Adirondack Audacity (37 page)

Cyrus entertains himself by galloping from one end of
the house to the other, ears flapping and tongue wagging.
The black, tan and white of his fur a blur as he whirls
down the halls and around the kitchen counter. And he
loves the water, collies historically hate being wet, a
holdover from generations of tending sheep in the cold
soggy fields of Scotland. But Cyrus thinks he’s part
Labrador retriever and he’s part of our plan to connect
with Josh. No one can resist him.

After all of my initial doubts over Vic’s fidelity, he’s
proven he wants a permanent relationship, and I’m the
one hesitating…the entire lifestyle of the rich and
gorgeous is foreign to me. While the beautiful homes,
lovely restaurants and designer clothes complemented by
a boat load of money is nice, this way of life feels
extravagant to my middle class upbringing. I’m uneasy
with the fans clamoring for autographs, his extended time
away; coupled with the lack of privacy…I find the whole
thing a bit disconcerting. Even the simplest of outings
require careful planning and a constant need to be on
alert.

I’m unnerved by the fact he carries a handgun when
away from security and bodyguards. The price of fame
puts you in the public eye, making you vulnerable to
unsavory individuals. After our brush with the muggers
on the beach that first night, he vowed he’d never be
defenseless again. He and Ike have pistol permits and are
excellent marksmen. He thinks I need a gun. Is he
nuts?!
I
can barely walk straight let alone shoot a gun. I’d be
menace to society.

Luckily for us, we are content with simple dinners at
home with friends or family. Long walks in the woods,
overnight trail rides with the horses, or paddling the
canoe on the lakes and streams bordering his ranch.

Limbo, that old left over term from Catholic school
days, describes my feelings…I’m between…my old life as
wife, mother and teacher no longer seems to fit…yet it’s
hard to move across the country, away from all that is
familiar.

I love him but can I step into the abyss of his waiting
arms, trusting our love is enough. Transition…….life
changes, ever shifting, never staying constant. It’s part of
the journey. For me, this time in the mountains is a
chance to rest, reconnect with the past, while moving
forward to create a new future. And seriously, am I crazy?
I’m in love with a hot guy who worships the ground I
walk on, and just for kicks…….throw in a wealthy
lifestyle. I chide myself…stop being cautious Ellen…take
a leap of faith.

Musing, I take a sip of coffee feeling the warmth
infuse my body through the damp morning chill. I hug
Vic’s flannel shirt closer, the smell of him lingers, my
favorite perfume…….an earthy spicy scent evocative of
man. Aside from the wool socks and his shirt, I’m
basically naked. Another lifestyle change…I
always
wore
clothes.

Before first light, Vic greeted the seaplane pilot,
reviewed the departure details, and then closed the door
in the surprised pilot’s face to say his good-bye in private.
Pinned against the wall, he kissed me, when he was done
I looked myself over to make sure the few clothes I had
on were still intact. The kiss sizzled all the way down to
my toes. I thought my socks self-combusted.

Nine months we’ve been together, well
actually, it’s
only four months, we were apart most of September
through November, no sex during the recovery after my
miscarriage, then in January I resumed my teaching job
for a few weeks to tie up loose ends…….so it’s only been
a few months. So, we’re still on our honeymoon, which
explains the lust……I blow out a sigh and look
heavenward. No doubt about it, I’m a slut, a selective
slut. But I think, technically, to be a slut you have to be
doing it with more than one guy…..so actually, I’m just
addicted... And the lustful object of my addiction….. is
six-three, has ebony hair, dark gorgeous eyes, broad
shoulders, narrow waist, skin the color of cafe au latte,
and his name…….
Vicente
. “Who could blame me,
seriously, its hormones,” I say to the loons passing on the
lake. “It’s not my fault. I have too many hormones….and
way too little restraint.”

With a start and a shake of my head, I realize the
coffee in my mug has grown cold and the morning is
slipping away. While my mind is lost in the glow of last
night, the reality of today sends me into Old Forge, time
to start learning the community. First stop, the hardware
store in town to pick up a copy of the Old Forge Times.
The local newspaper is a gem of information about
happenings in the area, along with recipes, restaurant
reviews and tips for the best fishing spots. Check out the
want ads, maybe a job…I could be a tour guide, work in a
gift shop, maybe a short order cook… okay, now that’s
just ridiculous.

