The Last American Martyr (17 page)

Now it was her turn to interrupt. “Whoooa, hold on, wait a minute! I know who you are!”

Here it comes
, I thought, sliding my finger on the trigger behind my back.
I don’t want to do this! Especially to a woman, for God’s sake!

“You’re Thomas Soles, for crying out loud! Sure…the New York plate, the camper, you’re him!”

“Yes … you’re right. I am Thomas Soles. So what’s next?” I said, nodding at her shotgun.

She looked at it as if it she’d forgotten it was there. I watched intently. But when her eyes met mine again, her gorgeous face suddenly was awash with sympathy.

“My Lord, you don’t look so hot, nothing like you do on TV or your book jacket.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, pushing my hair back. “So, you’ve seen my book? Did you burn it, too?”

“Are you kidding? There may not be many people around these parts who think like
you
do, but I sure as hell do. I’m one of your biggest fans.”

With Solace still raising holy hell in the bedroom, the woman glanced side to side, up and down the dark road. Then, tilting her felt hat back just a bit, she looked at me like a caring mother would at a deeply troubled child.

Her voice then became secretive and concerned, but there was also a hint of excitement in it. “You
cannot
stay out here—next to the road. Sean Gerrity, the deputy sheriff, patrols it. He comes by few times every night. He’s a nice enough guy, but nobody around here is all too fond of strangers. Follow me. My driveway’s just ahead. Nobody will bother you there. You can park on either side of my cabin.”

With the palm of my free hand, I smoothed the hair on the back of my head a couple of times then said, “Nooo, I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t…”

“Oh stop! Don’t be silly! After reading
Enough is Enough
, I feel like I already know you.” Then, without budging her eyes from mine, she paused, pointed to the barrel of her gun, wagged it twice and said, “Besides, I’m certainly not worried.”

Then, ever so slowly, her lips evolved into a small, warm smile. Somehow, all at once, this gentle pull of feminine lips was as mischievous as it was soothing, innocuous as it was evocative. I felt like I’d known this smile all my life but was now seeing it for the first time. Something stirred deep inside me—an irrepressible, primordial sense of attraction, and I hated myself for it.

My gut told me I should decline her offer, thank her, slam the door closed, crank up the engine, and flee into the lonely Montana night. But I didn’t. Feeling overly guilty; hedonistic, like an adulterer about to cross that forbidden line, I said, “Sure. Okay. Thank you very much. We won’t be any trouble. I promise my dog will calm down soon as we get settled in. And we’ll be out of your hair at first light.”

Still wearing that mesmerizing smile, she said, “No need for that. Folks around here say I make some wicked-good pancakes. I’ll have the batter ready by seven.”

“No, noo, nooo, I don’t want you to…”

“Yes, yes, yes. I insist. I want to get
something
out of this deal. I’d love to be able to talk to Thomas Soles for an hour or so.”

Unable to fight back a weary smile, I said, “Okay, but just an hour. Solace and I’ll have to be moving on.”

As soon as I said that, her smile shrunk a bit. I thought I saw a hint of disappointment in her eyes and her face as well. But still, she extended her hand and said, “I’m Julie…Julie Dubois.”

I followed the red taillights of her pickup down a long dirt driveway. When we got to the end, I turned around in a spacious clearing and backed the camper alongside Julie Dubois’ log A-frame. After that, she gave me a small wave; then disappeared inside her cabin.

Exhausted as I was, I did not sleep well that night. I tossed and turned so much that Solace eventually abandoned me for the living room sofa.

Chapter 16

I didn’t fall into the welcome arms of sleep until the wee hours that night. So late was it that my ever-reliable, built-in reveille horn sounded an hour later than usual. What little sleep I did get was fitful, yet somehow my return to consciousness wasn’t the same dawdling process it usually was. Stretched out on the empty bed for the first time in many weeks, my eyes snapped to attention as if I’d caught myself dozing at the wheel. Still black as pitch in the camper and outside, my mind lit up like a theater at the end of a movie. My renegade first thoughts were the same ones that had kept me awake. They were of Julie Dubois, and I did not like them.

