The Last American Martyr (19 page)

“After you left my place Sunday, I got on the computer and did a little research. I’d been seeing you on the news all along, but after meeting you, I wanted to just browse a bit, and yes, I did see that mean-spirited Soleswatch nonsense. I saw that tracking page, too, and it got me thinking.” Julie paused for a second or two then, while smoothing her hand over Solace’s tawny head. I knew she was looking for just the right words.

“Tom … I didn’t want to come looking for you right away. I knew you wanted to be, needed to be,
alone
.”

“That was very thoughtful.”

“Anyhow, I was thinking, since you’d last been spotted by those idiots in Wyoming, you’d be reasonably safe here in Montana, if you had a place where…oh hell, what I’m trying to say is, why don’t you bring the camper back to my place?”

“I can’t do that. I would never want to chance dragging you into my mess. And not only that, I’m just not…”

“I swear to you, Tom,” she interrupted, “you can have your space, and I’ll have mine. You can park anywhere you like on the property, and we can run a water hose to the RV. I also have a generator. Winter’s all but over now, I won’t be needing it. You can hook it up and have all the electric you need. I swear, it will almost be like you’re out there alone. Come on, you don’t need to be around people right now.”

“I’m sorry, Julie, I just can’t. Please understand.”

“Tom, there’s nothing to worry about. You can do your thing, I’ll do mine. You’ll hardly see me most days. I…”

“There are other reasons.” I said, cutting her off, “It’s not just about you being a woman and me being a man. Look, you have no idea how flattered I am that you’ve been so kind and taken such an interest in my welfare. It’s just that…I can’t”

Her chest expanded beneath her pink turtleneck sweater, as she drew in a long breath. She leaned her head back, looked up at the low ceiling, exhaled; then looked back at me.

“Okay, Tom. I thought it was a good idea, but I can’t force you into something you don’t want to do,” she said as she reached into her purse. “But let me just give you my phone number, in case you have a change of heart.”

As she rummaged through her purse, I said nothing. So badly, I wanted to go to her place but there was Elaina to think about. The temptation of being with this woman—this kind, generous, drop-dead-gorgeous woman—would be too great if I stayed there for any period of time. But I also felt like I was spitting on her benevolent offer. As if rejecting it was a tremendous display of disrespect and thanklessness. I thought how Elaina would never want me to stay so close to another woman so soon.

But then, something suddenly came to me from outside the box of my mind. It somehow just appeared in my consciousness, as if it had been sent there by Elaina. It told me, against all my previous beliefs, that Elaina would actually
want
me to go to Julie’s. That she’d want more than anything that I be safe. And I believed it. This, I suddenly knew, was not rationalizing.

“Tom, are you alright?” Julie asked as she held out the small sheet of paper.

“Yeah, sure, I’m sorry! My mind was drifting off for a second. Listen Julie, you know what, I think I
will
take you up on your offer.”

She looked at me as if she’d been shocked, and just as quickly, her face lit up, as if I’d just given her something she desperately needed. Like a kid who’d just laid eyes on a Christmas Morning bicycle.

“Really? That would be great! I promise you…”

“You don’t have to promise me anything, Julie,” I said, waving her off, “You’re doing me a favor, a big favor. I really appreciate it. But there’s just one thing we have to agree on.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“If anything happens that makes me think your safety is in jeopardy, I’m going to leave. Even if you think my reason is farfetched or totally crazy, you won’t try to stop me. Is that a deal?”

“Fair enough.”

Chapter 18

Entering Julie’s clearing from the dirt road, the mountains were on the left; the river a few hundred yards to the right; and her cabin was straight ahead. I backed the camper—and its only license plate—close to the river, with the driver’s side flush to a pine forest. It looked like a peaceful, cozy spot. Solace and I would be only steps from the river, and we’d enjoy that marvelous mountain view every time we looked through the wide windshield or sat outside.