Old Forge remained a sleepy mountain hamlet until
an influx of snowmobiles in the winter coupled with
summer money turned this quiet town into a tourist
mecca. The shop lined streets boast gifts from whirly-gig
lawn ornaments to costly hand-hewn Adirondack
furniture. Bars, restaurants and taverns stand poised to
meet the needs of the most finicky palate. Diners can find
a burger and beer at the blue-sided Landmark
overlooking the water to a posh meal from “The Inn at
Three Corners” serving lobster ravioli with a wine bar. A
traditional start to the day begins at Locke’s Diner on the
outskirts of town, where a photo display of Adirondack
wildlife is offered along with maple syrup on your stack
of pancakes.

When mountain temperatures soar above the
necessity of flannel shirts and wool socks, the parking lot
at the water slide park is filled to capacity with the happy
shouts of water enthusiasts.

A ride on the ski lift at McCauley Mountain presents
a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and
lakes. If one is of the athletic persuasion, the area is rich
in hiking/biking paths and canoe routes.

I love the Adirondacks, all my favorite activities
wrapped up in the largest state park in the country and
where I found Vic. Yummmm……my favorite flavor of
the mountains. That reminds me, I’m hungry. The
question remains, do I want…pancakes….eggs…
muffins… waffles…. or a cappuccino. I want them all.

After a quick stop at the hardware store to pick up
the newspaper, I stroll down the street, enjoying the
preseason quiet. I left Cyrus at home, wanting to explore
the village, without his exuberant approach to life, which
includes, but not limited to, peeing on every street sign
and sniffing any passing crotch. Male or female, he
doesn’t care, he’s not discriminating. What he lacks in
manners, he makes up for with enthusiasm.

A charming coffee shop entices me inside with the
smell of freshly baked cinnamon buns wafting out the
screen door. I’ll be healthy tomorrow….how often does
one get hot right out of the oven cinnamon rolls. In my
house…never, unless they come out of a Pillsbury Dough
Boy can.

Ohhhh…ummmm….…and they taste divine
. I
squirm in my chair, boy, these are good ….I’m going to
need a takeout box. Once every bit of gooey cinnamon
goodness is licked off my fingers, I refill my coffee cup
and begin perusing the Old Forge Times. Yes! Perfect! In
the middle of the paper is an advertisement for
Westland’s Canoe Outfitters offering a preseason coupon
for 20% off the rental of a canoe or kayak.

I think this will work……my heart begins pounding
as excitement courses through me. I’m dying to meet
Josh and his family. Armed with the coupon, I present
myself at the store posing as an innocent bargain hunter
wishing to learn more about local canoe routes and the
purchase of a kayak or canoe.

Looking down at my clothing, I note my choice of
attire is appropriate for outdoor activity. Above average
temperatures for mid-May compelled me to wear a pair
of river sandals, a plaid shirt over a tank top and hiking
capris. A messy ponytail peeks out the back of a baseball
cap, and loose wisps of curls frame my face. A quick
glance at my compact mirror shows the makeup basics in
place, a swipe of lipstick and a touch of mascara and…I
look as good……. well….. I tried.

Taking a final sip of coffee, I wipe the few remaining
crumbs off the table, resisting the urge to pop them in my
mouth for one last taste. With the newspaper tucked
under my arm, I head for the door, firmly resolved
not
to
get a takeout box of cinnamon rolls. As I walk away, I
repeat the mantra,
om.
My ass is big enough….
om,
my ass
is big enough. See meditation helps……it comes in
many
forms.

Westland
’s Canoe Rental follows the Moose River,
about a mile from the town center. The ad in the paper
feels like an omen. In addition to renting water
equipment, Westland’s serves fresh donuts every morning
in the summer months along with specialty coffee. In the
evenings, the deck overlooking the river is a hangout for
locals and tourists sampling regional beer from the local
breweries.

Nestled in a grove of willow trees, the rental shop is a
small cabin constructed of local hemlock logs perched
precariously on the river’s edge. Tuffs of green moss
form a velvet carpet covering the roof. Small ferns and
delicate spring wildflowers compete for sunlight in the
tree-shaded yard. The brick path leading up to the main
building is lined with bright yellow pots full of red
geraniums and an eclectic collection of birdhouses.

The porch railing and boundary fencing are crafted
from twisted tree branches in traditional Adirondack
styling. If not for the colorful canoes and kayaks dotting
the lawn and poking out of storage sheds, the yard looks
perfect for a hobbit community.

I stop, enchanted by the scene, wondering why Jack
and I never visited this canoe shop. Our equipment was
purchased from outfitters further north and our trips
were generally on the lakes and rivers closer to Raquette
Lake. Pausing a moment to calm my racing heart, I hear
the sound of childish laughter coming from behind the
building. A little girl comes running around the corner
giggling as her younger brother chases her with a
butterfly net.

