The Happiness in Between

by Grace Greene

  Per his points of failure, when the follower-victim ceased to be with the program, he or she was no longer useful and must go. Clearly, she was no longer a supporter and of no use, and yet he was here, almost like a follower himself, needing to force her back into the subordinate position so that he could be the leader again.

  It was his point of failure. She wasn’t Leo. She wouldn’t be kicked with impunity or disposed of or discarded at his will or whim. Or driven away. Instead, she was moving forward to her own goal. She didn’t need someone else’s dream to inspire her. She’d have her own, and she’d do it with or without help. Help was a tool, not necessarily a weakness, and only one of many resources.

  The clouds had gone from thick and white to dark and dramatic. A freshening breeze rolled across the treetops and then bent the weeds in the fallow field. It stirred Aunt Barbara’s wind chimes and set them singing. When the wind reached her, it blew the last of the ugly memories clear, and she stood and held out her arms to receive the new.

  Honey was there beside her. Her face was tipped upward, into that breeze, and her eyes were mostly closed. Her fur rippled in the wind. She sensed the change, too, and they both welcomed it. Even the prospect of more rain seemed to be a promise of growth.

  “Honey,” she said, “we have work to do.”

  She went back into the house and called Colton. She had to leave a message. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Trent. Watch out for him. He’s still around and looking for trouble.” Sandra placed a second call, this one to the Louisa County Sheriff’s Department. Deputy Wilkins wasn’t on duty so she told the deputy who answered, “My estranged husband is in the area. I can’t be sure, but I believe he slashed the tires of a friend of mine this morning, Colton Bennett. He was also here at my house this morning and directly threatened me, my dog, and my friends.”

  The dispatcher recorded the information and asked if there was a current threat. Sandra said there was no way to know for sure, but at that precise moment, the answer was no. The dispatcher said a deputy would drop by to talk to her, but if the threat status changed at any time, she should call 9-1-1 immediately.

  The call, though short, had been exhausting. It was a huge step forward for her, and suddenly she was waiting again, and not wanting to wait.

  She felt like she’d moved on from what had been but was now caught between what was and what would be. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She went out to the porch and greeted the coming storm.

  The skies opened, and rain poured forth. If she’d thought they’d had a lot of rain and mud before, she realized now they’d barely made their acquaintance.

  Drops hit the roof like hail, melted and merged into a liquid sheet, and poured over the gutters like a wall of water. Sandra stood on the porch, getting wet from the splashing as the water hit the edge of the porch, the rails, and the steps, and couldn’t see beyond the solid curtain of water that pounded from roof to dirt.

  Honey whined from the doorway. Sandra had left the front door wide open, allowing in that supremely fresh air that accompanied the downpour. Electrical energy charged the air, embedding a sharpness in the scent of the rain. The thunder stayed distant, and this downpour was a gully washer and also a head-clearer. It was basic and elemental.

  She thought of the creek and that miniature, charming waterfall she and Honey had visited in the woods. The waterfall was probably more churning than charming right now. And that pit beneath the schoolhouse where Honey had nearly been lost was likely awash with swirling creek water by now. Uncle Cliff had died in that schoolhouse clearing. The soil had been washed clean long ago, and she hoped he’d found peace.

  Sandra wanted peace, too, and happiness, not as a gift but as a reality. She sensed that it had always been waiting for her, waiting until she was ready to receive it.

  Her house? Her property? Her Cub Creek.

  She’d need to have the creek dredged through the schoolhouse area so it wouldn’t so easily overflow its banks. Same with the road. It needed grading and restoring.

  How would she ever afford that? The rain didn’t care, and she didn’t, either. She had goals—tough but achievable goals—and she fastened on them, seeing the creek in her mind. The creek widened and deepened as it passed the schoolhouse, and by the time it neared the front of the property, it ran dark and deep. With this much rain upstream, there could be a problem. She should call Colton again and tell him to avoid the bridge today. She didn’t trust that bridge on a good day, and the new pounding by the water flowing downstream might be a problem. So next on the list was to get someone with an understanding of structural stuff to take a look at the bridge. She wouldn’t mind it being built a little wider, longer, and broader. Talk about expense. But one step at a time.

  She realized she was smiling and her pulse was racing but steady.

  It all looked different to her now. Knowledge. Potential. She would work out an actual plan—like a business plan. She could do that. For now, she would brainstorm. When Trent was no longer a factor, it would be the time to make it all official.

  She was grateful to her mother for having bought her siblings’ interest in the property all those years ago. She’d never dreamed of this while playing on the porch. She might have taken more walks in the woods if she’d known she would own them one day.

  She was very glad her mother hadn’t deeded her the property while Trent would also have a claim on it. Trent. She shivered in reflex and rubbed her arms, then stopped. Fear of Trent was an old habit—a habit she was trashing.

  The rain eased, and Honey joined her on the porch. Everything seemed so fresh. It made her heart hurt and soar at the same time. She stumbled backward and sat on the blue bench. The water that now wet her cheeks hadn’t come from the rainstorm.

  “Do you mind if I stay, Honey? Will you accept me in place of Barbara?”

  Honey rested her muzzle on Sandra’s thigh.

