Page 17 of Nothing Less than Magic
Yet, I continue to stare at his text as if it’s a lifeline, my finger hovering over the telephone icon at the top of my screen. It would be so easy to tap it. So easy to assure him that despite my close call, I’m fine. It would be the grownup thing to do, I rationalize.
“What are you doing?”
I jump at the sound of Knox’s voice. “I thought you were on the roof.”
“I forgot my coat.” He removes a denim jacket that’s hanging from the back of the chair across from me and shrugs into it. “It’s cold outside.” He bobs his head at my phone. “Emergency?”
“No.” I put my phone down on the table. “It’s my ex. He wants me to call him. I suspect he heard about my accident and wants to make sure I’m okay.”
“So?”
I hitch my shoulders. “I’m grappling with whether to do it. On the one hand, what’s the big deal? I call him, tell him I’m fine, and hang up. On the other hand, why do I owe him a status report? He’s no longer my husband, and he’s a lousy friend.” Real friends don’t lead you on and sleep with you while they’re in a relationship with someone else.
“There you go; sounds like you have your answer.”
“Which one?” I ask, because each of my reasonings hold merit.
He gives me a look. “You know which one. But you could split the baby, send him an impersonal text. You know, ‘I’m good. Thanks for your concern but kindly fuck off.’ ”
I laugh. “I do like the ring of that. I’ll think about it.”
“You’re welcome.” He heads for the door and calls over his shoulder, “I’m knocking off early today.”
I wonder if it’s so he can get some writing in. But before I can ask, he’s gone, leaving me alone with only the stillness of the cabin to keep me company. I decide to take a walk and commune with nature. That’s why I’m here, after all.
I grab a thick down jacket from the closet, put on a pair of tennis shoes, and start for the lake. The ground is still muddy from yesterday’s rain, and the smell of wet grass clings to the air. When I get to the dock, I find the bottom of the boat ankle-deep in water. There’s an old watering can in the boathouse that I use to bail out the puddle. It’s a long process, but I find the monotony of it soothing, almost meditative. The next time Knox is here, I’ll ask him to help me drag the boat out of the water and carry it to the boathouse.
The geese are loud today, honking as they fly over the lake, then splashing as they make crash landings into the water. My favorite is when they dive headfirst beneath the surface with only their butts in the air.
I get the boat as dry as I can, then head to the trail that wends around the lake. Knox was right; it’s cold. I can feel my entire face turn numb. There’s a wad of tissues in the bottom of my jacket pocket that I use to wipe my nose, which is runny. Still, it’s nice to be outside. At work, it’s a rare occasion when I have time for fresh air. I’m on the lecture circuit half the year, and the only things I see are the insides of airports, hotels, and auditoriums. The other half of the year, I’m either absorbed in building the small empire I’ve started or promoting it. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for recreation or friends. I’ve always told my patients to create a life of balance and yet, I didn’t take my own advice. Hell, I wrote the book on how to have it all: a perfect marriage and a life filled with fulfillment. And here I am, the opposite of fulfilled. What kind of woman my age has no family, no friends, and no social life? Even my success has been predicated on a myth. I can see the headlines now: FAMOUSMARRIAGEGURU IS AFRAUD.
At least the view lifts my spirits. Mist hovers over the lake like an ethereal cloud, and instead of it looking eerie, it’s dreamlike and beautiful. It reminds me of a loch in a fairytale. Even the trees with their colored leaves seem brighter and more varied in shade, like a rich mosaic.
I get halfway around the lake and am so winded I have to sit on a log to catch my breath. When did I get this out of shape? My head is spinning, and I have to hold back from retching as strobes of light flash before my eyes. It seems like a weird reaction to a leisurely forty-minute stroll. Then I remember the accident and remind myself that it could take a while before I’m at a hundred percent again.
I close my eyes to block out the searing light but have to force myself not to fall asleep. All of a sudden, I’m exhausted. Even though last night I slept like the dead, I can’t seem to stay awake. Just a little nap, I tell myself. And there, in the distance, is a bed of moss under an old oak tree. It takes all my energy to crawl to it before curling up. I pillow my hands underneath my head and let myself trail off into sleepy land. Still, something niggles at me, something that says that I shouldn’t let myself go too deep. That I should keep one eye open.
I awake to find a red fox sniffing me, or at least sniffing the air around me. He’s about two feet away. Rabies is the first thing that comes to mind, and I freeze, searching my brain for anything I might’ve read about how to fight off a rabid fox or just a hungry one (are they even carnivorous?). Do I make noise, wave my hands in the air, or play dead? If it was a bear, I’d know what to do. Lord knows I’ve studied enough guidebooks about the black bears that roam the area and what precautions to take if you cross an angry one. But nothing about foxes. I always assumed they were harmless. That is, until they were only a nose away from my jugular vein. In a fit of irony, it occurs to me that I may have survived a 15,000-pound cable car only to be killed by a fox smaller than my neighbor’s border collie.
He seems to realize that I’m awake or not dead and is contemplating his next move. I don’t recall ever seeing anything in the news about a fox mauling a human. But it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. Then again, perhaps he’s as freaked out by me as I am by him.
“Hi, little fox,” I say in a singsongy voice.
His head jerks up; then he goes stock-still. A few seconds later, he howls, but it comes out like a high-pitched scream that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Shit.
I should search for a rock or something I can use as a weapon, but I’m too scared to move my hand. He’s staring at me, his beady little eyes alert, feral. And just when I think he’s going to pounce, he backs up and runs away.
As soon as my heart stops pounding, I come up into a sitting position. That’s when I realize it’s almost dark. And so cold, I can see my own breath. The scent of woodsmoke swirls around me, and it takes me a while to realize that it’s coming from someone’s chimney. It’s got to be close to four or even five o’clock, judging by the lack of daylight. I’ve been out here for hours.
I get to my feet, anxious to go home, where it’s safe and warm. But I’ve sort of become disoriented, and I’m still a little dizzy. Still, I manage to find the trail and follow the lake until I come to my cabin. It’s not until I get inside that I see that my clothes are covered in moss, leaves, and dirt. There’s even a mat of twigs in my hair.
I strip down in the laundry room and take a hot shower, which helps the leftover throbbing in my head. When I get out, I put on the warmest pajamas I own. They’re red flannel with little Christmas trees that I ordered nearly a year ago from a catalog I found in the mailbox addressed to the previous owner. They looked soft. And the one thing I hate is scratchy lace. The bright spot of sleeping alone is that I never have to wear uncomfortable lingerie again. Lolly would not approve. Not only are these on the garish side, but they’re also pilling from wear.
I go to the kitchen and throw together a sandwich with the rest of the deli meat I got at the market and wolf it down with a tall glass of water. I don’t know if I’m more thirsty than hungry. All I know is the sandwich doesn’t fill me. I scrounge through the pantry, looking for something sweet, and curse Knox for filching my cookies. I rummage around until I find the Halloween candy I purchased for the trick-or-treaters, who I know will never come because the cabin is too off the beaten path, and rip into the bag.
I spend the rest of the evening eating bite-sized Snickers and Baby Ruth bars in front of the television. If I didn’t feel so lousy, I’d go visit Katie at the Ghost Inn, where I’m sure she’s bartending tonight. Instead, I nod off after my fourthLaw & Orderrerun, only to be awakened by my phone ringing.
