be more important? Makes you feel…well, insignificant…and all the petty problems of us humans irrelevant.”
“You got that right, Temple,” Harry said. He looked up at the sky and started to point out the constellations.
The man knew his stuff, Scott mused. He knew about the wilderness, wildflowers, animals, trees, the sky. It was his turf, and he had spent his life at it and did not want to throw it away.
On the other hand, he might be feeling trapped in the repetitive cycle of trek after trek with strangers over much the same terrain. Obviously, he had gotten frightened as he sobered and saw the possibilities of a terrible and humiliating ending to what had become a lifelong career. Although Scott could understand the man’s fear, he did not quite trust his ability to make good on his promise.
As he listened to Harry point out the constellations with expert knowledge, Scott found his glance drawn to the area of the buried stash. An idea was growing in his mind.
“Just like the planetarium at the Rose Center,” their father joked.
“Nothing like the real thing,” Courtney said.
Harry chuckled, obviously relieved that the crisis had passed. Tomas came back with the plates and went about his business of cleanup and hoisting the remaining food supplies up a log crossbar, the so-called meat pole, that he had erected to discourage the bears.
“Maybe tomorrow we can ride to the Table Mountain trailhead. Nice easy ride. And if you feel up to it, maybe a climb. Great views.”
“I’ll take the ride,” their father said. “But no climbing. These bones are too old for that.”
Scott remembered the climb, smiling at the memory. He and Courtney had stopped along the way up and made love half standing, leaning against recesses in the rock. They were young and supple with boundless energy, far outstripping their parents who had climbed as well, but much slower.
They were so self-absorbed then that they had no fear of consequences. He noted that apparently that trek had been a kind of demarcation point between fun and games and obsession. When they returned to New York, somehow the relationship had changed. They had become more than mere carefree siblings. They were lovers, and it was likely that their child had been conceived in the wilderness, perhaps on the way up the mountain trail.
For years, he had attempted to dismiss it from his mind, excise the memory. Now he found himself drawn toward it like a moth to the flame. It was, he sensed, all coming back, the old obsession, the angst, the guilt, and the excruciating pleasure. He cursed his inability to resist.
After a while, Harry moved back to the tent, and the three of them were alone again, talking in whispers.
“Do you believe him?” Scott asked.
“I believe he believes himself,” Courtney replied.
“Meaning he wouldn’t be able to keep his word.”
“He’ll try, but I think he’s reached the stage where he’d have trouble quitting cold turkey. The guy needs AA.”
“Let’s not presuppose,” their father said. “I say we give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Scott started to argue the point, but Courtney poked him in the thigh, an obvious signal to desist.
They sat in silence for a long time listening to the night sounds of the wilderness. In the distance Coyotes bayed, showing themselves masters of the night sounds.
“On that other matter, Dad,” Courtney began. She exchanged a brief glance with Scott.
“Other matter?” their father said, recalling. “Yes. I remember.”
“You said, well, that you were reevaluating,” Courtney said, pausing. “You said something about amendments.”
“We were discussing, you know, helping us out again.”
“I said I was certainly open to it.”
“In the end it comes down to numbers, Dad,” Courtney said, with obvious hesitation. “I know its sounds crass, and this may be the wrong place and time.”
“I don’t know, kids,” Temple said. “This is not the place for numbers.”
“We’re all together, Dad. It’s as good a time as any.”
Scott felt somewhat shocked. He had not expected them to get down to brass tacks so soon. Nevertheless he felt obliged to follow her lead. Resisting her was his Achilles heel.
“Please don’t think badly about us for bringing up the matter,” Scott said. “This is one great deal I have, Dad. I’ve checked out everything. I get control for eight hundred thou. That and a cushion could give me a chance to rock and roll. People still have to eat. It’s basic. No big-deal technology required, just the software to keep track of inventory, sales, and expenses. I’ve done the due diligence. It’s the greatest opportunity that’s ever crossed my path. It’ll come back to you, Dad. I’ll pay back every cent—in spades. I’ve never had such a positive feeling. I know, Dad, that I’ve had my hard knocks, but I’ve learned from my mistakes, and I think I can really hack this. It’s not pie in the sky, Dad. All I ask is for you to help me take this shot. If this goes down, I promise no more asking for loans. I make this a solemn promise.”
“Give him a break on this, Dad,” Courtney interjected. Their father looked into the fire as if in deep contemplation. Scott watched and waited nervously.
“If you need to see the figures again, Dad …” Scott began.
Temple nodded, but the gesture seemed ambiguous, the sale not yet made. Scott decided to retreat for the moment, change direction.
“And, Dad, consider Courtney’s career. She is going to make it. She has the talent, but she needs the leisure to focus.” He looked toward his sister. “I know she can do it. Faith goes a long way, Dad. We both need your encouragement and support.”
“I’m not against it, kids. Believe me. I’m not. Muriel, too, would welcome the idea. We’ve discussed it. She’s no dummy when it comes to numbers. That’s her business. Dealt with them all her life. Believe me, I know what you’re saying. I want to do the right thing by both of you. I do.”