  The last, fat raindrops hit the ivy clinging to the porch and the house. The leaves danced and jerked as the storm subsided.

  Time was running down, too, and seemed to be rushing headlong into inevitability.

  What would she do when Trent came back?

  Her cell phone rang. Colton’s number. “Hello?”

  “You OK?”

  “I am.”

  “I have new tires. Luckily, I know a guy with a tow truck. The flatbed kind. He took us into town. We’re on our way back now. Any sign of Trent?”

  “Not today, but I have some news to share, and to warn you to be careful of Trent. The tire slashing sounds like his style. But I’m sensing a change in him. I don’t know what he might do. I found out he doesn’t work where he used to. I suspect he’s unemployed right now.”

  “That explains why he has the time to hang around harassing you. He’s a bully, Sandra. I’ve known guys like that, and mostly they back down when confronted, but you can’t count on that. You can never tell what will flip a guy from unhappy to desperate. Everybody has a different trigger. If you see him, lock yourself in the house and call the police. Don’t confront him.”

  “I understand what you’re saying. I don’t know what I’ll do. How can I? Because I don’t know what he’ll do. But I’ll be careful. I did call the police and told them what was going on. They’re going to send someone over to talk to me.”

  “Hang on a moment.”

  She waited.

  “Well, we’re sitting here at your bridge now. I don’t like the looks of that water. The creek’s high and rising. Not worth the risk to cross the bridge. We’re going to drive home and walk over by way of the path.”

  “Please be safe. Maybe the high water will discourage Trent, too, and keep him away today. That truck of his is massive.”

  “Remember what I said. You can’t predict what people like Trent will do. Any sign of anything, call the police and then call me.”

  “I know. I understand. I have other news, too. I can hardly wait to tell you.”

  “Aaron and I will be o
ver as soon as we can.”

  They disconnected. She hugged the phone to her chest, thinking the high water and the low bridge might be a blessing. Trent wouldn’t want to risk his truck. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t an idiot.

  Unless . . .

  She stared at the dirt road.

  Unless he was already on this side of the creek.

  If he was, then he was stuck on this side. He and his truck.

  Trapped animals could be all the more dangerous. Trent might not know he was trapped. Aside from the middle of the dirt road, the only option for parking was in the schoolhouse lot, and that was probably flooding.

  She tried to visualize it. If—a big if—he was on this side of the creek, then the rising water in the school yard would force him to leave, and he’d be sitting in his truck down at the bridge thinking, as Colton had, about whether driving across the wooden structure was worth the risk.

  If he decided it wasn’t worth the risk, then the obvious choice would be to drive back here, to the house and to her.

  She needed to know. If she went around the curve and a short distance farther, she’d be able to spot his truck if it was down by the bridge. If not, she’d come back to the house, feeling a lot easier in her mind, to wait for Colton and Aaron.

  There was no point in driving. With so much rain and mud, her old car might get stuck. Besides, if Trent was out there, he’d hear her car motor.

  She kicked off her sandals and tossed them in the house. No sense in losing them in the mud. Mud wouldn’t hurt her bare feet, and she was familiar now with the territory and hazards. She patted her pocket to ensure she had her phone.

  Honey whined. She wanted to come. Sandra paused. Suppose Trent was in the woods nearby, watching them at this very moment?

  “Come in, girl.” Sandra brought Honey inside and locked the front door. She knelt and scratched the dog’s ears. “I’ll be back.”

  Honey looked confused as she watched Sandra leave via the back door, yet wasn’t allowed to go, too. Sandra locked the back door and pushed the house key deep into her other pocket.

  She walked out to the oak and fidgeted with the chairs, trying to act natural. She didn’t sense anyone around. Really, the rain had been so heavy, it was unlikely he was lurking in the woods. Honey barked from inside the house. She’d settle down once Sandra was out of sight.

  Sandra wouldn’t put Honey at risk. Better that Honey should be unhappy but safe. She didn’t need the mess, either, that would surely result if Honey went for a walk in the mud. She went around to the front and started slogging down the road.

  That blue dirt was like a fine clay, the sort of material that was slick when wet, like the mess she was walking on.

  Most of the land in this region seemed to be red clay or a darker loam flecked with mica and minerals she didn’t recognize. Lots of minerals. The nearest town was named Mineral for a reason. But the dirt on Shoemaker Road was this bluish gray clay, and where the mud was deepest, it sucked at her feet. Her sandals would’ve been goners for sure.

  In the near future, she hoped to see some grading and filling and a good thick layer of gravel overall. Definitely on the to-do list.

  No sign of danger. No sign of Trent. The schoolhouse sat lonely in its wide clearing. The trees bunched thickly in spots near it, and the brush grew in thickly, adding to the screening. The creek had clearly overflowed its banks. Water lay like a clear slick over the bare earth. Its edges crept beyond the foundation of the building.

  It had been a long, slow trudge. She’d come this far with no sign of Trent, so she continued on to the bridge. She’d been hearing the roar of the creek since before the schoolhouse. She stood on the bank but didn’t try to descend the short slope to the bridge because the footing was too risky, more like a mudslide.

