Chapter One
“I can’t believe we’re paying $350 bucks a night to sleep in a shitty bed in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Gregory Kendall snorted in disbelief at the situation he was in.
“Please, Greg, do you have to complain about everything? The whole point in this weekend was to reconnect.” Sydney inwardly cringed at her own words, recycled by their much too expensive marriage counselor.
“Sorry, dear, I must be going temporarily insane from the moose motif overkill. Jesus, I didn’t know they even sold pillows with moose embroidery.” He looked dispassionately around the room, his booted foot perched carelessly on an old trunk at the foot of the bed.
“It is a bit much, but still, let’s just try to make the best of it.” Sydney suggested wearily. Silently, she agreed with Greg. This whole thing was a joke. This over-decorated, overpriced room was all a part of a worthless scheme to fix something that just couldn’t be fixed.
“Ok. What first? A reunion in bed, or a drink to steady the nerves?” He removed his foot from the trunk, and looked expectantly at his wife.
“You’re joking, I hope.”
“No, I wasn’t. What do you expect me to want to do? We’re in a hotel room, wifey, and we haven’t had sex in months.” He snapped.
“There’s a reason for that, isn’t there, Greg?” Her patience frayed dangerously.
“Oh, yes, Syd, you are full of reasons. You’ve got plenty of reasons. None that make any damn sense.” He sneered.
“Greg!” Sydney gasped. “Did it all mean nothing to you? How could you be so cold? So uncaring…?”
“Sydney, please, spare me the dramatics. I’ve put up with this for months now, and I confess, I am tired of it. I wish you would stop being so ridiculous.”
“Yes, I suppose I was ridiculous- to think that you actually had a heart, had any feelings!”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” Gregory grabbed his wallet, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sydney demanded.
“To have a drink.”
Sydney watched as the door closed behind her departing husband with insulting force.
Sydney paced the small room in the manner of a caged beast. Her fury refused to dissipate. The cozy, rustic cabin was too small, and the moose motif a painful reminder of her unfeeling husband’s comments. The room was a reminder of money spent and time wasted. The weekend had been suggested by the couples’ counselor Dr. Wheeler. She had insisted that it would help them reconnect, that the time alone together could revive their marriage and remind them why they married in the first place.
The Elk’s Horn Lodge was supposed to be the perfect place for a healing of emotional scar tissue. Dr. Wheeler had extolled the lodge’s virtues innumerable times, enough that Sydney had to wonder if she was getting paid by the Elk’s Horn to advertise their wares. She had informed the Kendall’s that the cozy rooms were conducive to healing, that the idyllic setting of the lodge evoked self-reflection and feelings of peace.
It obviously wasn’t working. She had to get out of the cabin before the claustrophobia ate her alive. It would be a waste of time to look for Greg, and not a very challenging quest either. She knew with a great measure of certainty that he could no doubt be found in the nearest bar. A few drinks from now, he’d be even less pleasant to be around than when he was sober. Besides all of that, she had no desire to be near her husband at the moment. Ever since “the incident” as he referred to it- Greg had seemed fine. She was utterly devastated, and he was fine. He was probably relieved. In their therapy sessions he made himself out to be sorely wounded, but unable to convey his emotions because he needed to be strong for his wife, “to help her cope”. He’d laid his lies out for Dr. Wheeler, and had seemed to garner her approval. After two months of sessions the good doctor had announced that they were ready for the next stage of therapy, in which they would “reignite the spark” in their relationship and solidify a newer, stronger bond between them.
It appeared that the only bond growing stronger this weekend was the one between her husband and his drink.
Gregory Kendall sat at the Elk’s Horn Lodge bar and ordered himself a drink.
“Crown and Coke” he directed to the bartender’s back. The barkeep fixed his drink and slid it old west style across the countertop. The liquid sloshed dangerously close to overflowing the cup. He almost made comment on the carelessness until the bartender turned around.
She was a stunning piece, and he wondered how a woman that gorgeous could end up in some podunk mountain lodge in the middle of absolutely nowhere. His eyes moved over her in silent appraisal as he mentally compared her to Sydney. She may not have been as beautiful as his wife, but he was a man that valued diversity. The bartender’s rack was definitely was a diversion he could appreciate. He felt a momentary pang that he hadn’t been completely faithful to his wife, but who was to say that Sydney had been faithful to him? He comforted himself with his musings as he finished off his Crown and Coke.
