The Way of Women (13 page)

Mellie glanced up at the calendar. Sunday evening he’d be home. May eighteenth. Hallelujah! In time for the … “Say goodbye, Lissa.” She ordered. “Now.”

“Bye, Daddy. Mommy’s getting mad.” She giggled again as she held the phone out. Light and life had come back into her body.

“Oh, Harv, I’m so glad you’re coming home. I have wonderful news too. Dr. Thomas called yesterday and gave me another number to call. Between the Cancer Society, a research grant, and several private donors, funds are available to help pay for Lissa’s treatment.” She ignored his questions. “I’m not sure. They said they’d talk more with us when we came in for the preop. But, Harv, you can come home. To stay. We don’t need for you to work on the mountain. You can come home.”

Harvey laughed along with her. All his plans. He could toss them into the turgid Toutle. He breathed in a deep breath of life, understanding what prisoners on death row felt like at an eleventh-hour stay of execution. He could kiss Baker Camp, the logging trucks, and mutinous Mount St. Helens goodbye. He’d be home for as long as Mellie and Lissa needed him. Surely there were other jobs available by now. The thoughts made him giddy with relief.

“I’ll be home by eight in the evening,” he promised. “I have to drive all day, but keep the coffee hot for me.”

D
awn rimmed the top of The Lady in gold and took David’s breath away. While getting up before dawn was not his passion, this view was. He sat on the rocky outcropping, coffee cup in hand, and watched the world come alive. Joy in the morning, he could feel it again. Was it the sticks and rocks that poked him all night that brought feeling back or the majesty before him? Down below in a small clearing two deer grazed by a mirror pond.

He inhaled, breathing in clear crisp air with the nip of evergreen laced with fresh coffee. When the gold rim succumbed to stronger light, he tossed the dregs of his coffee at a struggling pine seedling and headed back to camp. If they were going to have fish for breakfast, Brian had to get out of the sack.

“Come on, Son, the trout are calling our names.”

Brian rubbed sleepy eyes and pushed out of his sleeping bag. “You already started the fire. Didn’t you sleep?”

“Like a king. I’m hungry for trout, how about you?”

“Bet I get the first one.” Brian pulled his clothes out of the sleeping bag, where they’d kept dry, and shivered into pants and sweatshirt. He sat on a log to pull on his boots.

They picked up their gear and headed for the creek, not ten yards away.

David felt his shoulders relax as he worked his line free and cast into a dark pool just up creek. The fly hardly lighted before a trout struck.

“I got one,” Brian sang out.

David looked over his shoulder to see his son reeling in a brownie that leaped and fought all the way. “Way to go, Son.” He kept his own line taunt, letting the fish have enough line to fight but not loose enough to spit free.

“We gonna take some home?”

“Your mom would love trout for dinner, if we can catch that many.” David slipped his catch into the bag at his waist and prepared to cast again. If life could get any better than this, he didn’t know how. The mountain had accomplished her healing again. He laughed to himself.
God, it’s not the mountain that heals me but you. I just seem to listen better here. I don’t know why the cares wash away when I get out in the woods like this, but they do. Why do I wait so long, make myself and others so miserable?

He worked the long tip until he had enough line free, and then he cast, the fly settling in a patch of silver. The fly floated slowly toward the ripples. Nothing.

“Got me another one.” Brian’s laugh brought a smile to his father’s face.

David drew his line in and cast again, back to where he’d caught the first one. With a zing that gave him the same rush, a trout hit it and tore for deeper water.

Ah, Katheryn, how can you forgive me for the way I’ve acted? You keep loving me no matter what. Somehow I’ll make it up to you
.

They stopped with six trout, four of which came from Brian’s bag, and while David cleaned the fish in the creek, Brian built up the fire, hauled out the frying pan, and set the bacon grease from the morning before and the cornmeal on the wooden table.

“Ready?” David laid the cleaned fish on the table. Brian handed him the plastic bag of cornmeal-flour mix and set the frying pan on the crackling fire.

There is no fragrance like sizzling trout cooked right after catching it in a camp like this
. David inhaled again, watching as Brian carefully turned the browning trout over in the pan.

“You’re doing a great job, Son.”

Brian grinned over his shoulder. “Thanks. You and Mom taught me.”

David rubbed the top of Brian’s head. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”

“Get your plate.”

David pushed the coffeepot over a hotter spot and took his plate back to the table. One bite and he shut his eyes to better savor the rush of flavor. “Perfecto.”

Brian sat across the table. The trout disappeared as if by magic, leaving both of them with satisfied grins. When Brian belched, they both laughed.

“Let’s get packed up. Get those trout on ice as soon as we can.”

“Dad, look!” Brian pointed toward the mountain.

David turned. A puff of ash rose from the new crater, as if the mountain burped. While they watched, another cloud, darker and more dense,
grew. David grabbed for his camera. He pointed it at the mountain, clicking as the clouds roiled and reared, when it looked like the entire north face was slipping downward.

