Running Into Trouble Read online

  After pulling into her driveway, Helen killed the engine and spent a few moments going over her plan. Quick apology. Lots of tolerance. Give him space. Yep, she had it all covered. She checked her face in the rearview mirror and was treated to a super-close-up view of her pores. God, my face is shiny, she thought, fumbling through her purse for her compact. She applied a light layer of cakey beige clay around her nose and forehead, left the car, and approached the front door. As she put the key in the lock, she noticed her hands were damp and shaking slightly.

  “Hello! Eli, are you home?” called Helen, walking through the foyer and into the living room.

  Getting no response, she felt suddenly deflated. She let herself drop onto the couch, and she sat for a few moments, wondering where Eli might be. He was probably out on a long run. Or maybe he was at Matt and Agnes' house down the road. (Matt was one of Eli’s old “slacker” friends who’d recently entered the working world as a fifth grade teacher with emergency credentials. Agnes was his fiancé. It bothered her that they were already engaged, despite the fact that Matt and Agnes had met months after she and Eli became a couple.) She considered calling Matt and Agnes, just to see if Eli was there, but decided against it. She didn’t want to give them the idea that things between her and Eli weren’t 100 percent great.

  She sighed. Of course Eli didn’t have a cell phone. Every time she talked about buying one for him, he’d say something like, “You know I couldn’t make the monthly payments, and you’ve already done so much for me as it is.” But she suspected that Eli just didn’t want her to be able to reach him all the time. On one of their first few dates—pizza and drinks at the Uvula—she’d overheard Eli joking with Matt about how cell phones were “an electronic leash” for the “terminally whipped.”

  It was, now that she thought about it, totally inconsiderate of him not to have a cell phone. And would it be too much to ask for him to leave a post-it note or a voice mail message if he wasn’t going to be home by 5:30 pm? Helen didn’t think so, especially since they had plans to be at the Thing by around 8 pm. Energized by her growing frustration, Helen stood up and carried her purse into the bedroom, figuring she should at least change out of her work clothes.

  As she marched into the bedroom, she noticed a lumpy form under the covers. It was Eli. He wasn’t avoiding her after all; he was just asleep. She sat down on the side of the bed and started playing with his damp, freshly showered curls. He looked so soft and vulnerable when he slept, and so warm and cuddly. Since he seemed to be in a very deep sleep, Helen decided to crawl into bed and join him.

  She took off her work clothes and folded them over a blue rocking chair that enhanced the overall look of the room without adding to its comfort. Feeling chilly and exposed in her matching leopard-print bra and g-string, Helen crawled into bed and felt the warmth radiating from Eli’s sleeping body. Slowly, tentatively, she moved closer to Eli until she was pressed against his back. He moved slightly and made a sleepy, contented sigh. Encouraged, Helen reached around to stroke his chest. This time, Eli quickly sucked in his breath and groaned slightly.

  Helen kept running her hands down his chest. She was excited, thrilled even, that she and Eli were going to make love on a Thursday.

  -Eli Hawthorne-

  Lying in bed, sweaty and spent, with Hell curled up in the crook of his arm, Eli couldn’t believe that he’d never thought to try having sex with Hell while pretending she was someone else. Sure, it was probably dishonest, and Hell really wouldn’t like it if she found out, but the end result was so much better than their silent, celibate conflict.

  It had all started when he was in that twilight state between sleep and waking and he felt the smooth, warm flesh rubbing against his back. Immediately, his mind latched onto Jennifer, one of the few women from the R&M club he’d never dated. He imagined that she'd broken into his house with the sole purpose of screwing his brains out and then disappearing before Hell came home. Things flowed quickly and naturally. For the first time in almost a year, Eli was not just doing a chore, he was getting laid.

  Grooving to his own rhythm, feeling on the edge of an explosion, Eli suddenly remembered that he'd forgotten something critical: the condom! If he caught a disease and passed it onto Hell, she’d kill him, and he’d deserve it. Marshalling every last particle of willpower, Eli pulled out and opened his eyes and…there was Hell.

  “Is anything wrong, honey?” she asked.

  “Er, nothing,” gasped Eli, reinserting himself.

  He moved around a lot to cover up the fact that he was softening. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up if he didn’t think of something hella sexy, and fast. So he closed his eyes and thought of Jennifer again. He watched her running through the Organic Food Store parking lot wearing nothing but a tiny pair of orange shorts. Her chest, which she must have borrowed from some porno magazine, bounced up and down, up and down, up and down, and…

  It was over.

  -felis concolor-

  The scent of prey led felis concolor to the river of rock, where the loud, rubber-footed giants roared by. To get to the prey, he would have to cross the river, a very dangerous undertaking. Too scared to move forward but too hungry to head back into the woods, the predator folded himself into a ditch by the river, where he would wait until he knew what to do next. He closed eyes and lapsed into sleep.

