The Nightcrawler (26 page)

Roger put on dry underwear and jeans then pulled over his head a white T-shirt with Green Day in big blue letters on the front. He took Beth’s pack from the Jeep and walked as casually as he could to the tent.
 

“Mrs. Miller has invited us to breakfast, if you’re interested.”

“Sounds better than granola and bottled water. I’m in.”

Roger put her pack in front of her and she retreated inside. “Are you coming in, Roger?”

Her tone and the fact that she called him Roger and not Vermont had him dashing inside. Beth wrapped her arms around him, kissed him like a newlywed on her wedding night, then pushed him away scolding, “Mrs. Miller’s waiting, Vermont!” Roger chuckled playfully then tackled her.
 

They left the tent twenty minutes later. Roger got out first and barely before he had stood upright, Beth was out of the tent, and had jumped on his back. They both laughed all the way up to the house, Beth still riding piggyback.

Mrs. Miller hadn’t answered the door right away and while they waited Roger took in the breathtaking beauty that was the ranch. From the front porch, deep forests of pine climbed the steep face of Scruff Peak. About two thirds of the way up, gray rock replaced the trees. The rock disappeared into the low hanging clouds. Even on a dreary day like this, it was still stunning. The house was a small story and a half bungalow, painted white, with black shutters flanking every window. Flower boxes below the windows, each side of the porch bloomed red with geraniums that looked like a picture from a Miracle-Gro ad. A horse whinnied to their left attracting their attention. Three horses galloped freely around a paddock, chunks of mud flew off their hooves clearing the white rail fence. The steel sided barn just beyond the paddock was also white with a green hip roof.
 

When the loft door flung open and loose hay began to cascade down into the paddock, all three horses stopped their morning mud dash and settled into breakfast. Mrs. Miller appeared at the edge of the opening the hay fell from. She gave a wave to Roger and Beth who returned her greeting.
 

Beth, raised with horses and cattle yelled, “I’m comin’ up,” and sprinted to the barn. Roger watched her as she disappeared inside the cavernous opening at the end of the stables. He began to think back, back to his misgivings about Beth joining him on his trip. He had his reasons. It was his trip, and he didn’t want to be on anyone else’s schedule. He did not want to miss anything because his travel companion didn’t want to, or was afraid to do, what ever. Neither did he want to be dragged into one boring excursion after another delaying his arrival at the east rim. So on the morning they left Beth’s place he was torn between his desire to continue getting to know Beth, and his need to finish what he started; he had to see the canyon.
 

Now, with a full day behind them he could not imagine this trip without her. If Beth hadn’t come along, he would never have gone out of the way to see the Steve Canyon statue in Idaho Springs. He sure as hell would not have stopped to see the Swetsville Zoo, near Fort Collins. A zoo occupied with not a single live animal would surely not have drawn Roger’s interest, but it was very cool, he had to admit. Who would have thought a zoo full of animals sculpted from car parts could be cool. Then there was Mrs. Miller’s ranch. There is no way he would have knocked on a stranger’s front door and asked permission to camp on their property. A distant roar scared the shit out of him. Roger assumed that Zeus was now getting his breakfast. How many cans of 9 Lives tuna could a full grown tiger eat, he wondered.
 

His wondering took him back to his recollections of the trip with Beth. The twenty-dollar tip she gave the teenage waitress who was pregnant. Beth made comment of the sad look on her face. “Nobody who is getting ready to be a mother should be sad,” Beth said. Then she added that a girl her age should not be having sex let alone giving birth. At that point she went on a passionate speech about the government’s lack of action when it came to help for underage mothers. She almost appeared angry and five minutes later, she was laughing about Billie getting caught by Jack, banging one of his girls in the backseat of a brand new 300C.

The next time they ate was in a McDonald’s. The guy at the counter got a bit flirty with her and almost as if it was he who had abandoned that poor pregnant girl, she automatically disliked him. He took a little long getting the order and then he got it wrong. Well Beth tore a strip off that guy and two minutes later Roger and Beth were sitting down eating a free meal, compliments of the shift manager. He also gave them a coupon for two Quarter Pounder’s for the next time they came in.