It was too far from the cabin to run water hoses, but that was okay. The camper had a huge freshwater tank. It held enough to last me a few days at a time, so all I’d have to do when running low was drive to the spigot alongside Julie’s cabin and fill it up. As for emptying the sewage, that was a simple matter also. Just as I had at Franklin Dewitt’s place in Florida, I’d drive once a week to a dump station. The only difference was now, with that campground I’d stayed at being the only one yet open, I’d empty the tank at a truck stop instead. My biggest problem would be just across the field, inside that A-frame cabin.

Other than the early morning deer along the river bank and the occasional nighttime yips and howls of coyotes, the first two weeks of my stay were uneventful. And in a way, that bothered me. I’d only spoken to Julie one time. When she returned from her classes in Missoula that first day, she drove right over and checked to see if I needed anything. After we’d gone to her storage shed and brought back the generator, that was it. Being the days were still quite cool, neither of us spent much time outside. The two or three times we did see each other, all we did was exchange distant waves. She kept to herself, and I read a lot and tinkered around with the laptop. The only time I ventured outside the camper was to walk Solace or jog up and down the dirt road. And if at all possible, I tried to do that early in the morning or when the silver pickup truck was gone.

On two occasions, both around dusk, a sheriff’s cruiser parked in front of Julie’s cabin. Though it made me uneasy, I figured it must have been that fellow, Sean Garrity, she’d mentioned the night we’d met. Both times he only stayed about fifteen minutes. Both times I felt like a spy, as I kept peeking out the window. And yes, I suppose I was spying. But there was more to it than just being nosy. Each time I lifted the curtain I actually felt twinges of jealousy. Each time, I wondered what might be going on inside the cabin. Each time, I wished a little harder that I’d see the guy leave. Each time, I became a lot more disgusted with myself.

But that wasn’t the only reason for my self-abhorrence. I also felt like a shit for being unsociable with Julie those first two weeks. She was going out on a limb for me; taking a chance that could have some very serious ramifications. And how was I showing my gratitude—by treating her like a leper. That’s not to say my ignoring her didn’t bother me. It bothered me deeply. Every night, after kissing Elaina’s burgundy cap, I paid my penance. I tossed and flipped in that bed, as if it was a guilt-infested pit—a deep, murky pit with two beautiful faces watching my every move.

Although I felt the gesture would seem like an obvious admission of guilt; and in part was, I wanted to touch base with Julie. I had to talk to her, not that a gun was being held to my head, but I wanted to. For two days I kept looking out the windows but didn’t see her once. The third afternoon was unseasonably warm, so I took Solace and two lawn chairs outside, along with hopes that Julie might come out. For the first time since I’d been out West, the temperature hit sixty degrees. Old Man Winter had finally loosened his frigid grip. Not a single cloud marred that part of “Big Sky Country” as I sat alongside the camper. By now the river was flowing faster than it had, and the sound of its water rushing over the rocks on such a gorgeous day was a soothing treat. To my left, The Bitterroots also seemed to have taken on a new life with the arrival of the first warm front.

After I soaked up the sun and took in all the beauty for half an hour, Julie’s door opened. From a hundred yards across the grassy field, she waved again. This time I stood up, waved back and started toward her. As I quick-stepped closer, she waited, and I felt like a total ingrate. I felt like I was wearing a sandwich sign over my shoulders, and the nearer I got to her, the bigger the letters read, “Here comes the user, get ready for the lame excuses!” That’s exactly how I felt after acting the way I had. Whether my reasons where viable or not, didn’t seem to matter. I felt like a counterfeit, and my words seemed smarmy when I got close enough to say, “Julie, how are you?”          

“Good, good…how are you liking this weather?” There was no resentment in her tone. I was surprised, and angry at myself for being surprised.

“It’s gorgeous. So is your place. Sitting over there, I was just thinking it’s like being in a national park.”

“Well, it is in a way, we are surrounded by a national forest,” she said, kneeling down, giving Solace a brisk two-handed rub. Then, looking back up at me with as much concern in her words as her face, she asked, “So…how are you adapting, Tom?”

“Pretty well. Other than a little cabin fever, I’m okay, I guess.”

“Hey,” she said, straightening up with a smile, “how about a beer? I’m ready for my afternoon wine. We can sit in back. I have a small deck.”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Great! Meet you in back.”

