Shadow Creek (2 page)

It probably hadn’t helped when they’d decided to abandon city life for the rustic cabin they’d bought as an investment property years earlier. Ellen had always considered herself a real city girl, so when Stuart first brought up the idea of a cabin in the woods, she’d balked. But after her initial concerns subsided—the bugs, the wild animals, the isolation—she discovered to her shock that she actually enjoyed the peace and quiet of the country. She loved the scenic drive through the Adirondacks, the way the roads twisted and turned up the mountains, the way the tall trees surrounded them protectively as they drove, the noises of the city becoming fainter the higher they climbed, then disappearing altogether, replaced by the singing of birds and the sound of water gurgling from nearby creeks. The thought of putting the property up for sale became less and less attractive the more time they spent there, and eventually they’d given up the idea altogether, selling their house in White Plains instead, and settling in the cottage full-time two years ago. Their son Ben had strongly advised against it. But then Ben, a lawyer, had left his
second wife, also a lawyer, for a Russian pole dancer he’d met at a strip club called C
HEATERS
, so Ben’s judgment was somewhat suspect. “What are you going to do if there’s an emergency?” he’d asked.

“We have a telephone and a computer,” Ellen had reminded him. “It’s not as if we’re that far from civilization.”

“It’s a lousy idea,” Ben had countered, although he’d never actually set eyes on the place himself. “Just the name freaks me out. Shadow Creek,” he’d pronounced with a shudder, referring to the narrow creek that ran behind the old log house. “Besides, Katarina hates mosquitoes.”

“As opposed to the rest of us who love them,” Ellen muttered now. And it was true—there were lots of mosquitoes. Especially now, in July. And spiders. And snakes. And coyotes. And even bears, she thought, although she’d yet to see one. Indeed, the most intrusive of all the pests in the Adirondacks were the tourists who flocked here in droves during the summer months, many of whom got lost in the woods while hiking the nearby trails, and some of whom actually knocked on their door, asking to please use the bathroom. When Ellen answered their knock, she’d politely decline and send them on their way. If Stuart answered, being the soft touch he was, he sometimes let them in.

“Did you say something?” Stuart asked now.

“What? Oh, no. Just thinking out loud, I guess.”

“About what?”

“Just wondering how long this storm is going to last.” Ellen didn’t want to get into a discussion about Ben and his latest wife, a topic that inevitably digressed into a debate about their failings as parents. Yes, it was true that one son was a doctor and the other a lawyer, so clearly they must have done something right. But just as clearly, they’d done something equally
wrong. Ellen had wasted far too many hours trying to figure it out. Children didn’t come with a list of instructions, she remembered reading, and the fact was that she and Stuart had done the best job they knew how.

But it was also true that she and Stuart had always existed in their own little cocoon, never really needing anyone but each other. And that had always been something of a sore spot as far as their sons were concerned. Still, that didn’t explain why neither of them was able to sustain a relationship. If their parents’ marriage of almost half a century hadn’t provided them with a solid enough example, Ellen didn’t know what would. Besides, what’s done is done, she thought. It was too late to change anything now.

Wasn’t it?

Ellen cut across the living room toward the kitchen and removed the black cordless phone from its carriage. “I’m calling Ben,” she told her husband before he could ask.

He nodded, as if this was no surprise, and continued working on the fire. The comforting aroma of burning cedar quickly filled the large rectangular space that was living room, dining room, and bright, modern kitchen combined. At the back of the cottage were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The beds in the two guest bedrooms had never been slept in, although the McQuakers had promised to drive up this weekend, a visit Ellen was greatly looking forward to.

She punched in her younger son’s phone number and waited as it rang once, twice, three times before being picked up.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered, her strong accent overpowering the simple word.

“Katarina, hi,” Ellen said cheerily. “This is …”

“Who is speaking?” Katarina interrupted.

“It’s Ellen. Ben’s mother.”

“I’m sorry. Connection is very bad. I must ask you call back later.”

It took Ellen a few seconds to realize that Katarina had hung up on her. “I think we were disconnected,” she told Stuart, trying to think positively and deciding to call Todd instead. But there was no longer a dial tone. “Oh. I think the phone’s gone dead.”

