Her Best Friend's Lie

by Laura Wolfe

  I was supposed to be at work right now, drinking smooth coffee with vanilla creamer and meeting with familiar faces. Fridays were always easy at the clinic. Not many people wanted to meet with their therapist right before the weekend, especially not in the late afternoon. But I had my regulars. There was a soft-spoken woman named Bev, who showed up on Friday mornings. Her forty-nine-year-old husband had died of a sudden heart attack six months ago, and she was dealing with the loss. Then there was a couple in their fifties who had lunch together every Friday before meeting with me at 1 p.m. They were intent on keeping their lines of communication open. They referred to our sessions as “preventative therapy.” I’d canceled on them this week, and I wondered if they’d keep their lunch date. I always left early on Fridays. It was one of my days to pick up the kids. And tomorrow was Saturday. Marnie had her second soccer game of the season in the morning, and I was going to miss it. I’d chosen to be here, instead, barely surviving in a remote cabin with no cell-phone reception. Now we had two flat tires, too.

  A cloud moved away from the sun, sending blinding light into my face and snapping me into action. “Does anyone know how to change a tire?” I looked around at my friends, already suspecting the answer. We were educated in numerous fields—medicine, law, psychology, and finance—but auto mechanics wasn’t one of them.

  Four heads shook as eyes focused on the ground.

  “Neither do I.”

  Kaitlyn shrugged. “Maybe Travis can fix it.”

  Jenna rested her hands on her hips and stared toward the woods. “He’s probably the one who did it.”

  It wasn’t clear if she was joking, but her words sent a chill through me.

  “Jenna!” Kaitlyn said. “Why would he do that? Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “You’re right,” Jenna said. “He probably wants us to leave as soon as possible.”

  “Anyway, I only have one spare.” Charlotte waved her key fob toward the back of the minivan. “We need to replace two tires.”

  Kaitlyn clasped her hands together, fidgeting. “Travis said he had a landline in case of emergency. This is an emergency, isn’t it?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah. I would say so.”

  “Who wants to go ask him?” Charlotte asked. “Or should we all go?”

  “I’ll go,” I said, despite the pit in my stomach. “I have a premium membership with Triple A roadside assistance. I’m sure they can send someone out with an extra tire or two.”

  Jenna’s worried eyes flickered toward the trail. “You shouldn’t go to that guy’s house alone.”

  Sam stepped toward me. “Yeah. I’ll go with you.”

  “I can come, too,” Charlotte said. “It’s my car and you might need my insurance information.”

  “Okay.” I waved toward Charlotte. “How about you and Sam come with me, and Kaitlyn stays here with Jenna, so she can rest her ankle?”

  Everyone agreed. I grabbed my purse, and Charlotte retrieved her insurance card as Kaitlyn helped Jenna hobble back to the porch.

  “Good luck, guys,” Kaitlyn yelled as the three of us headed up the trail in the direction we’d seen Travis appear from the night before.

  We trod along the dirt road. It was afternoon now and the breeze had disappeared. Tire tracks imprinted the path, which was too narrow for more than one car. We walked for nearly ten minutes before wondering if we were heading in the wrong direction. I was about to suggest turning back when a ramshackle house appeared in the distance. Yesterday’s gunshots and the dead squirrel flashed in my mind as my pulse quickened. A shed materialized through a thicket of trees, a giant padlock hanging from its door. A yellow sign read: WARNING, KEEP OUT!

  Sam pointed to the shed. “What’s that all about?”

  I made a face. “I’m afraid to ask.” I kept walking and focused on the mission. “All I know is that I’ll feel better once a mechanic is on the way.”

  Charlotte tugged at my shoulder and I turned toward her. Her saucer eyes darted toward the house, then back at me. “Look, I know Jenna thinks the cabin owner might be responsible for the tires, but we shouldn’t accuse him of anything. I mean, we have no reason to think he’d do something like that.”

  I kicked at the dirt. “Jenna is quick to jump to conclusions. You probably ran over some nails at the airport. End of story.”

  “And you hit about a thousand potholes yesterday,” Sam said.