I walked around the cabin while she went in for the drinks. For the first time, Solace had a close view of the two horses, back just a ways, standing in front of the stable. I had her on the leash, of course, but was amazed when she didn’t make a peep. Maybe she figured if they were okay with Julie, they were okay with her.

I felt very safe there, safe as I could possibly be. I took a seat on a wooden bench and studied the tree line beyond the grassy back field.

“I hope you don’t mind Coors beer,” Julie said, as she came out the back, using her elbow to prevent the screen door from slamming.

My Lord, she looked gorgeous again, her hair brushed down so nicely; beige jeans this time, black boots, and yet another cowboy shirt. This one black with white piping across the chest, and it fit just as snug as the others I’d seen. I, like most men, take great pleasure seeing an attractive woman over and over in different outfits. Each time it’s like seeing a different version of her, each time it’s a special treat.

“Coors is fine, Julie, thanks,” I said, taking the bottle.

“What have you been up to?’’ she asked, sitting in a chair next to the bench.

“Just kind of laying low, jogging in the mornings, reading, fooling around with a journal I’ve been keeping.”

“A journal,” she said, as if it was a question.

“Yes, something I’ve been tinkering with since I…since
we
left New York.”

“Hmmm,” she said, sipping from her wineglass, looking over its rim at me. “Is it something you might want to publish?”

“I’m toying with the idea. Of course, I’m not finished living it out yet, and I don’t even know that I ever will live it out to the end.”

After she lit the first of her ritualistic afternoon cigarettes and exhaled, she asked in a very sympathetic tone, “Has it been that hard, Tom? Or maybe I shouldn’t be asking about…”

“No, no, it’s okay. Let me ask you, Julie, did you ever read or hear about what happened at our apartment when Elaina and I returned from Stockholm?”

“Yes. It was all over the news.”

I gave her a small smile, but it wasn’t easy. It was to let her know I really hadn’t minded her asking. Then I said, “I’ve been keeping everything that happened since that day inside, everything…everything except what I told the authorities in North Carolina about what happened to Elaina.” I choked up then. My voice broke slightly, and tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I wiped them with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry, Julie, excuse me.”

Now looking like she was about to cry, she stood up, sat alongside me on the bench, and put her hand on my quivering shoulder.

“It’s okay Tom. You’ll be alright. I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling and dragging my fingertips across both my eyes. “It’s all been so very difficult. I haven’t had anybody to talk to about it. My mind has constantly felt like it’s being squeezed, from every direction…by an enormous pressure.”

“That’s too much for anyone to take,” she assured me, as she gently massaged my shoulder.

Looking at her now, I felt as if I’d known Julie for a long, long time. I didn’t know if we would ever share any kind of a future together. I didn’t know if I’d ever allow it, or if she would even want it. But it certainly did feel like we had a past; a warm, comforting, close past. It was almost as if we’d been married once, in a previous life, in a faraway place. Maybe my senses had gone completely haywire, I don’t know, but the feeling was there, and it was as profound as it was undeniable.

As if confessing to someone I knew well and loved deeply, I said, “Are you sure you want to hear all this, Julie?”

“You bet I do.”

That afternoon, under the warm Montana sun, in one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen, I told Julie Dubois most everything that had happened. From the kittens in the apartment to my last confrontation with that woman in the Colorado campground, I hardly left out a thing. I told her about the
Enough is Enough
bumper stickers and all the livid Soles haters I’d run into. I told her about Arturo Giovanni, and that I’d called him, and his estranged wife had answered and told me he had passed on. I told her my book had been dropped, and that Denise Solchow, my editor, had been fired, as she’d suspected. I told her Denise had hooked up with another publisher, a smaller one, and that they were going to pick up
Enough is Enough
. I told her Manny Ruiz, back in New York, had cleaned out my apartment for me and stored the few things I asked him to. When I finally told her how I came up with Solace’s name, I could tell she’d already figured that out. It felt so easy and natural talking to her that I even went into detail about what took place on that North Carolina nature trail.