“Really? Let me see.” Stuart pushed himself to his feet and walked toward his wife, his right arm extended.

Ellen tried not to bristle as she handed her husband the phone. She knew he didn’t mean to imply that he didn’t believe her, or that she was somehow at fault for the phone going dead, but still, she found it irritating that he felt the need to check.

“Well?” she said.

“It’s dead all right.” He handed the phone back to her.

“Will the computer be dead, too?”

“No. The battery should still be working. You can give it a try, if you want.”

“No,” Ellen said, the urge to speak to either of her sons having passed. “The lights will probably go next.”

Stuart grunted his agreement. “Feel like a glass of wine?”

Ellen smiled. “Yes, that’s exactly what I feel like.”

Stuart walked around the burgundy-and-blue-striped sofa toward the wine cabinet on the far wall. His hand was reaching for a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc when they heard a loud banging.

“What’s that?” Ellen asked as the banging took on greater urgency, filling the room. “Is that the door?”

Stuart took several tentative steps toward the sound.

“Don’t answer it,” Ellen warned.

“Hello!” they heard a voice call out. “Hello! Please! Is anybody there?”

“It sounds like a child,” Stuart whispered.

“What would a child be doing out in this weather?” Ellen asked as Stuart reached for the doorknob. “Don’t answer it,” she said again.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stuart chastised, pulling open the door.

A girl was standing on the other side, the storm swirling around her, water cascading off the raised hood of the plastic raincoat she was wearing. The rain was dripping with such force into her eyes and nose that it was impossible to make out her features, except that she was young. Not a child exactly, Ellen thought. Not an adult either. Probably in her mid-teens.

“Oh, whew,” the girl said, flinging herself inside the cottage without waiting to be asked, and shaking the water from her hands and hair, like a large, shaggy dog. “I was afraid nobody was home.”

“What in God’s name are you doing out in this mess?” Stuart asked, shutting the door on the outside storm, the wind howling in protest.

“I had a fight with my boyfriend.” The girl’s large, dark eyes flitted about the room.

“Your boyfriend?” Ellen looked toward the door. “Where is he?”

“Probably still in the damn tent. He’s so stubborn. Refused to go to a motel, even when it started coming down in buckets. Not me. I said I was going to find somewhere warm. Except, of course, I got lost, just like he said I would, and I’ve been wandering around in circles for the past hour. Then I saw the lights from your cottage. I’m so glad you were home. I’m absolutely frozen.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Let me make you some hot tea,” Ellen said, biting down on her tongue to keep from adding, “You
poor,
stupid
thing!” Who picks a fight with her boyfriend on a night like this? Who takes off in the dark, in a storm, to go running through the woods in thunder and lightning? Who does things like that?

Teenage girls, she thought in the next breath, answering her own question.

Ellen walked quickly to the kitchen sink and filled the kettle with water. “This should only take a few minutes.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the young girl. Little Red Riding Hood, she thought, as the girl stood dripping onto the beige rug, her eyes casually absorbing and assessing her surroundings.

“Here, let me hang that up,” Stuart offered, and the girl quickly removed her raincoat, revealing a slender body dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. A large canvas bag was draped around her shoulder.

Ellen noted the girl’s long legs, full breasts, and large eyes, which continued scanning the room. Her eyes are definitely her best feature, Ellen thought, noting that the rest of the girl’s face was relatively nondescript, her nose long, her mouth small. Of course it was hard to look your best when you were dripping wet. Ellen decided she was being overly critical, something both sons had occasionally accused her of being. She resolved to be friendlier. “I’ll get you a towel.” She walked to the bathroom, returning with a fluffy white bath towel.

The girl was already curled up on the sofa, her bare feet propped under her thighs, her wet sandals on the floor in front of her, her canvas bag beside them. Stuart was sitting in the navy velvet armchair across from her, kind eyes radiating grandfatherly concern. He’s always been the nicer one of us, Ellen thought, realizing how much she’d relied on him to smooth over her sharper edges during their fifty years together.

“This is a beautiful cottage,” the girl said, uncoiling her feet and taking the towel from Ellen’s outstretched hands. “You’ve really done a nice job with it. I love the fireplace.” She began rubbing the ends of her long hair with the towel. “Thank you.”