“Zizzi, stop!”
He calls out as his chubby legs furiously
pump to keep up with his older sister. “You promised be
ma flutter fly!”

The little girl whirls around dancing in the sunbeams
filtering though the half open leaves, and with a flute like
laughter, she calls out to her brother. “Ansel, only the
queen of the fairies can catch a butterfly. You know that,
don’t you remember the story?” Just as the little boy
closes in to make a swoop with the net, she twirls and
disappears between the storage sheds.

“Zizzi
!” the little boy squeals in disappointment,
swinging the net through the air in a vain attempt to
catch her.

“Oh my God
. My grandchildren.” I whisper. My
heart swells with joy. I have grandchildren, they’re real.
They run, jump, play and laugh. What a miracle of life. It
takes all my willpower to resist the urge to pull these
beautiful children into my embrace.

Okay, I can do this. Forget the shaking legs and
sweaty palms. Breathe, Ellen, breathe, step in and trust
the future. Slow…… and easy.

Entering the cabin that houses the store, I see two
large screen doors opening onto a balcony overlooking
the river. The wooden floors are worn and smooth,
burnished from years of wear. The walls above the
wainscoting are draped with T-shirts depicting scenes of
canoeing in the mountains. An assortment of hats, maps
and water sport equipment fill the tables and racks
throughout the room. An old canoe propped in the
corner is put to use as a shelf and a moose head hangs
above the doorway. A map of the major canoe routes in
Old Forge covers a wall behind the counter. Seated on a
high stool munching an apple sits Claire, Josh’s wife. I
recognize her immediately from the photographs Richard
Harsonge sent us.

I see how Josh fell in love with he
r…… her hair. We
call it mermaid hair. Tumbling locks of glorious auburn,
cascading in soft ringlets down her back. Tall and lanky,
she looks like a mother earth child. She needs no makeup;
her complexion is flawless, one wonders if a piece of
candy, drop of alcohol or red meat ever touched her lips.
The rewards of a good life……..the way I eat, I should
look a hundred.

Claire is beautiful in an understated way, her clothing
a mixture of eclectic peasant with a nod to the outdoors.
She looks like she stepped out of Robert Redford’s
Sundance
catalog. Twisted rope and metal bracelets
embellish her arms and artsy earrings dangle from her
ears. A long chain with a pendant hangs between her
breasts over a peasant blouse embroidered with tatting
and beading. On the floor, the children with ruddy red
cheeks from playing outside are engrossed in emptying a
toy box, oblivious to my entrance.