  -Helen Kale-

  When Helen opened her eyes, the room was dark. She blinked her eyes, twisted her neck so she could see the clock on the bed stand, and…holy shit, it was 8:45 pm; they were already late for the Thing. Helen sprung out of bed and began tapping Eli on the shoulder.

  “Eli honey?” she said, pulling on his ear. “We’ve got to get moving.”

  “Er, what?” Helen flipped on the light switch, causing Eli to blink and cover his eyes with his hands.

  “We were supposed to be at the Thing fifteen minutes ago.” Helen grabbed a hairbrush off the bed stand and started yanking it through her hair as she opened the closed and pulled out possible outfits.

  “I dunno. Maybe we could just stay in tonight.” Eli gave a great big yawn and pulled the covers over his head.

  Helen frowned. Although she knew she should be happy, she’d woken up from her accidental nap in an inexplicably black mood. She scoured her mind for a reason why. Maybe it was because Eli had seemed strangely distant while they were making love, like he was thinking about someone else. And he didn’t say “I love you,” not even once. Yes, she thought, it’s his fault, it’s all his fault.

  She took a deep breath. Then she grabbed the covers and pulled them away from Eli with a great, heaving sigh.

  “Look, Eli, I told Bob and Coach that you were coming. And I promised Rainbow that I’d help with the cleanup. You’re a big deal in this town, you know, and people count on you. You can’t just do whatever your selfish, lazy ass feels like!”

  Eli looked at her with big, hurt eyes that said, “What did I do this time?” But instead of confronting her, like he usually did, he yawned again and muttered something about taking a fast shower.

  Afterwards, they both dressed silently. Helen fought back tears. She felt terrible that she’d snapped at Eli. Lashing out at him had washed away her strange anger at Eli and left behind hurt and desperate tenderness. Now things were the same as they had been before they had made love: she, Helen, was in the wrong, and it was up to her to win him back.

  “C’mon, honey, let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse and a light jacket.

  Eli nodded imperceptibly and followed her to the car. Even though it wasn’t especially cool, Helen turned on the heat. The warm air made her feel cozy and safe.

  As they made their way up the steep, winding roads to Bob Robertson’s house, Eli opened the window. He put his arm out the window and rested his hand on the roof of the car, as though he wanted to be as physically far away from Helen as possible. He kept his eyes straight ahead, no matter how many times Helen snuck glances at him.

  “Look, honey
, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was temporary insanity,” said Helen in rush.

  “Yeah, sure. Can we talk about this later?” Eli tightened his grip on the roof of the car and started tapping his foot.

  “You’re angry at me. And that’s OK. But I wish we could just communicate—”

  Eli interrupted. “I am not mad at you, I’m just—look out!”

  A large animal ran darted across the road and into the path of Helen’s car. Helen instinctively jerked her car into the left lane to avoid the creature. But just as she pulled over, a small car heading in the opposite direction was speeding around the curve. She tried to swerve back into her own lane, but it was too late.

  -Jennifer Champion-

  “You look so pale, sit down.”

  “What a horrible experience, it must’ve been—”

  “Oh shush, will you? She doesn’t want to relive the whole—“

  “But she hit you head on? Was she drunk or—”

  “Oh, not Helen. It couldn’t be, could it?”

  “Was Eli with her?”

  “Yeah, but I think—”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I can’t believe you’re okay.”

  “I can’t believe Helen’s okay.”

  “I can’t believe Eli’s okay.”

  “No a scratch on them. It’s a miracle.”

  “But a head on collision? How could that happen?”

  “I think Helen swerved so she wouldn’t hit a deer.”

  “I thought it was a squirrel.”

  “I heard she was speeding, doing 50 in a 30 zone.”

  “Are you sure she wasn’t drunk?”

  “Helen wouldn’t do that, it—”

  “She must feel so awful!”

  “It was a horrible, horrible accident, and we should just be thankful everyone’s okay.”

  “So, Jennifer, do you want a drink?”

  Jennifer, seated with her feet up in Bob Robertson’s battered, comfy lounge chair—the evening’s seat of honor—blinked at Harry “Hundred” Hickey as he waited expectantly for her drink order. Harry had an unrequited crush on Jennifer, which he expressed primarily through over-solicitousness.

  “Um, I’ll have a Cabernet, if you don’t mind,” she said in a bright, distracted voice.

  “Oh, and I’ll get you something to eat, maybe some desserts. Chocolate is good for post-traumatic stress,” added Sue Dawson, who liked to mother people despite the fact that she was, as she often said, “child-free by choice, not by circumstance.”

  Jennifer smiled and nodded. She was weightless with relief. Nobody had been hurt, beyond a couple of minor bruises. And Officer Jim, the cute cop who’d given her a ride to the party, had told her on an off-the-record basis that the accident was absolutely, 100% not her fault. Taking the wine from Harry and the cookie from Sue, Jennifer watched strangers and acquaintances alike circle her chair like a pack of gossip-hungry vultures. Sipping her wine, she listened to them gabble in rapid-fire overlapping bursts that made it impossible for her to do anything other than what she most wanted to do, which was to remain contentedly silent.