Again, one side of my brain pleaded with me to start the engine and head for the hills. The other had conflicting thoughts. It said, no, you can’t do that. You told this woman, who was kind enough to invite you here, that you’d simply have breakfast with her. Then you’d leave. That’s it. No big thing. But on the other hand, she
is
one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. And she seemed to take a liking to you.

“Nooo, she did not,” I said aloud. “She was just being friendly…no, not friendly, I mean…hospitable.”

Now overhearing my soliloquy, Solace jumped off the sofa and padded into the bedroom. After putting up with a few of her usual morning face licks, I petted her head, gave her a few pats on the side, and said, “Okay, sweetie. I’ll take you out in a minute.”

There was something I absolutely had to do first.

The room was chilly and so were my ears, but I forced myself out from beneath the comforter. I opened the overhead cabinet and rested my hands on the brass urn. It was cold to the touch. I wanted to warm it. Massaging its curves as if they were Elaina’s, I closed my eyes. I saw my wife, and I whispered to her, “God, how I miss you, Elaina. I love you so much. I always will. I promise you…there will never be anyone else.”

But how can anybody, man or woman, make such a promise? How can we be sure there will never be anybody else? After all, we are
only
human beings. We’re just cells and tissue and flawed by nature. Who knows for sure what we’re capable of? As time slowly heals us, as the months and years distance us from the initial paralyzing loss of a soul mate, are we supposed to move on? Or is it mandatory that, for the rest of our lives, we fight back our innate need for companionship? Is it possible the first person we loved was the only one on the planet we are capable of loving? Who’s to say?

Those were the questions I asked myself, as I waited in the dark morning for Solace to do her business. But I had no answers, and I felt I had no moral right looking for them. Not the least bit too soon I gave myself a mental reprimand.

You fool
, I thought,
you ARE losing your mind aren’t you? Elaina’s only gone four months, and you’ve got the gall, the cold-hearted audacity to think of another woman. What kind of low-life are you? You spend five minutes talking to somebody and you’re entertaining thoughts of a future with her? Five minutes! Whoosh, you are crazy. Who says she’d even be interested? There you go again! Forget about her. Mourn for your wife, idiot. Stop acting like a schoolboy with his first crush. Solace is done now. Take her inside, clean up, go eat the damned breakfast, and get your ass out of here.

That was the plan when I again stepped out of the camper an hour later. Gobble down those pancakes, have one cup of coffee, answer a few questions then leave. It was almost as if I was mad at Julie Dubois, like I resented her. After all the thoughts and reservations that played havoc with my head that night, my mind was as wrung out as my body. I did not want to deal with this woman. But there was no other way. When I closed the camper’s door behind me, I felt the same bittersweet feeling a young boy does when he forces his first date on himself.

With the new day announcing its arrival, I made my way up the alley between the Winnebago and the log cabin. Close enough to smell the pine walls and the smoke from the chimney I glanced at a curtained window. A light inside made the blue fabric glow. A few steps later, as I cleared the front bumper, I got my first glimpse of Julie Dubois’ landscape. No, I should say it was my first glimpse of God’s landscape, because it had to be some of his finest work.

As if it were bashful, dawn’s first light blushed pink on the eastern horizon, silhouetting the tree tops of an endless pine forest. Closer in, at the end of the spacious clearing, I saw the same river I’d seen by that bridge the night before. High above it, two bald eagles glided side by side on straight wings. One of the majestic birds let out a loud creaking cackle as they both scanned the moving water for breakfast.

To the west, on my right side, the Bitterroot Mountains towered high above like a tree-covered cloud. With only a half mile of flat land separating the cabin from this massive wall, I had to tilt my head back, way back, to see its snowy peaks. These mountains were huge and made me feel small, yet they were not imposing. Instead, they seemed protective. Studying them in awe, I felt as though nothing harmful could ever come from the far side of them.

Fifty yards in front of where I stood, the same road I’d come in on the night before cut its way through lofty pines and spruce trees. I took one long breath, marched to the cabin door, then knocked.

