“Here,” Doug said.
He took what Doug was holding out: a twig. “More protein?” he said.
“No,” Doug said as though Bob really thought that. “Clean your teeth with it.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, good night,” Doug said, closing his eyes and sighing. “Long day tomorrow,” he added.
Bob made a face, crossing his eyes. Looking forward to it, an insincere voice remarked in his head.
10:31 PM
Good God, he thought. He would have sworn that, by now, he’d be sleeping like a dead man. Conversation before with Doug had seemed in doubt because of his exhaustion. Now Doug was asleep, it was quiet, and here he was still awake.
Quiet? he thought. It sounded as though half the wildlife in the forest was prowling around—in search of food no doubt. He saw now the value of Doug suspending their food from that limb. At one point, he heard something clawing at, he assumed, the trunk of the tree the food was hanging from. What had it been? A raccoon, he hoped, not a grizzly bear. No, Doug had said there were no grizzly bears in this area. Black bears though. Their claws and teeth were just as rending as those of a grizzly. He’d lain in rigid silence, trusting that the creature, whatever it was, would get discouraged presently and move on, which it did.
Little noises persisted though. Crackling, snapping, gnawing sounds. Mice? He hoped so. He visualized them crawling in and out of his backpack pockets, scavenging for food. Well, it’s their territory, he told himself. We’re the interlopers. It didn’t help to alleviate his uneasiness.
But it was more than prowling critters that kept him awake; he was well aware of that. His side ached. He’d taken a Tylenol for that—and for his scraped palm that seemed to alternate between itching and hurting. He didn’t dare scratch it though; that would only make it worse. And he was extremely tired. His entire body seemed to ache, mostly his legs. I need to rest! he thought in angry desperation. Why couldn’t he?
Two reasons, his mind told him, one physical, one mental—or was it emotional? It could very well be.
First of all, he wasn’t sure that, physically, he was going to manage this hike. It was only the end of the first day and already he felt as though he’d gone through a round with Mike Tyson. What if he, literally, conked out before the hike was completed? Hell, before it was half completed? What could he do, ask Doug to carry him to the cabin? Sure, absolutely.
And yet they couldn’t go back. What good would that do? So they made the spot where they’d started out. Then what? Wait for a car to pick them up? It was October. Traffic was not likely to be too heavy. They’d seen one car after they’d reached the park.
Anyway, he couldn’t bear the thought of how Doug would look at him if he quit now.
Doug.
That was the second thing, of course, and more than arguably the worst one.
To be honest with himself—and he was trying to be—he wasn’t sure about Doug. He was pretty rough on me today, he thought. Endless little digs and criticisms, all unnecessary. Bob had made it clear from the start that he was uneasy about the hike. He wanted to do it very much, he’d made that clear too. It would make his novel more authentic if he’d taken a backpack trip personally. But uneasy? Yes, he was. Not a problem, Doug had assured him. They’d take it easy, be in no rush. It wouldn’t be that difficult.
No rush? he thought. Then why had Doug left him alone to hurry on and get the campsite ready? He must have known—he must have—that it would be unnerving for him. But he’d done it anyway. And, by God, it had been unnerving. An arrow made of stones? How the hell did Doug expect him to see that in the shadowy gloom of the forest?
But it was more than that, again of course. It was Doug’s personality. They’d never spent more than a day or two together—and that always in the company of Nicole and Marian.
Three days—possibly four alone with Doug? He realized that he didn’t know Doug well at all. And there had been hints—more than hints—clear signs—of aspects in Doug’s behavior that, frankly, made him nervous. What, actually, was going on in Doug’s head? That he was embittered had become more than clear. He’d always known that Doug had felt frustrated about the lack of real success in his acting career.
Now he realized—he’d only suspected it before—that Doug was also bitter about his divorce from Nicole. Even though Nicole had had every reason to divorce him because of Doug’s—openly admitted—numerous infidelities. He knew that Doug had a pretty shaky relationship with his daughter. And as for Artie… Well, he hoped the subject never came up again.
Did Doug resent him? Clearly, his words had made it obvious that Doug envied him. But was the envy verging on the border of dislike, perhaps intense dislike? Why had Doug brought up the idea of him being lucky because of his career, his marriage, his parenthood? Why call it luck? He’d earned it with hard work and dedication. Goddamn it, he thought, was Doug going to make the next three days a penance for him? Doug had all the trump cards in his hand. He could make the entire hike a nightmare if he chose to—and all in the name of being Bob’s “guide and protector.”
He was aware of how knotted his stomach muscles felt. God damn it, he wished he could take a Valium.
Then reaction set in. Don’t be so damn melodramatic, he told himself. So Doug might be a pain in the ass for a few days. Period. By the end of the week, he and Marian would be home with all this angst forgotten. End of story.
It seemed to help. He closed his eyes and started to use fractional hypnosis on himself, starting with his stomach muscles. Your stomach muscles are relaxed, relaxed. All tension gone. Relaxed. Relaxed.
Just before he drifted into sleep, he heard the distant howling of a coyote. The wilderness speaking, he thought with a faint smile. Canis latrans, he remembered reading somewhere. “Barking dog.”
Darkness soon enveloped him.
Monday
7:01 AM
It was an odd sensation.
He knew he was asleep but he could hear the bedroom door opening and knew, somehow, that it was Marian. Even more odd was his awareness that she was carrying a breakfast tray for him—freshly squeezed orange juice, crisp bacon and eggs, a well-toasted English muffin, and freshly brewed coffee. He could actually smell the amalgam of delicious aromas.
Then she was beside the bed and putting the tray down quietly on the bedside table. He tried not to smile so she wouldn’t know that he was awake enough to know she was there—even though (how really odd) he still was actually asleep.
“Sweetheart.” He heard her gentle voice.
He pretended that he barely heard by making a soft noise. He stretched his legs and sighed. He felt so wonderfully comfortable. After that damn hike with Doug, this was sheer heaven—the warm, inviting bed, the soft pillow. Never again, he thought with regard to the hike.
“Honey?” she said, a little more loudly now.
“Mmm.” He knew he was smiling now. So let her see.
“Wake up. Breakfast in bed,” she told him.
He made a sound of pleased amusement.
“Come on now,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder and nudged it a little.
No, he thought. Did he say it aloud? He couldn’t tell and that was odd too.
Abruptly, she grabbed his shoulder, digging in her fingers, and shook him hard. “Come on,” she said.