As Michelle placed the plunger back behind the toilet, she noticed something shiny on the floor there. Metallic, like one of those chains inside a toilet tank but finer. She squatted and reached behind the tank, stretching her fingertips toward the object until she could scoot it toward her. It was a necklace with a peculiar pendant. It looked to be silver, old. She’d seen the symbol before—a five-pointed star inside a circle—but had no idea what it represented if anything. The clasp on the chain was broken. Michelle tucked it into the pocket of her jeans and was going for the mop when the phone rang. She ripped a bath towel from the rack and flung it at the wet floor as she ran from the bathroom.
“Cliff?” she said, pressing the phone to her ear. She paused, waiting for someone to speak. “Cliff, is that you? Are you okay? Say something!” The phone sounded dead. Michelle was about to say his name again when she thought of Glenda. Even though Cliff promised he’d stopped seeing her, Glenda had called their home in Atlanta several times and said nothing, hanging up after a few seconds.
“Is that you, Glenda? Don’t pull this crap. Not tonight.”
Michelle had suspected the affair wasn’t over even though Cliff insisted it was. Cliff had moved out for two months, then came back professing his mistake, “A midlife crisis,” he finally said, throwing out the expression like a punchline.
“Midlife crisis? That’s it? That’s your reason?” Michelle had said. “Are you in love with her?”
Cliff insisted he wasn’t, that he was sorry. Michelle agreed to try again, conflicted by her decision. She wanted it back, what they’d had before his affair. She wasn’t even sure that was possible.
Two months later, they bought the cabin. Cliff claimed it would give them time alone and a chance to work things out. “It’ll be great, just you and me and the birds.” Cliff had been right about the birds, and at first, it was wonderful. Michelle felt a renewed vigor for their marriage, for Cliff. But their getaway time soon devolved into Cliff complaining about his business, how if he expanded the lot to hold a hundred more vehicles he could increase sales by 20 to 30 percent. She wasn’t sure the marriage could withstand the new debt and headaches.
“Dammit, don’t just sit there! Say something!” Michelle slammed down the phone. She was putting on her coat when the phone rang again.
“Who is this?!” Michelle screamed.
“Mom? You okay?”
“Cassie,” she said. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“I called a few minutes ago,” Cassie said, “but couldn’t hear anyone on the other end. You sound upset.”
“No, no, baby. I’m fine. I uh, had just spilled something on the stove and . . .”
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie. I’m here,” Michelle said, zipping her coat. “Hey, uh, can I call you back in a few minutes? Your father and I were in the middle of something.” She hated lying to Cassie.
“Geez, Mom! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, nothing like that,” Michelle said, unable to remember the last time she and Cliff had had sex. She had stopped thinking about it months ago. “No . . . we were trying to stop some water coming in by the door. It’s raining like crazy up here.”
“I’ll let you go, but let me tell you the big news real quick—not only did I make varsity swim team . . . but they voted me captain!”
“Cassie, that’s wonderful!”
“Call me back, and I’ll give you the details,” Cassie said. “Oh, and . . . Molly and Kara are over. We ordered pizza and rented movies. They’re going to spend the night, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Michelle said, wishing she were back home, a cup of hot tea cradled in her hands, watching movies with Cassie and her friends.
“Is Dad behaving?” She laughed. “Tell him I love him. But don’t tell him the news. I want to tell him myself.”
“I’ll call you in a little bit,” Michelle said. She could hear Cassie’s friends laughing in the background, yelling that the pizza was getting cold. Cassie never knew about Cliff’s affair. They told Cassie the separation was just about them needing some time to sort things out.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetie.” Michelle hung up the phone. At the verge of tears, she sat on the bed. “How did things get so fucked up?” She pushed herself off the bed and turned toward the sliding glass doors and the blackness outside.
*****
The deck was over twenty feet square and extended over a steep drop from the back of the cabin, providing a panoramic view of the mountains. During the day, the abrupt slope was all rhododendron, pines, vines, poplars, sourwoods, and oaks. At night it was a jumble of jagged black, unrecognizable shapes. It was early April and all the hardwoods were still bare, but the rhododendron, even in winter, was so thick you could barely see the ground.
Rain sizzled along the hood and roof of the Cherokee as Michelle walked down the edge of the driveway, touching branches, stepping lightly, wishing she had gloves. She couldn’t see anything along the ground, the sticks, leaves, and rocks a black sheet beneath her shoes. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the low light—would snakes be out in weather like this? Or other creatures? In the few months they’d owned the cabin, she and Cliff had already witnessed a bear on their property once. It woke them. At the time, they’d both been amazed by the sight, the bear lying on its back on the deck shaking sunflower seeds into its mouth from the bird feeder. Now it didn’t seem so charming and cute. Even though Cliff had assured Michelle that black bears weren’t dangerous, she remembered how big it was, could still picture its claws shining in the moonlight.
The dark woods folded around her, growing blacker the farther Michelle ventured from the cabin. She could see the light below, as well as the lights of the cabin above through the fabric of branches and mountain laurel. There was a fragile aspect to the night, as if something could break at any moment. She stepped carefully, steadying one foot before moving the other on the shifting floor of decayed leaves and mud. The rain was not as heavy under the canopy of rhododendron, yet everything was slick. Michelle had just placed her foot down when a root caught her ankle. Her other foot slid out, sending her down the slope head over knees, branches whipping her cheeks and forehead, ripping her palms as she tried to break her fall. A poplar tree ended her tumble, catching her in the ribs.
“Shit!” Michelle was almost to her feet, when the dirt and rocks gave way again, tossing her down through the bracken. She crashed into a boulder and landed facedown in the muck. The earth smelled of mold. She pushed herself up and leaned against the rock, her elbow burning, the air cold on the exposed skin of her knee. Her jeans were ripped. She glanced up the slope to find the cabin lights, only to see nothing but twisting blackness. Looking down, Michelle saw the light below, but it appeared to be no closer than when she’d left the cabin.