I hadn’t thought it possible, but she was even more attractive than the night before. Not quite as tall, without the hat, she was still average height. And her hair, well, if hair alone could ever be considered evocative, hers was. Carefully brushed to the waist, it was so black, so satiny, that had it been dark I would have seen the fireplace’s orange flames dancing in it. But striking as her hair was, the real showpiece was framed by it. The way her hair laid so dark and elegant behind her cheekbones, it enhanced her captivating face and all the drama in those dark eyes. But there was more to this visual feast. Packed tight in a pink western shirt and blue jeans, the curves and swells of her body were so voluptuous they could have brought a dead man back to life. With her beauty and sensual delights, it was obvious this was a woman who’d been breaking hearts and launching lovesick fantasies all her life. As she looked at me and smiled in that open doorway I didn’t think I’d be able to speak. Yes, she was that astonishing.         

“Well, good morning Mister Soles,” she said, gently nudging a gray cat back inside with a dainty cowboy booted foot, “Come on in.”

“Good morning to you, Julie, and please, call me Tom,” I said, crossing the threshold along with all my self-consciousness, “Say, this is a really neat little place. I had no idea from the outside it could be so roomy.”

“Why thanks. It’s only this room, a small bedroom in back, and the loft above it, but it’s all me and my three cats need. Since it’s an A-frame, with such a high ceiling, it feels far more spacious than it really is. Come,” she said sweeping an arm toward a southwestern style sofa in the middle of the room, “have a seat. Coffee?”

“Sure, that sounds great. Cream only, if you have it.”

As she rustled up the cups and poured coffee a few steps away in the little kitchen area, I glanced around her place. There was a colorful totem pole area rug at my feet and a wooden coffee table on top of it. On the same wall as the kitchen, but back about ten feet, was the crackling fireplace. On the opposite side of the room, there was a sprawling, well-stocked bookcase. She had a small TV, but the way it was tucked off to the side, I could tell it didn’t get much use. On the walls, were a few western motif pictures; an American Indian blanket; a large, powder-blue dream-catcher; and two windows with the curtains drawn. Had they been open and my camper not parked where it was, I’d have been able to see the river and the sun coming up beyond it. To the right of where I sat, through a large picture window, the view of the mountains was beyond the words I previously attempted to describe them with. Looking out at them in the early morning light, actually made
me
feel lucky to be alive. But that sense of well-being didn’t last. I quickly shoved it aside and replaced it with guilt and sorrow. Lord, how I wished Elaina had been looking out that window with me.

“Here we go,” Julie said, handing me a steamy cup, jerking me back into reality.

“I was just admiring this view, Julie. You’re a lucky lady to see such a vision outside your window every day.”

“Yes,” she said, as she sat in a chair on the opposite side of the area rug and table, “I’m really lucky.” But I could tell her heart wasn’t in her words. They seemed laced with nostalgia and disappointment. It seemed we just might have something in common.

Then, suddenly perking up, she said, “Well, how did you sleep, Tom?”

“Good, good,” I lied, “I feel a whole lot better than last night.”

“That’s good. I’m sure you can use all the rest you can get.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that…well, you know, you’ve been in the news an awful lot since you were awarded the Nobel Prize. And I keep abreast of…”

Seeing her becoming uncomfortable now, I interrupted, “I’ll bet you never dreamed you’d be having coffee, here in your place, with me.”

“No I certainly didn’t.”

Keeping her eyes on mine, she then took a sip of coffee.

Seizing the chance to change the subject I said, “What do you do, Julie? I mean for a livelihood. Do you work?”

“Yes, but to me it really isn’t work. Mondays and Wednesdays I teach a few classes in Missoula, at the University of Montana.”

“No kidding. What do you teach?”

“Take a guess.”

“I haven’t got much to go on but if I had to guess, from the looks of all those books over there,” I said brushing them with my eyes, “I’d say it had something to do with literature.”

“Bravo. You’re right. I teach English Literature. I used to teach full time, back in New Hampshire where I’m from, but why I left, that is a … well, it’s a long story with an unhappy ending. Nobody likes those. Hey, how’s your coffee holding up?

We talked like that all through breakfast, exchanging pleasantries and bits of background information. As Julie had alluded the night before, her pancakes were “wicked-good.” At first it felt awkward, not to mention taboo, being alone with a woman— particularly this woman, but in no time at all, the light-hearted banter flowed free and easy.