  The water licked at the planks. The bridge itself didn’t look any different, but the water must surely be undercutting it. She was glad Colton had been cautious. It would take a huge emergency to convince her to drive over it today. She turned to walk back.

  She hadn’t gone far when she felt a faint pain in her back, right between her shoulder blades and along her spine. She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders, hoping to work out the pinch before it tightened and worsened. She remembered what she’d been taught in high school about the brain stem. She kept a keener watch on both sides of the road as she picked her way along. In fact, this rain could flush all sorts of things out of the woods, not only unwanted spouses.

  But as she walked, that old enemy, the tightening in her chest, returned, and it tried to squeeze her lungs. It wasn’t painful. It was more like a ghost of a memory. A warning. She stopped and breathed deeply, holding her breath and easing it out. The freshness in the post-rain air filled her lungs, her senses, and she began to move again, looking forward to Colton and Aaron arriving. Perhaps they were already there. She could share her news. She wanted to discuss the possibilities with friends and allies.

  Her quickened pace was ill-advised. She slipped, waving her arms, and regained her balance. As she congratulated herself, she noticed something shiny off to the left. Small glimpses of something black and shiny peeked from among the branches and leaves, and as she looked, it came together into one image. Despite the camouflage, it was obvious. The side of a large vehicle. Trent’s truck.

  The schoolhouse was a short distance ahead. The angle would put the truck there, but she hadn’t seen it before because the trees and bushes shielded it. He must be parked partly behind the building, next to the creek. He might have been there for days, for all she knew.

  Was he in the truck now? She started forward abruptly. The mud made a smacking sound as she pulled her foot free.

  Why would he hang out in the truck? Now that the rain had passed, it was more likely that Trent was at the house, where Honey was locked in, and also where Colton and Aaron were headed.

  She pulled the phone from her pocket to call the police. She’d also let them know to be careful of the bridge. She dialed the phone, but when she put it to her ear, she heard a series of quick beeps, then nothing. She looked at the screen as the battery died and the screen went black.

  Sandra closed her eyes. She’d screwed up again.

  No. That wasn’t it at all. She opened her eyes. She hadn’t screwed up. This wasn’t an indictment on her or her abilities. She just needed to choose another option.

  The useless phone went back into her pocket. She would focus on getting home. Her charger was at the house, and Colton and Aaron might be, too.

  She whispered, “Please don’t let Trent be there.”

  The mud was like a slick, gluey paste, and Sandra slipped again, again catching herself. Her legs and arms were muddy, and her clothing was liberally speckled.

  The house would be visible when she rounded the bend ahead. It seemed so far away. She was anxious to close the distance. Then she heard the sound of an engine. She stopped. The noise was coming from behind her, from the schoolhouse.

  She turned slowly and walked back toward the school, but then stopped short of the clearing.

  The truck’s engine was being gunned or revved. It was an intermittent sound, indicating the truck was stuck in the mud. Suddenly the noise changed as the truck powered forward, appearing with force from behind the building and the trees. The truck kept moving, yet it also appeared to be swerving and fighting for traction at the same time, as it barreled forward toward Sandra.

  Had he seen her? Not at first, certainly. It was fate that pointed his truck in her direction.

  She scrambled away, avoiding the drainage ditch beside the road. As his truck exited the clearing, the rear end spun out, and, once again, the truck was pointed in her direction. This time, she knew without a doubt that Trent saw her. The truck jumped forward. She ran. Unfortunately, she was headed toward the bridge, not the house.

  There was nowhere else to go. There was nothing between the truck and the end of the road except her. Drainage ditches lined both sides of the roa
d. In the ditches and beyond them was shrubby, scrubby growth; sticker bushes; and snakes. If she could beat Trent to the end of the road to the creek, she could get onto the creek bank, and his truck couldn’t follow her there or he’d end up in the water.

  The engine noise dropped to an idle. She looked back. The driver’s door opened and swung wide. Trent stepped out. He was drenched, so he hadn’t been in his truck during the storm.

  “Hey, Sandy, wait up.” He spread his arms wide and opened his hands, palms up. He called out to her over the low hum of the running truck, “I wanted to give you a little scare, that’s all. The mud was slicker than I thought. I took it too far. I forgot you don’t have much of a sense of humor for jokes like that, and I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t really have hit you. You know that, right? No matter what our differences, I could never hurt you.”

  As he stepped toward her, she backed up. He stopped. She did, too. She was pretty sure she could run faster than he could because she was barefoot, and he was bigger and awkward in those boots. If he moved to get back into the truck, she’d take off again and be all the better for having the breather and thinking time.

  “I’m sorry. I mean that. I love you, Sandra. I always have. All this stuff we’ve been through recently hasn’t changed that.” He waited, then resumed. “I didn’t see you at first. By the time I did, I thought you’d earned a little scare, but that’s all it was. You’ve really tested me, but I shouldn’t have given in to it.”

  His pants leg was torn. The khakis were light beige, and a darker area had spread below the tear. Blood.

  “What happened to your leg?” she yelled.

  He pulled at the fabric. “This? Yeah, it hurts. She got me, all right. That dog of yours. Sort of ironic, right?”