Ellen tried not to notice that dirt from the girl’s feet was staining her sofa and that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her flimsy white T-shirt. I’m just a jealous old woman, she admonished herself, remembering when she used to have full, firm breasts like the ones now casually on display. “I’m Ellen Laufer,” she said, forcing the introduction from her mouth. Maybe if she’d been nicer to Katarina, friendlier to all her sons’ wives, she’d have more of a relationship with her grandchildren today, she couldn’t help thinking. “This is my husband, Stuart.”

“Call me Nikki.” The girl smiled and continued towel-drying her hair. “With two
k’
s. I like that name. Don’t you? You don’t happen to have a hair dryer, do you?”

“No. Sorry,” Ellen lied, ignoring the questioning look from Stuart. It’s one thing to give the girl a towel and a cup of tea, her eyes told him silently, but enough is enough. And what did she mean by “Call me Nikki”? Was that her name or not?

“You mean that curl’s natural?” Nikki asked. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Ellen touched the blond hair she’d spent half an hour fussing over with a curling iron this morning and immediately felt guilty. I should have let her use my hair dryer, she thought. What’s the matter with me?

“Is that water almost boiled?” Nikki asked.

“Oh. Yes, I believe it is.” Ellen walked back to the kitchen. The girl certainly isn’t shy about asking for what she wants, she thought, removing a mug from the pine cupboard and searching through another cupboard for some tea bags. She wondered how long they were going to have to play host to this girl, who couldn’t be more than sixteen. Where was her mother, for God’s
sake? What had she been thinking, letting her daughter go off camping in the Adirondack Mountains with a young man who clearly didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain? “Which would you prefer, English Breakfast or Red Rose? I have both.”

“Do you have herbal?” Nikki asked.

“Actually, yes. Cranberry and peach. It’s my favorite.”

The girl shrugged. “Okay.”

Ellen dropped the tea bag into the mug of boiling water, thinking that her mother would be horrified. How many times had she told her that the proper way to make tea was to let it steep in the kettle for at least five minutes? Oh, well. Her mother had been dead for almost twenty years, she thought again, and times changed.

Twenty years, Ellen repeated silently, the thought seeping into her skin, like tea in boiling water. Could it really be so long?

“What’s taking that tea so long?” Stuart was asking, returning Ellen abruptly to the present tense. “The poor girl’s teeth are starting to chatter.”

“Can I have milk with that?” Nikki asked.

“With herbal? I really don’t think it’s necessary …”

“I prefer it with milk. Skim, if you have it.”

“I’m afraid we only have two-percent.”

“Oh.” Another shrug. “Okay. And four teaspoons of sugar.”

Ellen dutifully added the 2 percent milk and four spoonfuls of sugar to the already sweet herbal tea, then walked back into the main room and handed the sturdy blue mug to Nikki. “Careful. It’s hot.” She sat down in the burgundy-and-beige overstuffed chair next to her husband and watched the girl lift the mug gingerly to her lips. “I can’t imagine what it tastes like. I don’t know how you can stand it so sweet.”

“That’s what my grandmother always says.” Nikki took a sip, and then another.

“Your grandmother sounds like a very wise woman.”

“She’s a witch,” Nikki said. Then, “Do you have any cookies or anything?”

What do you mean, she’s a witch? Ellen wanted to ask.

“I’m sure we do.” Stuart jumped to his feet before Ellen could voice this thought out loud.

“I’m sorry to be such a pest,” Nikki said, “but I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch, and I’m starving.”

“Well, then, I think we can do better than a cookie,” Stuart said. “We still have some sandwich meat in the fridge, don’t we, Ellen?”

“I think we do,” Ellen said, although what she was thinking was, That meat was for our lunch tomorrow. Now I’ll have to drive into Bolton Landing tomorrow morning to get some more. Assuming this damn rain stops by then. And how long is this girl going to be here anyway, this girl who speaks so disrespectfully of her elders? Yes, I know we can’t very well send her back into that storm, she answered Stuart, although he hadn’t spoken. But what if it rains all night? What if it doesn’t let up for days? “Maybe you should try calling your parents,” Ellen suggested to Nikki. Surely the girl had a cell phone in her canvas bag.