When Beth and Mrs. Miller arrived on the porch, Roger had a look of mischief on his face. Unknown to them, his trip down memory lane had just taken him back to the tent. After changing into dry clothes, he and Beth had begun with a playful tussle in the tent that lead to an intimate encounter. Those were the images he had in his head when Beth and Mrs. Miller arrived on the porch before him.

“Boy, Vermont, you look like the cat that ate the canary.”

Roger blushed again and he hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable in the dull light of the cloudy morning.
 

“Not still thinking about our meeting this morning, are ya, son?” Mrs. Miller said, and she and Beth began to laugh heartily as they stepped past him and entered the house.

All through breakfast Beth and Lorna (some time between Beth running off to the stables, and coming back to the house, Beth had begun to call Mrs. Miller by her first name) had laughed and talked as if Roger was not even in the room. Roger didn’t mind, just as he didn’t mind sitting silently in the car listening to Beth tell story after story. She glowed when she spoke, and Lorna had figured this out. She had a knack for getting Beth started, and Roger just sat there, at the end of Lorna’s kitchen table, eating the last of the bacon.
 

The kitchen looked like it could have been Ma Walton’s. Everything in it seemed old. The wallpaper, covered with sketched herbs in green, was a dingy yellow, like a newspaper that had been sitting in the sun too long. The appliances were white, clean and well-cared-for but definitely 70’s. Pots and pans hung untidily above the table. The dishes on the table were vintage, the pattern on them faded from many washings. It was clear that Mrs. Miller took care of what she had, but didn’t feel the need to put on airs for any one who dropped in.

Taken by surprise when Mrs. Miller addressed him, Roger said, “I’m sorry,” slightly embarrassed having not heard. “What did you say, Mrs. M…, I mean Lorna?”

“I said, you’re awful quiet.”

“Well, a man has to know when to speak and when to just sit and listen.” He smiled at her, then at Beth and said, “Don’t you agree?”

Beth laughed out loud. It was more of a cackle than a laugh. Then she said, “You are so full of shit, Vermont.”

Lorna joined in with the cackling and added, “She sure is a force, son, are you sure you can handle her?”

Roger opened his mouth to answer but Beth jumped in before him saying, “Maybe you should take the fifth on that one, Vermont.”

They all got a chuckle from that, and Roger indicated that maybe it was time they hit the road before his mouth got him into trouble. Beth got up and began to clear the table and Lorna said, “Don’t be silly, Beth. You kids need to get moving, I’ll have this cleared up before you get to the highway, now go on.” Beth gave her a great hug, the kind you gave your favorite aunt when you knew you wouldn’t be seeing her again for some time. “You’re sweet to do that,” Lorna said, “Now you better get moving.”

Roger thanked Lorna for the hospitality and took Beth’s hand to lead her to the front door. On the front porch Beth hugged Lorna once more and bounded down the steps on a run to the tent. “Let’s go, Vermont. I thought you were in a hurry to get to the canyon.”
 

Before Roger could follow Beth’s lead, Lorna had grabbed his arm, squeezing tightly. Roger turned to look at her. The friendly face he had gotten to know and like was gone. In its place was a stern face, a much older face. Lines that Roger hadn’t noticed until now had become clearly evident around her eyes and across her forehead. Her eyes, moments ago, warm and swimming with humor, were now cold and threatening. Roger looked back to the tent. Beth had climbed in unaware that Roger hadn’t joined her. She had begun to pack up ready to stow things in the Jeep and would have the tent taken down in minutes.
 

“Mrs. Miller, are you okay?” Roger didn’t think she was but he couldn’t think of what else to say.

“There are bad things out there, son.” The words came out in an almost whisper. “The red eyed dog is after you.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Beware of the red-eyed dog.” Then as suddenly as Lorna’s demeanor changed, she was back to her old self. “You gonna let her do all the work, son?”

Roger looked over his shoulder, Beth had begun to fold the tent and the big sleeping bag hung from a low branch of a nearby tree. “I guess you’re right,” he said trying not to sound too creeped out by what just happened. As he trundled across the lawn to Beth he called back, “Thanks again for everything, Mrs. Miller.”