  Charlotte’s shoulders relaxed, and she tried not to smile. “I didn’t do it on purpose. The roads were treacherous.”

  We stepped toward the house. An open window revealed a ripped screen, only blackness visible behind it. The air felt thick, and I forced my feet forward. Sam had stopped talking, and I could tell she was uneasy too. Everything about the house was unwelcoming. It wasn’t much larger than a mobile home and it sat on cement blocks. The windows were small. Brown stains seeped around the edges of the white siding.

  A white pickup truck was parked in the dirt driveway. A faded sticker of an American flag clung to one side of the fender. An image of a semi-naked woman holding a black machine gun was stuck next to it.

  I shook my head at the truck. “Ugh. Lovely.”

  Sam grunted and kicked the ground.

  The front door swung open. “Need somethin’?” Travis wore stained jeans and a tattered, unbuttoned shirt. The shirt hung open, revealing his bony chest, and another mark below his left clavicle. I stepped forward, realizing it was a tattoo about the size of a silver dollar. I blinked, not wanting to believe my eyes as the image came into focus. The design was a swastika. A row of small numbers formed a line beneath it.

  Charlotte clutched my arm. “Oh my God.”

  “What the hell?” My stomach dropped and I thought I was going to be sick. Travis was a neo-Nazi. I’d seen people like him on the news, but not in person—at least as far as I knew. Recent events had emboldened their hate, and their blatant ignorance blew my mind. I’d seen strings of numbers like the ones on his chest when I’d volunteered at a local prison years earlier. The authorities assigned numbers to identify the prisoners, and I wondered if Travis was an ex-convict too, or merely pretending to be tough. Either way, I felt like the crosshairs of a rifle were aimed at my forehead. Every muscle in my body wanted to turn and run.

  “I said, you need something?” Travis had now buttoned up his shirt, a strange grin cemented to his lips. A tremor twitched through his body.

  “We shouldn’t be here.” I looked at Sam, wishing none of us had come to this place. A lock of black hair had fallen into Sam’s face, obscuring her glassy eyes.

  I wanted to scream at him, but only a disturbed grunt shot from my mouth. Charlotte turned away. We needed to use his phone, but there was no way any of us would enter his house.

  Sam pulled her hand from mine, squaring her shoulders at Travis. Her lip snarled. “No. We took a wrong turn.”

  He looked Sam up and down like she was a piece of meat. I couldn’t breathe, fearing he might turn violent.

  “Huh?” was all he said. He hooked his thumb in the waist of his jeans and spat at the dirt.

  A woman with eyes that sat too close together appeared in the doorway next to him. Her scalp held a mop of over-processed blonde hair, and her body’s concave hollows matched Travis’s emaciated build. An oversized T-shirt hung from her bony shoulders. I wondered if she and Travis were meth addicts or merely so poor they couldn’t afford three meals a day.

  “Those the renters?” she asked Travis in a gravelly voice.

  My heart pounded as I pulled Sam’s arm. “Let’s go,” I said, forcing my friend to come with me. Her bronze skin radiated heat.

  I could feel the man’s eyes watching us as we strode away. I was too angry to speak. Sam and Charlotte’s faces pinched with disgust, mirroring my own expression. Partway down the path, our feet trod faster. We picked up speed and began to run. As we rounded the bend, I got the terrifying feeling we were running for our lives.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We
need to find another way to get out of here.” My breath clogged my throat as I bounded up the porch steps. We’d sprinted the entire way back from Travis’s house, but there could never be enough space between the hateful man and us.

  Kaitlyn leaned forward in her chair on the deck. “Why? What’s going on?”

  I clenched my fists. “We rented this crappy cabin from a member of a hate group. There’s a fucking swastika tattooed on his chest.”

  “Seriously?” Kaitlyn said under her breath. She blinked a few times and bit her lip. “Oh my God.”

  “He tried to cover up the symbol, but not before we saw it. He had some numbers tattooed underneath it too. He might be an ex-con,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “This guy is bad news.”