“We won’t blow it, Dad,” Scott said. “We’ll try like hell not to disappoint you, Dad. No way.”
“You’ll see, Dad,” Courtney pressed. “I promise you on Mom’s memory. We won’t let you down.”
They watched their father’s face, his eyes reflecting the fire’s last gasp. His eyes were clearly moist. He looked up at them.
“All I ask is your love and respect. That’s all I want in return.”
Scott felt an odd sense of both elation and sympathy. For years he had always believed that he had betrayed his father, had been an evil ungrateful son. The weight of his betrayal hung heavy in his mind. The affair with his sister, the theft of the diamonds would never be excised. He did not really believe he was worthy of his father’s largesse and confidence.
“You’ve always had our respect, Dad,” Scott said, a lump welling in his chest. It occurred to him suddenly that he was begging for something for which he was not entitled. His deception gnawed at him. It could never disappear.
“Okay, son,” their father said, obviously deeply moved. “I’m the father here. I gave you life. I will not let you down. Not ever. Win or lose. Actually, Muriel and I have gone over the figures.”
“Muriel …” Courtney began, cutting her brother a knowing look that said: Told you so.
“She’ll be a fantastic h
elp to me. You’ll see. You’ll adore her. She’s wise and understanding and respects my feeling for my kids.”
Scott embraced his father, and his father held him closely. For the first time in years, he felt connected, a loving son. He was genuinely grateful, although he would always question his worthiness. Then he remembered Courtney’s plea.
“And Courtney’s request, Dad?”
“Muriel is all for it.”
“Sounds like she’s very influential,” Courtney said. Although the sarcasm seemed obvious, Scott noted that it sailed right over his father’s head.
“Yes, she is.”
“Is it possible to be more specific, Dad?” Courtney asked, her tone too obviously businesslike. It seemed to Scott that she was adopting a negotiating stance. An old hand at business, his father appeared to note the fact.
“Hardly in this place. But just as soon as I get home,” their father said. “That is my commitment to you both.”
Scott had no doubt about his conviction and intent. Courtney’s expression had turned sour.
“I suppose you’ll need to talk with Muriel.”
“Of course,” Temple said.
“Remember though, kids, it’s not about the money. It’s about family. It’s always been about family. Why shouldn’t I share with my children?”
“For me as well,” Scott said. Courtney remained silent.
“Oh God, how much I miss your mother,” Temple whispered. “I wish she was here beside us now.”
“I’m sure she is, Dad,” Scott said, looking into the darkness. “Somewhere.”
“I feel that,” their father said. “I do.”
“But now you have Muriel,” Courtney said.
“A stroke of luck, kids. I’m sure your mother would approve. She would hate to see me lonely and unhappy.”
“You think so?” Courtney asked.
“Of course, she would,” Scott said, hoping to forestall any more sarcasm from his sister. In the diminished light of the fire, he was thankful he could not see his sister’s expression. He got up from the log and patted the seat of his pants. “Now let’s hope we can enjoy the rest of the trip.”
“If we can,” Courtney said. “Frankly, I don’t trust Harry. He’s a fucking drunk. Maybe we should force him to take us back as soon as possible.”
Scott cut a quick glance at his sister. He understood her machinations. Staying now would be redundant, and she was right about not trusting Harry. Besides, from his point of view, their mission had been accomplished.
“Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt, kids.”
“I told you, Dad,” Courtney said. “You can’t reason with an addict. His apology may have been sincere, but he can’t beat his addiction. No way. Not out here. The man needs help.”
“She’s got a point, Dad.”
“Let’s ask him to stop the trek,” Courtney said.
“We’ll see how it goes,” their father said.
“I mean it, Dad. He’s dangerous. Out of control. Let him keep the money and bring us the hell out of here.”
“Let’s not panic,” their father said. “He did promise.”
“The man is a chronic drunk. He could get us all killed.”
“Let’s put it on hold, see how it goes tomorrow,” Temple said. “Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad. Look how wonderful we’ve gotten along.”
“Dad’s right,” Scott said, throwing Courtney an admonishing glance.
Throughout this conversation, Scott had assumed that Tomas was out of earshot, busy with his usual closing-day camp chores. But a sudden sound very near them reminded him that he had not heard any movement during this brief conversation. Had the Mexican overheard them or was this merely an extension of his earlier fear? Once again, he dismissed the idea that any of what Tomas had seen or heard had any relevance or presented any danger.
“Off to dreamland,” their father said, rising. After more paternal hugs and kisses, he proceeded to his tent, leaving Courtney and Scott alone. Tomas suddenly materialized near their fire. He looked briefly at Courtney who had also risen.
“Maybe you’re right, Tomas,” Scott said, acknowledging his presence. “Harry came out of his tent and apologized for his conduct. He seemed fine.”
“He be okay,” Courtney blurted, mimicking Tomas.