Within five minutes, they were both in the Jeep. Beth insisted on driving, which meant, as far as Roger was concerned, she had another of her detours in mind. He felt Lorna’s eyes on him the whole time they were packing up and was glad to be in the car. Beth honked the horn then drove toward the road, as Roger looked back to the porch.
 

Lorna stood, hands on the porch rail, her eyes back to the steel grey cold that she had when she spoke of the red-eyed dog. The cold stare sent a shiver through Roger’s bones but he couldn’t look away. Until they had turned onto the road, his eyes were drawn to Lorna’s, transfixed by them, expressionless and penetrating. He squeezed his eyelids together as tight as he could. When he opened them, Lorna wasn’t on the porch anymore. Lisa was, his sister stood in the very spot Mrs. Miller had just been. With a slight jump that he hoped Beth would attribute to the uneven driveway, he closed his eyes again. This time when he opened them, the porch was empty. Roger turned away from the house. The sun had begun to burn away what remained of the clouds. Bright beams of light now streamed through and the summit of Scruff Peak was now visible. The trees lining the side of the mountain were greener than Roger believed possible. He fixed his gaze on the rays of light cascading down, his mood was sullen and he barely noticed Beth’s voice, cheerfully recounting her morning with Lorna.

“You okay, Roger?” Beth had picked up on his gloomy mood and hoped to help if she could.

“What?” He didn’t face her; his gaze was locked on the expanding sky. The clouds were disappearing at an unnatural rate. A small solitary wisp of cloud separated from the remaining cloud cover had floated across the blue sky that framed Scruff Peak. It moved slowly, rolling and changing shape. Roger’s expression changed from sullen to morose when the small cloud seemed to take the shape of a dog. He was sure it would open its eyes and they would glow red.
 

“I asked if you’re all right.”

Tearing himself away from the sky, he looked at Beth. She had a deep concern on her face. Roger reached over and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m fine, maybe I’m just tired.”

He looked back to the gap in the cloud cover. The dog had broken apart. It was just a shapeless puff of white, not a dog, or a demon. Roger looked down at the ground, watching it disappear in a blur as Beth guided the Jeep along a narrow side road, or was it a path through the woods? With each passing minute, the path got tighter, an occasional tree branch clicking the mirrors as they passed. The surface of this road also got progressively worse. Roger would have given her the gears about the route she chose but he wasn’t up to it.
 

It had seemed to Roger that they had traveled a great distance on this path less taken, but in reality it was barely any time at all. The road opened to a small clearing and Beth stopped, grabbed her pack from behind the seat and jumped out. “Come on Vermont.”

She sprinted across the small clearing, and vanished behind some trees. Roger followed at a much less enthusiastic pace. Towering pines blocked the view of everything but the sky directly overhead, which had cleared to a dazzling blue. The air was completely still; the only sounds were the birds somewhere in the trees and water rushing over rocks. The ground was green, but no grass grew, just moss covered rock. At the edge of the clearing, just before the base of the pines, underbrush was making a feeble attempt to grow in the rock. Below the trees, brown dried pine needles covered the forest floor like a blanket.
 

When he got around the tree that Beth disappeared behind, Roger’s heart sank low in his belly, as he frantically looked from left to right trying to find her. She was gone. He spun around, straining to see through the trees. He called her name, at first just speaking, then louder and louder until he yelled loud enough to strain his vocal cords.
 

A small brook was cutting its way through the rock, the sound of gurgling water he heard in the clearing moments before was much louder, blocking out the bird songs. It had a calming effect; the tightness that knotted his shoulders and went all the way to his nauseous stomach had eased slightly. He walked toward the sound, calling Beth’s name.
 

The air smelled of pine. To Roger it smelled of Christmas in Vermont. Lisa had always insisted on a real tree. She always made such a fuss over their Christmas tree. Every year the whole family squeezed into Uncle Frank’s pickup and went to Devon’s Tree Farm to pick out the perfect spruce or pine. The first Christmas after Lisa was gone; they got in Uncle Frank’s truck, headed to the farm but ended up at Walmart. A seven foot artificial affront to Lisa’s memory went up that year. It was the same one that Mrs. Morris had put up every year since.