No Ordinary Day (2 page)

Waking the baby, who immediately returned to wailing.

He had to admit that the female members of the family were not the only ones in their small tent that the weather was frightening.

Bram was a young Dutchman, tall, lean, and strong, an experienced hiker and camper. He was visiting the United States for the first time with his wife and infant daughter with the intention of looking for employment there, though at the moment he was merely on vacation with a visitor’s visa.

The school at which he taught in Eindhoven, Holland, had let out for the summer the previous week, and Anjolie, his childhood sweetheart and spouse of almost three years, had a generous vacation policy at her otherwise-low-paying job as a ceramic engineer, so they had undertaken their first trip to the United States with their relatively new daughter in tow, as they had all her young life in Europe.

They had flown into Montreal in the sunlight, taking a bus into Lake Placid, New York, from which they planned to hike their way down to the heart of the Adirondack Park, camping all along the way. Rain had greeted them shortly after leaving Lake Placid, and had not let up entirely since then.

While Bram was under no misconception about his own value in the American job market, he had been advised that Anjolie’s prospects were much better in the U.S. than in Holland. But, in addition to the better salary a job for her with an American firm would provide, Bram had a potential financial windfall of his own in the works as well.

An odd inheritance from his recently deceased and long-beloved grandmother, known to him all his life as Mutti.

Once he and his little family had made it to a small town called Obergrande, he would have a better idea if that inheritance had any value at all.

He looked over in the dim light of the oil lantern at Anjolie, who was on the verge of tears again, and hurried to her side.

“Here,” he said quietly in the tongue of their homeland, “let me take her for a while. I think the thunderstorm is passing; lie down and try to rest.”

His wife, too exhausted to argue, handed him the baby and slid gratefully into the zipped-together sleeping bags.

“There, there, little one,” Bram said, putting the infant up on his shoulder. He rubbed her back and spoke in a low, melodic voice. “The weather is nasty, and I know the thunder frightens you. But we are here all together, you, your mama, and I. Together, God willing, we will make a lovely life in this beautiful place of mountains for you to climb, lakes for you to swim in, and bright stars to light the darkness for you—once the rain finally stops.”

After a slew of hiccups, the baby settled down and rested her head against his neck. He caressed that tiny head, covered with waves of the finest, softest auburn hair, its color just like that of her mother.

Bram began to sing to her, a low, wordless tune from the back of his throat and sinuses, the lullabye that always caused her to fall asleep sooner or later.

Thankfully, this time it was sooner.

Once he was certain she was sleeping soundly, he laid her down on her little sleeping bag surrounded by their backpacks, covered her with the blanket, dimmed the oil lantern even more, then turned back to where his wife lay, her large eyes open, gazing glassily at him.

“She hates me,” she murmured as he removed his wet shirt and jeans and lay down beside her.

“She adores you,” Bram said, smiling. He pulled himself into the sleeping bag and took Anjolie into his arms. “She hates that her baby food is cold because her idiot father can’t get a simple campfire going.”

“Satan himself couldn’t get a fire going in all that rain.”

“Don’t speak such names in a thunderstorm,” Bram said, kissing her neck up to her ear. His fingers caressed, then unbuttoned, the fastenings on her pajama top.

“What in the world are you doing?” Anjolie said crossly as he slid the top carefully off her shoulder within the confines of the sleeping bag.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Bram teased, running his fingertip around the rosy nipple he had exposed, then following his finger with his lips.

Anjolie squirmed away as far as the bag would allow.

“No. I’m wondering if you are in your right mind. The baby’s been howling most of the day, it’s been raining since we got here a week ago and shows no signs of letting up. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost two weeks. I’m exhausted. My hair is always wet. And I look like a hag.”

“You have never looked anything but beautiful in your whole life,” Bram said quietly as he kissed the hollow of her throat. “Exhausted as you are, sodden as our tent is with rain and mud, you are still the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen—not to mention my soulmate and the mother of our beautiful little girl, who is
finally asleep
.”

“And I see no need to risk waking her,” Anjolie said, but her tone had softened.

“We’ll be quiet.”

“Bram—”

“Shhh,” he said as he fumbled with the drawstring of her pajama bottoms, then caressed her gently, ardently as he found his way inside them. He continued until he saw the look in her eyes change from annoyance to the beginnings of passion, and brought his lips back up to her ear again.

“I know this has been a miserable week, not the best introduction to the place that soon might be our new home,” he said quietly, interlacing the fingers of his other hand through her smaller ones, causing their wedding rings to click metallically. “But we cannot allow something as meaningless as this bad weather to dampen our happiness.”

“Dampen—ha. Funny.”

He kissed her mouth warmly, taking his time.

“We came to America to find a better life here, leaving very little behind,” he whispered after their lips parted. “Treasure hunts are always full of misdirection and obstacles. We have to keep going if we want to win the prize.”

Anjolie rolled her eyes, but heat was rising to her face and chest as desire was building inside her.

“Why do we need to hunt? I thought Mutti had already given you the prize—the treasure,” she said huskily, taking him in hand and mirroring his caresses, causing him to shiver violently.

Bram glanced over his shoulder at the baby, who was still sleeping soundly, then returned his attention to his wife.