“Hi,”
Claire says in a casual friendly voice. “Welcome
to Westland’s. Can I help you find something?”
“Yes.” I say, my voice tremulous with nerves. I hold
up the newspaper. “I was hoping to take advantage of
your preseason discount.”
“Absolutely,” she puts down her apple and picks up
an invoice form. “What were you looking to rent, a canoe
or kayak?”
“It’s such a beautiful day. I thought I might take a
small kayak out on the river for a quick paddle.” I tilt my
head as if asking permission.
“That sounds like a lovely idea. It’s is a gorgeous day
for a paddle.” She comments pushing a rental form
towards me, holding out a pen. “Fill out the information
and I’ll just need to make a copy of your driver’s license
and we will have you on the river in no time.”
A squeal and crash come from the corner where the
children are playing. “Izzy and Ansel!” She admonishes
looking over at the children. Ansel with his jacket half
over his head, trips over the blocks on the floor, and
crashes in a giggling, wiggling heap.
“Ansel, not again,” Claire looks fondly at the little
boy as she untangles him from his jacket. “I don’t know
how he does it,” she laughs. “He’s always tripping and
falling over himself. It’s just one scrape after another.”
She leans closer to me and whispers, “Sometimes, he’s
such a klutz.”
Oh, dear God, the child inherited Klutz-Ellen, only
he’s Klutz-Ansel. I look at Ansel with empathy and bite
my lower lip to quell the laughter threatening to erupt;
Klutz-Ellen is an inherited trait. The poor thing. Claire
turns back to me apologizing, “I swear they get wilder as
the day goes on. Thank goodness, Daddy will be home
soon to wrestle some of that energy out of them.”
“Oh, please, don’t make them stop.” I smile, hugging
my arms; only sheer will prevents me from dropping to
the floor and entering into the squirming, giggling foray.
“I’m enjoying their laughter. My children are grown and I
miss the company of young ones.”
“No grandchildren?” she asks politely. “Not that you
look old enough to be a grandmother.” She adds hastily.
Already I love her; she thinks I look young… I’m a
sucker for flattery.
“No, not yet,” I answer, a note of hesitation in my
voice. How am I ever going to explain to her, that her
husband is my son and those are my grandchildren.
“You look familiar,” she says, looking earnestly at me.
I freeze, praying she doesn’t recognize any resemblance
between me and Josh. It’s too early.
“I’ve just moved into town for the season.” I explain
in a rush, “My husband and I rented a house north of
Old Forge. Maybe you saw me at the store or church.”
The husband part… just a
little
fib.
“Maybe,” she says with a pensive look on her face.
“It’s early in the season so generally it’s only the locals, so
any new face sticks out. But something about you seems
so familiar, I just can’t place it.”
“Oh,
shit
, I think to myself. Just act cool. “Funny how
things like that happen, usually it’s just a coincidence.” I
say in a nonchalant tone of voice.
“I’m sure it will come to me,” she says with a bright
smile. “Now do you need any help or instruction with the
kayak, especially if you are taking it out alone?”
“I have the basic idea. I don’t plan on going too far,
just to the bridge and back.” I point to the map on the
wall. “I brought my binoculars and camera. Hopefully, I’ll
see a few spring migrating birds.”
Just by luck I had remembered to put my binoculars
and camera equipment in the car trunk.
“Do you have a cell phone?” she asks, swiping my
credit card through the machine.
“Yes.”
“Good, we have decent coverage around town, so
you can call if you have any trouble.” Claire reaches
across the counter and hands me a business card. “Here
is our number should you need assistance. We can’t
afford to lose a customer this early in the season,” she
jokes. “We usually wait until later in the summer before
we let people wander off. And you look capable so I
don’t think you’ll be our first.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I assure her. “I’m used to
doing things on my own. My husband’s job takes him
away for long periods of time, so I’ve become quite
competent at taking care of myself.”
“Well, you’re in good hands.” She picks up a
lifejacket and paddle from a shelf behind the counter.
“Josh, my husband is an EMT on the Search and Rescue
squad in town. Actually, things have been slow around
here. The boys on the squad are eager for a good man
or
lady hunt, gives them bragging rights over beer at the bar.
And just think of the gossip you’d generate in town, the
first in a long list of local summer legends.”
Little do I realize how prophetic her joking banter
will prove to be, a foretelling of things to come.
“Thanks, but no.” I say with a laugh. “I have enough
embarrassing stories to my credit already. I don’t need to
add any more. Someday when I know you better, I’ll tell
you about my high heel getting caught in the luggage
conveyor belt at LAX airport. I think my picture still
hangs on the bulletin board in the baggage handlers break
room. The caption reads, “Dumb blonde stunt of the
Year.”
“I’ll buy your glass of wine to hear that one,” she
smiles and calls over her shoulder to the children. “Hey,
my little darlings, come help Mommy put this nice lady in
the water.”
…
It’s a beautiful day to be on the river; and the only
place to be in late spring, the dreaded black fly season.
Those annoying creatures buzz your ears; fly up your
nose, zoom behind your glasses and land in your mouth
should you be foolish enough to open it. But for some
reason they’re less aggressive on the water. Hiking in late
spring is for the hardy or hapless, unless armed with bug
netting, insect repellant and clothing built like a suit of
armor.
I haven’t been on the water since Jack died. The
serenity of drifting with the current, the slow dip and pull