  “God, isn’t it weird that the last two Death March winners would wind up in a head on collision?”

  “Maybe it’s a new Death March curse—”

  “Oh, don’t listen to him, there’s never been a Death March curse—”

  “You weren’t injured, were—”

  “Of course not, why are you asking her that?”

  “How is Helen doing. Shit, she must feel awful.”

  “Do you think they’re coming here tonight?”

  “After that kind of ordeal? Are you—”

  “Why not? What better time for some wine?”

  “I bet Helen was having some wine—”

  “Oh shush.”

  “I’m just saying it’s, you know, possible.”

  “But she wouldn’t—”

  “I’m not saying she did, it’s just that she’s not a saint, or—”

  “I don’t know about that, with everything she does for him.”

  “Yeah, but maybe she got stressed—”

  “And it drove her to drinking—”

  “Or just reckless driving. You know, my cousin—”

  “Oh, don’t be so mean.”

  “Well, we have no idea what happened.”

  “But she does—”

  “Don’t rush her, maybe she’s still shaken.”

  “I was in a car accident last year and—”

  The talk whirled faster and faster, until Jennifer felt like the somewhat dizzy eye of a very chatty tropical storm. She closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts, which refused to line up into a straightforward narrative. Instead, snippets of the accident lurched in an out of focus, producing a kaleidoscopic collage that would have been disquieting if the overall consequences of the accident hadn’t been so fundamentally benign.

  She recalled bright headlights. The bang when her small car hit the somewhat larger one. The screech as her car spun around, propelled by the force of the crash. The crunch as her car toppled onto its side, crushing a side-view mirror. The hiccup of a skipped CD, and Cheryl Crow’s light, hollow voice asking Jennifer are you strong? are you strong? are you strong? She’d listened to that voice for at least a full minute after the car had stopped moving before she grabbed her cell phone and found Emergency on her speed dial.

  After that, she remembered struggling under the cold, clammy weight of an oppressive dread, crying and saying I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. A voice said that she was in shock. Someone had hugged her, maybe it was Eli or Jim the Cop or an Emergency Technician. Someone else had walked over to her car and knocked on the window. A man with a rich voice that made her think of solid oak spoke loudly in her direction. Another man in yellow coveralls stood next to a tow truck and smoked a cigarette.

  Jennifer took a gulp of her wine. It was a good night to be alive, and, perhaps, a good night to be drunk.

  -Eli Hawthorne-

  “Excuse me, sir, can I have a word with you?”

  Eli turned toward Officer Rosen, a young guy with the face of a cherub and the short legs and oversized chest of a pigeon, and nodded. They walked about twenty feet down the road, past Jennifer, who was sobbing and hugging Tom, the sixty year old tow truck driver, and Hell, who was calmly conversing with a tall cop who looked like a soap opera star. He briefly wondered if Officer Rosen resented having such a good-looking partner.

  He also took in the contrast between Jennifer, who waved her emotions like a flag, and dry-eyed Hell, who was stiff and wooden where, in his opinion, she should have been distraught or, at least, contrite. He didn’t understand how Hell could be so volatile at home and yet so cool after causing a huge car accident that only through the dumbest of luck hadn't managed to kill or permanently main somebody.

  “What’s your name?” asked Officer Rosen, taking out a small pad of paper and cradling it in a small, plump hand.

  “Eli Hawthorne.”

  “Eli Hawthorne? You won the Death March last year.” Officer Rosen allowed his tiny flower of a mouth bloom into an enthusiastic grin that made him look just a little bit goofy.

  “Call me Rosie,” he said, reaching out to shake Eli’s hand.

  Eli pumped Rosie’s hand and felt the pleasurable, almost sexual, tingle he associated with recognition. Within the city limits of Crawford’s Notch, Eli was a celebrity. Not only was he the first local man to win after a two decade-long dry spell, but he’d also suffered so dramatically that a lot of people thought he was actually going die, or, at the very least, wind up with a major organ failure.

  “And that girl you hit, Jennifer Champion? She won it, too?”

  “Yep, weird, isn’t it,” said Eli, shaking his head. Actually, he thought, it really was kind of weird, especially since he’d been thinking about Jennifer right before he and Hell had left. If he concentra
ted hard, her could actually hear Jennifer’s sobs, like the mewls of a wounded kitten, floating through the still night air. He felt bad for her. She wasn’t the one who spontaneously decided to change lanes.

  “The Notch is a very small world. So, about the accident. Just a couple more questions. A formality, you know. Your girlfriend says she swerved to avoid hitting some kind of animal. Did you see it?”

  “Yes. It was a big dog or a small deer. It ran out in front of the car.”

  Whatever it was, he knew it wouldn’t have been a match for two tons of plastic polymers and cheap steel. But Hell had twisted the steering wheel instinctively, without a single thought for him, the boyfriend she claimed to love above all else, and what could have happened to his running career if he’d been injured.