Scott observed a flicker of anger in the Mexican’s expression, as if he had taken Courtney’s mimicry as an insult. He could not shake the feeling that there was something sinister percolating in the man.
“I guess you were right, Tomas,” Scott said, feeling a sudden need to mollify him. Tomas nodded and shrugged with an air of indifference.
“He drinking man but not a fool,” Tomas said. “He don’ wan’ no trouble.” Then he added for emphasis. “Don’ make no trouble.”
Was it a threat? Scott waited for more to be said, but suddenly the Mexican was silent.
“We’re cool now, Tomas. No problem,” Scott said, looking at Courtney.
Tomas seemed to be studying his face. Shrugging, he moved away toward his tent.
“He makes me uneasy,” Scott said when he had gone. “I hate him knowing.”
“Forget it.”
“Do you think he heard what we were saying?”
“So what? He sees things. He hears things. Why should it matter to him? Why should anything we do or say be on his agenda? Forget it.”
Courtney rose and embraced her brother. She whispered in his ear.
“I’d call it a good start.”
“Good start?”
He was puzzled.
“There’s still Muriel,” she said.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” She laughed and patted his arm. “Why think, when we can do?”
He knew what she meant.
“Come on, Scottie. Don’t be coy. A little pleasure won’t hurt.”
“Not here,” he whispered.
She giggled, and they moved stealthily beyond the camp to the edge of the meadow where Tomas had hobbled the horses.
“Just don’t scream,” he whispered, putting a hand over her mouth as they made love.
“As good as it gets,” she said, her mouth close to his ear.
“Better.”
“Time to crash,” Scott said, when they disengaged.
“Me, too,” Courtney said. She lifted her face, and Scott kissed her. Again he recalled their earlier problems. He knew it could happen again, the compulsive attachment. Love! Maybe that part would never be over for him.
“Let’s not push it, Courtney. Let’s call this trek the swan song. No more. Once and for all,” he said. “Besides, if Dad comes across, we’ll both be pretty busy. Why look for trouble?”
“Poor Scottie,” she said. “Always worried. Hell, it’s been two decades. Consider it pure recreation. Nothing more.”
“Once out of here. Over. Agreed?”
She nodded and squeezed his crotch.
“Bye, bye, Birdie,” she sang in a whisper.
They made their way back to camp and with a brief wave to each other crawled into their tents.
After a while the camp grew quiet, except for the sound of snoring coming from Harry’s tent. Scott must have slept, but some inner sense of alertness awoke him, as if he had been waiting for the sound. Scott struggled out of his sleeping bag and peeked through the flap. He saw Tomas quietly digging at the edge of the campsite where Scott had observed him the night before, and he watched as the Mexican lifted a bottle from the hole then covered it up again. Moving stealthily, Tomas placed the bottle through the flap in Harry’s tent then went back to his own.
Keeping his breathing shallow, Scott waited and watched. The camp grew quiet again. He needed to think. Courtney was right. Despite his promises, Harry was not going to stop. His little speech of contrition was contrived.
Scott turned a number of scenarios over in his mind. All of them spelled danger. Then an idea struck him.
He left his own tent an
d crawled into Courtney’s and gently awakened her, putting a hand over her mouth. He bent over and whispered in her ear.
“Don’t make a sound.”
“Really, Scott. Talk about risk. We could wake Dad.”
“Not that. Tomas just delivered another bottle from Harry’s stash. Get dressed. We have to talk.”
She nodded, asking for no explanation.
He waited outside the tent as she dressed. When she appeared, he put a finger to his lips, and they moved silently outside the perimeter of the camp out of earshot.
“I got an idea,” he whispered.
“Don’t try to take away the booze. He’ll go bananas. Get nasty. Make things worse.”
“I’m talking dilution not deprivation. He won’t be completely sober but maybe not drunk enough to get us the fuck out of here in one piece. Unfortunately he’s got his fifth for tomorrow.”
“So let’s not stray tomorrow. Stick to camp. Take a little hike. No danger of getting lost. It’s the home trek that worries me.”
“Next day he gets half his quota. Lesser evil.”
“We’d have to break the seals,” Scott said, as the thought crossed his mind. “He might catch on.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t. That’s our risk.”
Scott, followed by Courtney, moved in the direction of where he had seen Tomas uncover the stash. He reached the spot, behind a shrub, well hidden. He felt around with his hands and dug his nails into the soft dirt.
They dug with their fingers, piling handfuls of dirt beside the hole. The bottles were well covered but close to the surface. Scott felt around, counting four bottles.
“Probably has a stash at every camp,” Scott said.
“As he says, he knows the turf. Resourceful son of a bitch.”
Scott carefully removed the four bottles, gave two to Courtney, and moved toward the stream. It wasn’t far, and the path was well trod. They kneeled next to the stream, carefully broke the seals, and poured out more than half the contents of each bottle.
“Wild Turkey,” Scott noted.
“Think we’ll make drunks out of the goddamned trout?”