of the paddle, works like a moving meditation, calming
me. The warmth of the afternoon sun seeps into my
bones, like a gentle massage.
Water striders skate away from the kayak’s path and
turtles reluctantly abandon their perch in the sun, sliding
down slippery logs into the murky river. A male green
frog vocalizes the sound of a plucked banjo string from
the shallow banks. Old trees topple inward toward the
stream as the undercurrent cuts their roots, causing them
to lean ever inward and eventually fall. Beneath the water
surface is an intricate spider web of roots and branches
that stop and tug as boats float by. Tucked into a curtain
of pine trees, small cottages populate the water’s edge,
often only detectable by the docks jutting out into the
river. Frayed edges of a rope swing beckon from an
overhanging branch, lazily waiting for school to end and
summer vacation to begin.
A great blue heron gives a raucous call of alarm as he
lifts his oversized wings, smoothly gliding downstream in
search of quieter hunting grounds. With my binoculars, I
spot yellow throated warblers flitting between the bushes
of willow and mountain laurel calling out, “
Wichita,
Wichita”.
Reaching an expanse of open marsh on the river, I
stop to admire the view. With a sigh, I lay back, resting
the paddle across the gunnels of the boat and drift,
closing my eyes, enjoying this simple pleasure, allowing
my thoughts to move with the current, freely, unimpeded,
and simply living in the moment…...
…
With a start, I jerk awake, dazed and bewildered; the
bow of the kayak rests against the riverbank. Pushing a
willow branch out of my face, I look around.
Oh noo……
I
must have dozed off, where am I?
The sun is sinking in the western sky and the air has
cooled off considerably. A glance at my watch confirms
the time, almost five o’clock.
Oh my God!
I slept for fortyfive minutes….. and I still have to paddle back!
Pulling my cramped legs back into the boat, I grab my
fleece jacket and slip it over my head, grateful for the
warmth. I need to get back to the shop before Claire fears
I’ve fall overboard or stolen her boat.
My return trip to the dock looks like something out
of a cartoon, my arms a blur of paddling motion, the
speed causing a small wake to form behind the boat.
Smoke bellows out my ears because I’m so mad at myself.
After a half an hour of frantic paddling, the dock is finally
in sight. Maybe I can surreptitiously pull the kayak up on
the landing area, wave good-bye and be on my way
before anyone realizes the time. I’m sure Claire’s worried.
I can’t believe I fell asleep. How stupid can I be?
Ohhhhh….no! My mind frantically intones as I watch
a tall figure come out of a storage shed and head down
the path toward the dock. Who is it? As the shadowed
silhouette comes into view I see the dark hair and angular
jaw line.
Josh!
Shit, shit and double
shit.
I
am
not ready to meet him.
Not like this. Some strange, forgetful woman…
Oh God.
Look at me, I’m a mess, clothes wrinkled, hair shoved in
a hasty ponytail. What am I to say? Hey, I’m your mother
and I’m
nuts.
For the
fricking
love of God. I can’t believe
this is happening. That’s it. I’m coloring my hair
tomorrow. It must be the blonde hair in close proximity
to my brain, short circuits the nerve endings…or
something. I’ll look fabulous as a brunette.
Maybe I’ll paddle home. Forty-five minutes by car,
four days by kayak. Not a problem. I’ll just yell out as I
go by, thanks I’m good, practicing for the Ninety Mile
Canoe Classic. Yep, that’s me, super-duper marathon
canoe woman. Just put the extra charge on my credit
card…….
yeah,
that sounds sane.
What will I say to him? Think, think….don’t panic.
This is only your long lost son, who you’ve not seen
in…forever. No big deal.
He is probably furious at me for worrying his wife
and interrupting dinner.
How could I be so careless?
Ellen, don’t you dare panic……whatever you
do……..
don’t
panic! Remember the less you say the
better, don’t
babble.
Maybe if I tip the kayak over and
drown………
Ohhh
, here he is!
Josh comes striding down the dock with that black
cat grace reserved for athletes and those blessed by the
gods.
And the panic leaves my body in a whoosh of
air……look at him. Oh...oh…oh….he is so wonderful.
Look, my son. Like a mother with a newborn baby, I’m
instantly in love with him. Momentarily shaken, I keep
one hand clasped to my chest, trying to hold my racing
heart in place.
His dark hair curls lazily along the nape of his collar.
Gosh, he looks so much like Vic. While he’s pure Vic in
essence, there is still a hint of me, shadowed around his
eyes and mouth. He stops by the water’s edge with his
hands on his hips and calls out in an amused voice, “Hey,
kayak lady, we thought we lost you.” He laughs,
crouching down to guide my boat up to the launch. His
eyes are his father’s dark, dark eyes with lovely little flecks
of gold. “Claire was only kidding when she said the
emergency squad needed practice.”
“I am
so, so
sorry.” I manage to gasp out. “Would you
believe I fell asleep?” I can’t breathe. Oh God, I’m having
a heart attack.
“It, it….was such a beautiful day.” I eke out in a rush.
“The sun lulled me to sleep.” No, not a heart attack, no
shooting pain down my left arm; just pure panic. I
continue on bravely. “Ummmm, I was drifting along with
my camera taking pictures….and the next thing I know, I
woke up with the bow of the boat stuck in the river
bank.”
“Not a problem; happens to the best of us,” he says.
The lines around his eyes crinkle slightly as he gives a
dismissive shake of his head. “We’re just glad you’re back
safe and sound. Claire was afraid something happened to
you.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I’m usually very
responsible.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.