Chapter Ten
Late morning sunlight streamed through Summer’s bedroom curtains. She rolled over, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. What fresh hell was this?
Then she remembered last night. The margaritas. Becca’s scolding glare.
Jackson.
Jackson, and wow. That kiss with him. It had been magical. She touched her lips, wondering if they’d been changed somehow, transformed by his mouth into something divine. Because that’s what that kiss had been—heavenly.
A glass of water and bottle of aspirin sat on her nightstand. Becca was a life saver and probably the best friend ever. Summer reached over and took a sip of water, popped open the bottle of pills, and downed two. She hadn’t had so much to drink since college. It was her nerves that had done it. If she’d stopped at margarita number two, she would have been fine. A little tipsy, but not drunk.
And…crap. That was why Jackson hadn’t wanted to spend the night with her. Something about consent and alcohol. If she’d cut back, she might have ended up with him.
So, maybe it was better she’d had too much to drink? Because then she wouldn’t have made that mistake.
That delicious mistake.
She slowly sat up and placed her feet on the worn carpet. More water. She needed to drink a ton of water, get hydrated again. And it was Saturday, and sunny, and she’d hate herself if she didn’t go for a walk by the lake.
*
As she made her way along the trail, she thought about last night. That was the great thing about her nature walks—she could let her mind wander.
It was also the terrible thing about these nature walks—sometimes she obsessed about stuff. Up until now, she’d mostly obsessed about her staggering debt and the awful place her ex, Cory, had put her in, signing up for credit card upon credit card in her name, using information he’d stolen from her purse and her computer. He’d been a true con artist, stealing her heart and her money all in one fell swoop.
But now, she was thinking of something entirely different—Jackson. Was this any better, though? Could she afford to get caught up in another romance? She didn’t think so. Except the way he’d looked at her last night, his blue eyes sincere and hopeful—the only thing it had stolen from her was her breath and her desire for any other man in the world.
She wanted Jackson. It was crazy, happening so suddenly. She’d been ready to go home with the guy, or bring him to her place, and they’d only just met in person last night. He definitely had a strong effect on her.
She’d been vulnerable once before, though. Could she stand to be vulnerable again?
Branches cracked behind her, and she spun around. Black bears weren’t uncommon up here, nor were bobcats or mountain lions. She froze in place, listening and peering through the trees. There was nothing—it was probably just a rabbit or something.
She continued along the trail. Up ahead, it would open up and she’d be able to look over the lake below. She’d brought her camera with her to take some photos, which she could then work into a collage project at home. The coffee shop next to where she worked sometimes displayed her art, and she’d sold a couple of pieces to tourists who wanted a memento of their time near Mount Rainier. She wasn’t in it for the money, though; making the art was cathartic, and used an entirely different part of her brain than what she used while cleaning teeth.
The trail was soft from recent rains, and she inhaled the humid air. It smelled green and blue and conjured to her mind images of earth from space. That was an idea she might be able to work into her collage.
Another crackling noise came from behind her, and she spun around again, but there was again nothing there.
Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. The first time, sure, maybe she’d been imagining it, or it was a rabbit moving quietly around. But now that she listened, she noticed that the songbirds had fallen silent.
All her senses were now on alert, the hairs raised on the back of her neck. Something could be following her, watching her, and she’d never know it.
If she continued forward, she’d reach the point where the lake was visible and she could take the photos she wanted for her collage. If she turned around, it would put her closer to whatever was in the forest, but at least she’d be on her way back to her car.
Whatever was out here, she’d never be able to outrun it. Folks in town had spoken of mountain lions up in this area, and even Jackson had once mentioned them. She didn’t know a whole lot about them except they were cats. And cats loved to give chase.
No chasing. She’d move slowly and steadily back to her car, and show whatever it was that she wasn’t prey. She fished her pepper spray out of her cargo shorts and held it at the ready. Some large rocks were at her feet. Becca had looked up wildlife safety with her once, and they’d learned that repelling a mountain lion could be accomplished by looking bigger and also by throwing things at them. But if she bent down to pick up the rocks, she’d look smaller, momentarily.
She reached down for the rocks and gathered them in her hand, then stood up as quickly as possible. She backed up to an old pine stump at the side of the trail and stood on top of it to make herself look taller. Then she yelled at the top of her lungs and threw the rocks into the woods.
Reaching down quickly again, she gathered more rocks and stood up. Then slowly, she moved sideways on the trail, keeping the shadowy woods in sight. Every few seconds, she yelled and threw another rock. Her pepper spray container dug into her palm.