  “It’s not like this is a big surprise. Didn’t you see him last night?” Jenna forced herself up from her chair, using the table as a crutch. “He had a knife blade tattooed on his neck. He was looking at Sam like he wanted to murder her. I can only imagine what he’d do if he knew I was Jewish. Not to mention he twitches every five seconds like he’s going through withdrawal. Great job finding this place.” Jenna’s eyes landed on Charlotte.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I had no idea it was going to be like this. I told you that. You guys saw the same description and photos I did.” Charlotte’s eyes traveled around the group, but no one spoke. “Anyway, I found the rental website through the link that you sent me, Jenna. So maybe you should be blaming yourself.”

  Jenna sneered. “Oh, come on. This stupid cabin was available on multiple sites. You pushed it on everyone because you wanted something cheap.”

  Anger brewed in Charlotte’s eyes. She flung her hand toward Jenna. “You were the one who wanted to be in the woods! Remember that text you sent about needing a break from the city? You wanted to go off-grid. Off-grid! And now here we are trapped in the middle of nowhere with no cell-phone reception. Congratulations!”

  We looked at each other. The tension stretching between Jenna and Charlotte was enough to strangle us. I held my hands in the air, trying to diffuse the situation. “It’s no one’s fault. We didn’t know.”

  From what I could remember, we’d all chosen the cabin after several rounds of emails and texts. Charlotte had requested something affordable due to her upcoming trip to Europe. Jenna suggested meeting in Wisconsin, so the three of us who live here could drive, and so she could get a break from city life. Sam was quick to offer to fly from Denver. Someone had discovered the tiny airport up north. We’d all searched online, using various vacation rental sites. Charlotte had emailed the cabin to us as one potential option, along with a few others. But the secluded cabin with the private lake was affordable and close to the airport. Our plans had quickly fallen into place. There hadn’t been any mention of the neo-Nazi owner.

  Charlotte’s mouth puckered. “As much as we don’t like Travis, he has a right to his opinion. This is America.”

  “Are you for real?” Jenna heaved herself forward, leaning close to Charlotte’s face. “That piece of shit is a terrorist.”

  Charlotte squinted. She held up her hands and stepped back. “Calm down. I agree with you. I’m only saying that you haven’t had much experience with people like him…”

  Jenna rolled her shoulders back and stepped away, huffing.

  I released a breath. Jenna and Charlotte were from such different backgrounds. Charlotte’s parents had never made it past high school and had spent their entire lives in their unpopulated farming town in northeast Wisconsin. The furthest they ever traveled was thirty minutes every Sunday to the nearest Catholic church. In contrast, Jenna had grown up in the hustle and bustle of downtown Chicago, the product of expensive schooling and top-of-the-line athletic training. Her Jewish father and agnostic mother had been community activists and professors at the University of Chicago. Long before Jenna’s mother had lost her battle with cancer, she’d been a college athlete herself—a track star at the University of Illinois. Even under the happiest of circumstances, Charlotte and Jenna’s ideologies could be like oil and water. I worried their friendship wouldn’t survive the weekend.

  A long sigh drew our attention. Sam stood in the corner, her manicured fingernails touching her face. “I’m sorry, guys, but I don’t feel safe here. I want to go back to Denver as soon as possible. I have my family to think about.” She looked around the group, searching our faces. “Will someone hike back to the camp with me? There might be a phone in the office. Or maybe we can find that person Charlotte saw? Maybe we can still get the minivan fixed today if we go now.”

  Unease expanded in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Sam’s right,” I said, as Marnie and Wyatt’s faces flashed before me. “I want to leave, too.”

  “Wait.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of Kaitlyn’s mouth. “No one has to leave. Let’s not give that stupid guy the power to ruin our weekend. We can ignore him, or we can go someplace else. We never get to see each other.”

  Charlotte placed her hand on Sam’s arm. “I agree with Kaitlyn. It’s getting late, and we’ve already hiked so far today. I don’t want to get lost out there in the dark. We can eat a good dinner and rest up tonight. We’ll figure out the tire situation in the morning. Then we can find a hotel in a nearby town.”

  My gut wrenched at the thought of staying in this place for another night. “We can try to drive out on the flat tires. Maybe we could make it to a gas station.”

  The others looked at me, considering my idea.

