Hunter's Moon (38 page)

They had that covered too. They’d brought their fly rods so they’d be ready to take advantage of any pristine locations they chanced upon. Artie said he remembered a few, and although it had been many years since CJ’s last excursion, he thought he remembered a few spots himself.

Other details of the trip were a bit vague to CJ. Such as how Artie would survive for four days—which was how long he thought the excursion would take—in forbidding terrain on knees that could hardly carry him to work every morning. A second question was how they would carry a deer in either direction, either to their rendezvous with Dennis or back out the way they’d come—if they took one too early. In the end, CJ had decided to trust that Artie knew what he was doing. Besides, if this trip was what he thought it was, he wouldn’t think of talking Artie out of it, even if it meant CJ would have to carry both Artie and a deer on his back.

Artie guided the Chevy down the 458, making good time toward Spring Cove, just west of Meachem, where they would catch lunch before finishing the trip to the lake. The whole thing still sounded like a bad idea to CJ. He glanced at Artie’s leg.

“Steroids,” Artie said.

“What?” CJ asked.

“The doc shot my knees up with steroids,” Artie explained. “Helps bring down the pain and the stiffness.” When his passenger didn’t respond, Artie took his eyes from the road long enough to give CJ a half smile. “I saw you looking. You’re wondering how I’m going to hold up.”

CJ returned Artie’s smile with one of his own. “You’re right.

I was.”

“Don’t worry. I feel better than I have in years.”

CJ took him at his word and decided not to worry about it—or any other aspect of their trip. He turned and looked through the rear window to see how Thor was faring. He hated that he’d become the guy who let his dog ride in the back of a pickup on the highway, but Artie had assured him Thor would be fine, and so far he was. At the moment the Lab was lying down, and he looked the part of the comfortable passenger. CJ decided to emulate him. He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes.

The next time he opened them, he was alone in the truck, which was parked next to a gas pump. After a yawn he got out and breathed in the cold, clean air. Thor was at Artie’s feet, sniffing around the gas pump.

“How long was I out?” he asked Artie.

“Only thirty minutes or so. We still have about an hour to go.”

“Alright. I’m going to go inside and get a soda,” CJ said. He started for the store and Thor began to follow.

“Stay,” CJ said, and with a mournful look Thor complied. As CJ was almost to the door of the convenience store he reached into his pocket for his roll of bills, and didn’t find it.

“My other pants,” he groaned to himself. With a headshake he started heading back to the truck. Before he reached it, though, Artie pulled out his wallet and tossed it to CJ.

“Get me one too,” Artie said.

Inside, CJ got a can of Coke for himself and a diet for Artie. At the register he fished out two dollars and handed them over. While the clerk made change, CJ thumbed through the pictures in Artie’s wallet. The first was of his wife, whom CJ had only seen twice in the whole time he’d worked for Artie. She seemed nice enough, but the picture captured what CJ would have called her principal characteristic: severity. The next photo was of two young children, both of whom favored Artie’s wife, and since CJ knew that Artie didn’t have kids, he guessed these were other relations on his wife’s side of the family.

The last picture—the one CJ flipped to just as the clerk handed him the change—required closer scrutiny, for there was no mistaking one of the two faces in it. It was his dad as a much younger man. With as picture-happy a family as CJ’s, there were thousands of pictures of every aspect of family life, dutifully catalogued in countless photo albums. The man staring back at CJ from the wallet-sized photograph was his dad in his late teens or early twenties, sometime during his first few years of college. This picture captured what all the pictures from that time caught: confidence, charm, and something CJ didn’t recognize until much later—a hint of cruelty.

It was reasonable to assume that the other man in the picture, the one with his arm around George’s shoulders, was Artie. Yes, he could see some of the features of the older man in the younger.

There was something else too, although CJ couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment. He was curious; he hadn’t realized Artie and his father had been friends.

He flipped the pictures back into place and was just about to slip Artie’s change in the wallet when the thing that had eluded him rose to the surface. He almost dropped the coins as he snapped the wallet back open and found the picture. He took a closer look at the young Artie—the one wearing a smile as wide as George’s, only more genuine. He recognized the face; it was the same one his mother had in her attic, though that one had been a bit older. It wasn’t the same picture, yet it was definitely Artie.

CJ studied the picture for several seconds, until someone came up behind him. With a frown he closed the wallet, picked up the two cans of soda, and went out to the truck.

The truck was two hours behind them. Artie had decided to leave it in Spring Cove and proceed to the lake on foot, and they’d picked a trail that CJ thought would have earned a moderate rating in any guidebook. It was the kind of trail that required a little care and some endurance to traverse, and at CJ’s insistence they took it slow—to make sure that Artie’s juiced-up knees could take the strain. So far he was handling the hike like a much younger man. CJ was glad to see the smile that had taken up permanent residence on the man’s face.

White pines lined both sides of the trail, with the occasional sugar maple or balsam fir mixed in. Twice CJ spotted whitetail, but he couldn’t have gotten off a shot through the thick forest even if he’d wanted to.