“Brian, we gotta get outta here. Run!”

“I’ll get the—”

“No! Run!”

They tore off down the trail, making about fifty yards when the blast hit them.

O
h my God, look!”

Frank spun around, following the pointing finger. “The mountain.” A whisper only, as if his vocal cords strangled at the magnitude of the sight.

Ash, steam, and roiling clouds climbed higher by the moment, billowing, filling the eastern sky. The mountain itself was not visible from where they stood in the parking lot in Toutle, the parking lot where over a hundred cars waited to follow Frank up Highway 504 to Spirit Lake.

The police-band radio squawked from his dashboard. “Mayday, Mayday. Mount St. Helens has erupted. Alert, everyone, Mount St. Helens has erupted. Oh my God, the north face is going!”

Frank leaned inside and grabbed his mic. He held it against his chest as he watched the ash cloud grow. How could a mountain be blowing up and life here, so close to it, go on as if nothing were amiss?

“Sheriff! What do you hear?” The property owners who’d been ready to have his head served barbeque style for being late only a few minutes ago now congregated together, some crying, others still open-mouthed in
awe at the terrible beauty filling the eastern sky, climbing higher and wider into the stratosphere.

“What’s going to happen?” One of his deputies kept his voice low so as to not panic the gathered crowd.

“I have no idea.” Frank shook his head. His mind finally kicked into gear, and he realized only seconds had passed since the first shout, seconds that felt like minutes stretching into a time warp. He dropped his mic back in the cradle, ordered Sig to stay, and walked to the rear of the Blazer. Popping the rear door, he reached inside for a bullhorn. The squawk as he turned it on served to galvanize him into action.

“Okay, folks, we obviously won’t be traveling 504 this morning, so I suggest you all head on home immediately. We need to clear this area for emergency vehicles.”

“Thank God we weren’t up there.”

“Or on our way. If we think the Toutle is flooded now, just wait a while.”

One woman came up to Frank. “Sorry for being so angry with you. God sure took care of all of us today.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Frank touched the brim of his hat. Amazing how his head had cleared its alcohol-induced fog after the dispatcher’s phone call. Shock did that to one.

M
aybe they’ll come home early.” Katheryn stretched her arms over her head, pushing against the headboard. She flexed her toes and rotated her ankles.
You’d better get going, or you’ll be late for church. You could stay home and write, finish another chapter before they get home. After all, how often do you get this kind of quiet? And besides, you’re on a roll
.

She tried to ignore the inner argument while slipping her arms into the sleeves of her chenille robe. “Hurry home, David. I have such magnificent news.”

Lucky whined at the door. Out of habit Katheryn had closed the bedroom door the night before. Lucky slept on a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. While she’d been known to sneak up on the bed when Katheryn slept alone, last night she’d stayed on the floor.

Katheryn closed the window that she kept open a crack even in the coldest months, slid her feet into sheepskin slippers, and led the way down the stairs, Lucky’s toenails clicking beside her on the dark oak risers.

“There you go, girl. Looks to be a lovely day.” She inhaled a breath of
spring as she watched the dog pause at the edge of the deck and sniff the air. She couldn’t help but do the same. Someone had started a fireplace or wood stove, the narcissus blooming in one wine-barrel tub sweetened the mix, and, sure enough, the skunk had visited again during the night. How such a wild creature could manage in a suburban development like theirs was beyond her. She watched as Lucky did her business in the designated area, then followed an invisible trail over to the six-foot cedar fence. Tail wagging, Lucky checked out the immediate area, returned to the depression, and gave it a thorough sniff test.

“Come on, girl, that critter is long gone.” Which was good if the skunk was the trespasser Lucky had followed. Their meeting would have been bad news. “You don’t want a tomato juice bath again, do you?” It had taken three tall cans to get the odor out of the dog’s hide, three baths for the dog, two for the handlers, and one for the entire bathroom. Amazing how one dog giving a vigorous shaking could paint an entire bathroom in red dots of tomato juice.

Katheryn poured dry dog food in the ceramic dog dish Kevin had made one year in an art class. She added a dessert topping of canned food and set the dish on the floor to the appreciative thwacking of the dog’s tail against the side of her robe.

Church or no, the discussion still waged.

She inhaled the coffee fragrance when she opened the can to measure grounds into the percolator. Today could be deemed a good day for smells.
Have I included any in Brandy’s story? Or am I missing out on that one of the senses? What about the other senses? What about taste and hearing?

Once showered, dressed, and with industrial strength coffee in hand, she headed back to her office. The clock on her desk read ten the next time she came up for air, thanks to a rumbling stomach and a ringing telephone.

“Oh, go away.” She swept her now dry but not styled hair back from her forehead. Picking up the phone and clamping it between shoulder and ear, she kept her fingers on the keys.