  Jenna let out a low whistle. “Look at how deflated those tires are. I don’t think we can make it to the end of this driveway, much less to the main road.”

  “It’s worth a try, though. Isn’t it?” Kaitlyn said.

  Charlotte shrugged and dug out her keys. “You’re right. What’s the worst that can happen?” She climbed into the passenger seat, starting the ignition. Metal groaned as she slowly backed up the van. The tires were angled and rolled straight toward one of the many deep pits in the dirt driveway.

  “Turn the wheel. Turn!” I yelled, but the awful groaning noise continued.

  Charlotte threw her hands in the air. “The wheel won’t turn. It’s locked in place.” The minivan lurched backward. The deflated front tire on the passenger side dropped into one of the deep potholes. The vehicle jerked to a halt. Charlotte slumped forward and turned off the car.

  Jenna slid her hand across her forehead. “I guess that was the worst that can happen.”

  Sam kicked the dirt and closed her eyes.

  Charlotte exited the minivan and turned toward Sam. “Look, we’re losing daylight. How about I walk back to Travis’s house on my own first thing in the morning? I can pretend I didn’t see his tattoo and ask to use his phone.”

  Kaitlyn slid her palms down the outside of her leggings. “We still have two nights after tonight. What if we find a hotel in a bigger town for the rest of our time? Wausau isn’t too far away. Like I said, we don’t have to let this disgusting idiot ruin our weekend.”

  “What about Jenna’s ankle?” I asked.

  Jenna grunted. “I can deal with my ankle for one night, as long as we can find someplace a lot better to stay tomorrow. Let’s hunker down and get the hell out of here in the morning.” She looked at Sam. “Are you on board, Sam?”

  Sam raised her eyes from the ground. “Okay. Yeah, I guess.”

  I inched toward her. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s fine. As long as we leave as soon as possible tomorrow.”

  Jenna peered in the direction of Travis’s house. “I’m going to leave the worst vacation rental review the internet has ever seen.”

  Everyone nodded as bodies shifted. We moped toward the deck and found chairs. My arms weighed heavily at my sides as I wondered how our society had failed so miserably at valuing things like diversity, compassion, empathy, and education. Despair loomed over me. I closed my eyes and followed my breath inside my body, grounding myself in the moment as I often advised my patients to
do when they felt overwhelmed. After a few deep inhales and exhales, a speck of hope buoyed in my chest. I identified the bright spot, latching on to it. I was lucky to have this time with my friends. There was safety in numbers, and we had each other’s backs. We could salvage the second half of our four-day weekend. All we had to do was make it through the night.

  A few minutes later, we were back in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a stir-fry. Kaitlyn had packed all the ingredients, microwavable packets of rice, and a printout of a recipe she’d found on a celebrity blog. Stifled conversation passed between us. Jenna’s endless chatter had dried up, her words sporadic and carefully chosen. She sat on a chair, watching the rest of us measure and chop. Sam appeared in the doorway from the living room and handed her a bottle of ibuprofen.

  “I found it at the bottom of my bathroom kit.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Jenna opened the lid and popped a pill in her mouth, not bothering with water.

  Jenna wasn’t the only one who wasn’t acting like herself. My eyes watered as I peeled and diced an onion. The encounter with Travis had knocked me off-kilter, making me feel as if I was teetering on the edge of a sinking boat. Charlotte took long pauses in between measuring the soy sauce and the cornstarch, her eyes distant, her positive energy deflated. Sam stood in the corner with her back to the rest of us, quietly chopping a stalk of celery.

  “Just think of the story we’re going to have to tell when we get back,” Kaitlyn said.

  I blinked, narrowly missing the tip of my finger with the blade. “Yeah. Andrew will think I’m exaggerating.”

  Sam turned toward me with a hint of grin. “When have you ever done that?”

  I chuckled, grateful for the lightened mood.

  A few minutes later, Kaitlyn had filled everyone’s wineglasses and ushered us all out to the porch. It was 7:45 p.m. and dusk was setting in. The wine relaxed our bodies and loosened our tongues. We ate our concoction, trying to keep our napkins from blowing away in the wind as we complimented each other on the flavors.