Once she reached the parking lot at the trail head, she could see her car, still the only one there. She couldn’t hold back anymore—she sprinted to her car. She unlocked it with the remote in her fist, scrambled with the door handle, and then fell inside, panting. She smelled like sweat and fear—until now, she hadn’t even known that fear had a scent, but whatever it was—pungent, acrid—it was all over her.
Shakily, she put her keys back in the ignition. Deep breaths. Don’t hyperventilate. Just slowly ease your foot onto the gas and drive away. Home wasn’t too far off, just a twenty-minute drive, and then all would be well. Comfortable, behind doors, away from nature which, for the first time, had tried to betray her.
Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to stop before she left the parking lot. She squeezed the steering wheel once and then twice, strong, pulsing movements. She could do this.
And just as she pressed down on the gas again, she saw it—the long, golden tail of a mountain lion, whipping back into the trees.
*
An hour later, Summer sat at her craft table, a mug of hot tea in front of her, and thousands of pieces of paper scattered around her. Archival-quality glue stick in one hand, and a printed photo of the lake in her other hand. Honestly, she didn’t need new photos of Paris Lake, she just liked taking them. Different views from different seasons—she had just about everything.
She’d found an indigo blue image and was looking for the best place to put it. She knew the bright splash of color would look great in the lower left corner, drawing the eye there so it would then travel up and outward to the other elements of the collage. Her only problem was how to situate it. After another moment’s careful consideration, she turned it on its side. The trees now looked like long, jagged teeth coming at the sky from the side.
It creeped her out, but it also looked really good. She glued the image down and leaned back to admire her work.
Her phone sat in the chair next to her, charging. Jackson still hadn’t messaged her, and she tried not to be annoyed. Hadn’t he said he would be in touch? She hadn’t been so drunk that she’d imagined things last night.
She set down her glue stick and opened up the SocialBook app. Nope, nothing from Jackson.
Well, she wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him. She might want to protect her heart, but he’d started something with her last night and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to finish it. If nothing else, they could get together, possibly hook up, and then…go on their merry separate ways.
She wasn’t crazy about the idea of goodbyes, but already she was getting way ahead of herself. First, she needed to find out if he was still interested. She tapped on his profile image, which was one of the mountain lion photos he’d sent her, then typed out a message.
SMG: Hey, just wanted to say it was great to finally meet you in person. I hope we can get together again before you leave town.
There. Short, to the point. Not a lot of emotional involvement, which was what she wanted out of this sort-of-relationship. Get some great sex, get the guy out of her system. He’d said there would be no regrets. Now she wanted to see—and feel—him deliver on that statement.
She stared at the screen for a full minute, willing the little ellipsis to show up and tell her that he was responding right away. Nothing. She was tired of doing everything through SocialBook, anyway. Without allowing herself to overthink it, she added her phone number and told him to text her when he had a chance.
Now all there was to do, was wait. She returned her attention to her collage. The image she was creating was positioned on the page in such a way as to leave wide frames of blank white space outside of it. But what would happen if she took a little risk and added something, like an image of a leaf, that came beyond the framed image and brought the collage forward, inviting the viewer in?
She was toying with that when she heard it—a low growl outside her front door. Just like when she’d been in the woods, every hair on her neck stood on end. Maybe the mountain lion had followed her home. Ridiculous. She’d driven here and the lion couldn’t have had any idea where she lived or how to follow her car. It was probably just a dog or cat, fighting with another animal.
She walked over to the front window next to the door and peered out, but saw nothing. Strange.
A second growl came from somewhere outside the kitchen. She made her way over there, as quietly as possible, and slowly inched the faded yellow curtains away from the window. The kitchen overlooked her pitifully overgrown side garden, and she saw nothing except collapsing trellises for withered pea plants, and the rotting planks holding up the raised beds where she’d abandoned her tomatoes.
The growl came again, this time from the back. Or was she imagining it? Could the growling be in her head? Becca had taken a psychology class or two in college—maybe she could explain hallucinations to Summer and tell Summer that no, she wasn’t crazy.
Summer closed the kitchen window and locked it, then ran to the front door and back door and locked both of those. She looked out the window of her bedroom that faced the back yard. She didn’t expect to see anything…and she didn’t.
Whether or not that growling was in her head, she didn’t feel safe. She closed and locked the rest of the windows in the house, grabbed her phone, and went to her closet. She felt like a little kid again, hiding out in the closed, dark space, but it seemed the best possible option. If she heard another growling sound, she’d call Becca, and then she’d call Animal Control, whether or not that made her look crazy.