“No,” he said, pulling her closer and smiling at her in the dim glow of the lantern. “Mutti’s gift may or may not bring us fortune in the place our ancestors found it. But make no mistake, Anjolie; I am well aware that our treasure sleeps a few feet away, and that mine will sleep in my arms tonight. And those are the only treasures that really matter to me.”

Her eyes took on the glow of the lantern-light as she smiled in return.

As the storm blasted through again, they were soon lost in each other, making love in time with the falling rain, surging and dancing passionately but quietly within the warmth of the sleeping bag as the wind howled around their tent, rattling the trees.

‡

In an old cabin, south of the town of Obergrande

S
am hated being
left alone in the cabin, especially on rainy nights.

It had been bad enough when Jeremy had first brought her here, babbling about the joys of fishing and scuba diving and outdoor sex beneath tall trees and starry skies. He was proud to have saved enough to rent this hell-hole cabin far from the lake’s actual shore, a run-down shack that looked nothing like what the photocopy ad had shown when they saw it on a diner wall in Johnstown. It had no electricity, and therefore, no TV, so it was even harder to pass the endless, often rain-filled days.

But for the last week or so, having him with her was much harder than being alone.

Something had happened on one of the many occasions Jeremy had left her during the day, going to ‘work,’ whatever that was. He had never held anything but day jobs that she knew of in the past, though she believed him to be a hard worker and, while not exactly smart, he wasn’t stupid either, and could follow directions most of the time.

Whatever had happened had put an end to most of that.

Now each day he would sleep late, though not well, unlike the days when he had been working, would rise numbly and wander off without any explanation of where he was going or what he was doing. Occasionally he would give her money if she asked for it to buy something to eat from the small store more than two miles down the road, but he wasn’t willing to ride her there on his motorcycle as he had always been before.

And now he always came home after dark, leaving her alone in the horrible cabin among the scary night sounds and the threatening hum of mosquitoes and mayflies.

Sam had come to the end of her patience. She was past ready to go home.

Except she didn’t really have anywhere to go home to.

In her own way, Sam loved Jeremy. Before whatever happened had taken place he had told her routinely that she was beautiful, had left her raunchy notes under the peanut butter jar or in her pocket when he left for work about what they would do when he came home, and usually followed through, even when he was tired.

He had been pretty excited with this place when they first got here, and was especially fascinated with the massive tree on the hill in the middle of town. Back when the weather didn’t suck, they had spent some time picnicking underneath it, watching the sun go down, like much of the rest of the town. It had been early spring, still barely past winter when they arrived, so their time outside was limited even then.

When the warmer weather came around, he had shared his excitement of fishing off the public pier in the melting ice of the lake with her, something she found disgusting, but hadn’t said so, because she was glad to see him happy, especially since scuba diving equipment rental had turned out to be far beyond their limited means.

As promised, the outdoor sex had been great until they had accidentally rolled onto a nest of stinging ants and spent three days itching ferociously in places that hurt a lot, especially for Jeremy.

After that, it had been awkward and quiet.

But not like it became after whatever had happened a few days before this one.

In addition to being alone all day, for a week or more Sam had been trapped inside the cabin by the constant rain drumming on the roof, leaking a little near the pit toilet and bottle of hand sanitizer in a closet that served as the bathroom, again, nothing like the flyer had advertised. The books she had bought at the grocery store and brought along and had read a dozen times were no longer working to help her escape her reality.

Every night when he finally came home, Jeremy was a little more agitated. He would pace the floor of the cabin, running his hands nervously through his sweaty hair, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle that his brain wasn’t up to. Often he would go outside and stare up at the sky through the trees, but never seemed to find whatever he was looking for.

Now, as she was musing about her problems, she heard the roar of a motorcycle shifting down outside the cabin.

She stretched out on the lumpy mattress and waited.

After a longer time than she expected, the door of the cabin creaked open and Jeremy came inside, soaked from the rain. He took his motorcycle helmet off and shook his hair, which was drenched, spattering her with droplets of it.

“Eeeggaagggghhkkk,” Sam muttered, recoiling. “Thanks, Germ.”

He set his helmet down and ran his fingers through his wet hair, not looking at her.

“Got a hole in your helmet? Your hair’s all wet.”

She got no response.

“Where ya been?” she asked, sitting up and hanging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Ridin’ .” The word was more mumble than speech.

“No kidding. I thought you hated riding in the rain.”

Jeremy turned in her direction as he unzipped his jacket, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I do, but in upstate New York, you ride in the rain or you don’t ride. That’s just how it is. Especially in the Dacks.” He glanced around the small cabin. “What’ve we got to eat?”

Sam rose from the bed and sauntered over to him, trying to look sexy. “Each other.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away, looking into the single empty cabinet and along the small counter that together served as a kitchen. “Seriously—what’ve we got?”

She rolled her eyes as well, then went to a drawstring sack she carried as a purse and fished out half a candy bar, which she tossed unceremoniously at him.

“Here—choke on that.”

Jeremy caught the half-eaten bar in the air, looking at her in surprise. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Jeremy tore back the wrapper and bit into the bar, then looked at her for the first time since he’d entered the cabin. He scarfed down the candy bar as he watched her, then lowered his gaze and swallowed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know it’s sucked here. We should never’ve come.”

Sam watched him as he sat in one of the rickety chairs at the even more rickety table. He had turned toward the door as he did, and let his head fall to the table on his arms.

Sam’s brows drew together.