Artie’s plan was to camp on the lakeshore. Then, after a day of fishing, they would either pay someone at Meachem’s only campground to ferry them across, or they would round the lake’s southern border. Farther on, once they reached the small rivers that wound between Meachem and Black Mountain, they would leave the marked trails entirely and head off on their own. Somehow they’d have to make sure they came out the other side near Beverly, where Dennis would be waiting to take them back to Artie’s truck. That was the plan anyway. CJ wondered if, steroids or not, Artie’s legs would hold out that long.

So far they hadn’t seen signs that anyone else was out here, and the farther they went, the more that possibility dropped. At this time of year, with the threat of real cold hovering over the park, only the most determined hikers would venture far. The only thing that belied the sense of rustic adventure CJ wanted to cultivate was the network of well-maintained trails and roads that crisscrossed the park. He hoped the route Artie had mapped out would keep them away from all encroachments of civilization.

Thor kept pace twenty yards ahead and occasionally doubled back to make sure CJ and Artie were following.

“Are you okay carrying all that?” CJ asked.

Each of them carried a backpack containing the basics, as well as sleeping bags, guns, and fly rods. CJ carried the tent. It was a load for a seasoned hiker, and while Artie was that, he was also a bit past his prime.

“I’m doing just fine,” Artie said. “Never better.”

“In that case, do you want to carry my pack too?”

Artie chuckled and hiked on.

After another mile, CJ thought of the photograph.

“Artie, why is there a picture of you and my dad in your wallet?”

It was the first time since the start of their hike that Artie stumbled, his foot slipping into a depression that he should have seen. He righted himself a second later and, after a single cautious step, started off again.

“Are you okay?” CJ asked.

“I’m fine. Just wasn’t watching where I’m going.”

CJ nodded, even though Artie was in front of him and couldn’t see the gesture.

Neither man said anything for a quarter mile, until CJ thought that Artie either hadn’t heard the question, or had forgotten it when he lost his footing. He was about to repeat it when Artie said, “Your father and I used to be friends. All through high school.”

“I didn’t know that,” CJ said, although it wasn’t much of a revelation. The picture suggested as much.

“Back then I spent a lot of time at your grandfather’s place. Your dad and I would go hunting pretty often. I’d help your grandfather around the house some.” He glanced back at CJ, a twinkle in his eye. “Did you know that your grandmother was once the prettiest woman in the county?”

CJ laughed at the question. He’d seen the pictures, of course, and Artie was right. His grandmother had been a dish, to use the parlance of the period.

“You old dog,” CJ said.

Artie chuckled and shook his head.

“What happened, Artie? Why aren’t you and my dad friends anymore?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because, after high school, your dad went off to college and I stayed here. Different worlds, I guess.”

CJ had more questions. He hadn’t spoken to many people who knew his father as a young man. But it was apparent that Artie wasn’t in the mood to talk in depth about this long-dead friendship, so CJ didn’t press.

They walked on in silence.

“The temperature’s dropped ten degrees already,” CJ said, glad he’d made another run to the sporting goods store in preparation for the trip. He was warm enough but suspected that his new sleeping bag wouldn’t hold back the entirety of the chill, even with the help of the fire.

“I’m thinking a frost tonight,” Artie said.

“Well, don’t,” CJ said. “You’ll think it into existence.”

Artie and CJ each held a stick over the fire with an impaled hot dog on their respective ends. CJ had brought them, reasonably confident they’d remain edible through their first night. After that, they would have to resort to granola bars, beef jerky, the few canned items they’d brought along, and whatever fish they could catch. CJ’s hot dog was approaching the point at which it appeared wrapped in a black coat, and after another few seconds he pulled it away from the flame. Thor watched as CJ ate the hot dog without condiments or a bun.

“You had the first two,” CJ said to him. When the hot dog was gone he poured himself a cup of hot, bitter coffee. “To think that people have shunned all of this for convenient things like microwaves.”

“But they don’t have this,” Artie said, using his now barren stick to point at the sky.

CJ had to give him that. He hadn’t seen a starscape like this one in a long time. Stars so big and bright he felt as if he could touch them.

“No, they don’t,” he said. He lay back on the hard ground and watched the sky over the dark lake and was rewarded every once in a while by a shooting star. He lost track of how long he stayed like that, except to realize that Artie had finished eating and had thrown another log on the fire.

“Why didn’t you and your wife ever have kids, boss?” CJ asked, realizing only after the question left him that it might not have been an appropriate thing to ask.

“I guess it’s just one of those things,” Artie said, and it was then CJ noticed that Artie had assumed a similar position and was also gazing at the starry sky. “I guess some people are meant to be parents, and some aren’t.”

CJ suspected that was a sage observation, but there was a kink in the reasoning.

“Then why do so many people who shouldn’t be parents wind up with kids?”

Artie didn’t answer that one right away. When CJ looked over at him, Artie was on his back, hands behind his head, his eyes taking in the whole of the sky. Finally, Artie said, “Your guess is as good as mine, son.”

Which, CJ thought, was another bit of sagacity. And since he couldn’t improve upon it, he didn’t try.