Sydney grabbed the backpack of supplies she carried with her for day hikes, and left the cabin. She couldn’t take another minute of seclusion in the moose infested room with the too-large bed. The bed that reminded her of how alone she really was in this life, and how much her marriage left to be desired. She would hike herself into exhaustion, then come back and take a nice long, hot bath. She could put off fighting or worrying, or caring for at least this one day. She’d probably be back before Greg returned from the bar. This thought propelled her quickly down the first trail she came across, aptly named Devil’s Junction.
“Perfect.” She mumbled.
As she trekked on she doubted the wisdom of going on an unknown trail. She hadn’t paid attention to the sign at the front of the trail, hadn’t researched the area, and hadn’t the first clue how many miles the trail was. After she had made it several miles on the path, she decided she ought to head back to the cabin. According to her watch, it was barely after 2. She suddenly began to fear the sun setting. The trees seemed already to be blotting out the sun in the more heavily wooded areas along the trail, and she began to feel nervous. Her feelings of anxiety vanished when she spotted the picturesque clearing just slightly off the beaten path. It seemed imperative that she capture a photograph of the stunning beauty of the nature she was witnessing.
She removed her backpack and balanced on the balls of her feet as she bent and rummaged through the pack until she found her camera bag. She pulled the camera from its drawstring bag and turned it on. She took a picture of the clearing as a whole. She took pictures of a fallen tree, and another of a stump that seemed to be home to a fierce colony of red ants. She spent several minutes studying the line of ants marching proudly up and down the stump.
Surrounded by nature, and appreciating its beauty had a calming effect on Sydney. Perhaps she had been overreacting when she’d berated her husband for his lack of emotion. After all, she reasoned, everyone had their own way of dealing with traumatic events, and possibly her husband was just grieving in his own way. His stoic, emotionless manner could be a façade. Maybe he was just as devastated as she had been, but was unable to show it.
Feeling much more charitable towards Greg, and more optimistic about life in general, she went to retrieve her camera case, and stow the camera in her backpack. She was drinking from her water bottle with her back to the meadow, when she felt a tingling on the back of her neck. She felt compelled to turn around even though she was desperately afraid that she would see some wild animal right before it lunged and devoured her.
She turned, and instead of being terrified, she was awed. There in the middle of the clearing, was a brilliant golden shaft of sunlight that illuminated a large cluster of lurid colored wildflowers. She pulled the camera back out and headed resolutely to the flowers. She had time to take one last picture before she hiked back to the moose cabin. She’d never seen anything like the alien flowers, and they smelled delicious, if somewhat hypnotic. She leaned down to examine them closer, and sample their fragrance more fully. She dropped to her knees in front of the flowers, feeling lightheaded. She crumpled into the dirt, losing consciousness.
“Can I get you another?”
Gregory looked up from his empty glass to see the luscious bartender leaning suggestively over the bar. He knew he shouldn’t have another, he’d already had six, but he didn’t seem to care. The bartender was looking better and better, almost as good as the drinks.
“What the hell, I might as well.” He shrugged, his words slurring carelessly.
“Coming right up!” She called out cheerfully. She sashayed around while fixing his drink, and he greedily drank up the sight of her backside. Greg had to admit, she had a great ass.
“So, what’s your name?” She turned back and passed his seventh drink to him, smiling broadly.
“So, what’s your name?” She turned back and passed his seventh drink to him, smiling broadly.
“Greg.” He smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Greg. My name is Vicky, but my friends call me Vic.”
“Vic, huh? What are you doing tonight?” He smiled charmingly and looked purposefully at her barely buttoned blouse.
Vic gave him her best come-hither look. Men like Greg didn’t stroll through the doors of the Elk’s Horn Lodge bar everyday. He was clearly loaded. His clothes were expensive, his haircut looked perfect, and his teeth were a shade of white more commonly found in Hollywood. She noticed he wore a wedding ring, but it clearly didn’t mean anything to him, so she wouldn’t let it bother her either.
“Nothing too exciting. Us locals live vicariously through our guests…how about you? I can’t figure out what a man like you is doing in this little town.”
“What a shame. I was hoping you could give me some ideas on what to do while I’m in town. If you think of anything I might find…interesting, let me know.” He lowered his voice, and turned on the charm.
They smiled at each other, both making silent plans and appraisals, and both hoping to leave the bar together.
No comments:
Post a Comment