Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 03

*****

Penny announced she is pregnant today! We all went out for dinner and drinks at Capianos, my treat. The business is doing well – well, for two of us. I really think we need another designer, but Mark says he thinks the downturn won't be enough to support three full-time employees, and I am being swayed. He's often right about this stuff, so in this case, I'm overruling my own feelings. They say that you need to trust in your subordinates, and in this case, I think it's probably right. We can always hire later if we need to.

But it was great. Lovely meal, funny company and Penny just glowed. She held both our hands that night – it was nice for Mark to feel like family. He doesn't have anyone else and he isn't quite the lady-killer I had imagined. When he started, there seemed lots of dates he'd tell me about, but they've petered off over the last few months. I think maybe he's just tired of the dating pool. I need to talk to Penny, see if she's got any friends he might date.

*****

April pulled into the parking lot of Trolleys Fields and parked her car against a row of trees that seemed to indicate a parking area.

As she'd driven into Trolleys Fields, right off Ambler Road, and navigated the long winding and narrow service track, she'd seen the bridge – the very small wooden bridge over the small creek, that was very high. The creek was flowing fast and was only inches below the bridge itself, and it did make her a little nervous to be crossing it. However, the nervousness was secondary to noticing the color of the dirt of the forest and the track. It was a particular shade of brown and the last time she'd seen it, it was covering Joe Sullivan's truck.

She knew she was closing in. Joe's truck had been here. She could see how the mud would get sprayed up if the water got any higher – obviously this had flooded in the past, the dirt got wet, became mud and then covered any car with a wide wheel base that was wider than the rocks thrown down to mark the trail.

She pulled into the first cabin, a large wood log affair, with signs outside saying "Vacation Homes available. Rent by the day, week or month." It was obviously the office and there was a slow lazy smoke trail emanating from the small chimney in the roof. It looked for all the world like one of those Lincoln Log models that kids make at Christmas time.

April looked over the building, navigating her way across the mud field of the parking lot, trying to keep her boots out of the more obvious sink holes, then went inside.

Inside it was cozy. She was surprised. After how Tara had described the place, she had expected it to be dank, drafty and smelly. But it wasn't. There was a fire in the fire place, slowly burning down. Easy chairs, a coffee pot, a TV with a muted news program on, and even newspapers around the place. Current ones, at that, she noted.

There was a large desk against one wall, and against another wall, a large slotted wall rack loaded with pamphlets about local attractions. She couldn't help but notice that most of them were for the same attractions. West Virginia didn't have a Disney Land or Great America to boast of, so most were for fishing expeditions, or paintballing. Some were for attractions in D.C. and why not, they were less than an hour outside of the larger city of power.

There was no one in office space and April went over the desk, looking around and waiting for someone to arrive. And eventually, someone did, heralded by the flushing of a toilet and a door banging open.

A large-bellied man, with a red face and the swollen red nose of a habitual drinker came out, trying to do up his belt. He stopped when he saw April, then put on the fakest smile imaginable, that was made worse by the broken and yellowed teeth he showed when he did it. His countenance was almost spot on for Danny Devito playing The Penguin in the old 1980's movie Batman Returns – thin lips, and straggling thin and greasy hair, down to his shoulders. Upon seeing her, his expression and face were attempting to ingratiate and it was truly terrifying to behold. April had to stop herself from taking a step back as he approached her, even though there was a two-foot desk between them.

"Can I help you... miss?" he said, glancing at her hands to see if she was wearing any rings.

"Well, that depends," replied April, doing her best not to show her revulsion as he mans eyes raked over her body.

"On what, lovely lady? We have several deluxe cabins ready for that...delightful personage to grace them with your presence."

It was slimy and April was consumed with a sudden desire to punch this man on the nose, very hard, just to see it spurt blood.

"I'm only interested in one particular cabin."

"And which one is that?"

"The one Joe Sullivan lives in."

"Huh, you want cabin 37. I see. Professional? Yes, I can imagine that's what Joe would need. I doubt he trusts women as far as he can throw them."

April just held out her hand, not trusting herself to speak at that moment. It did answer one question though. There would be no one home waiting for Joe. He was truly alone. It made April unutterably sad.

He just looked at her hand, uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"Key," replied April.

"Oh," said the man, looking disappointed. He bent down and opened a draw, talking while he did. "Didn't he give you one? Won't he be there? Why do you need one?"

As he came up, she looked him in the eye, gave him a simpering smile and said, "He wants me ready for him when he gets in."

He put the key in her hand, smirking as he did it. "Hey, look, when you get done with him, think you might have some time? I might have more business for you..."

"Oh I'm sorry," said April, a shiver going up her spine. "Joe just wears me out. He's quite the stud. I doubt you'd want sloppy sixths. Or sevenths. You never know with Joe."

The man whistled. "Whhhooooeee! I guess you never can tell! That guy is like THE best maintenance guy around – this place runs because of the shit he does. But I had no idea he was a stud too! I gotta give him his due when I see him next! Doooggeee!"

April was already on her way out, after grabbing one of the site plans on the table in front of her. She couldn't take another moment of this man's drool.

She picked her way across the mud and jumped back in her still-warm car. She'd put the hood up earlier, when some dark clouds had gathered and was glad about it. She'd had one experience before where she'd forgotten to do that, and returned to a sodden car and from that one time, she'd learned to always put the hood up.

She looked at the sky – it was even more threatening and so she hurried out of the parking lot and onto the track that led back to the individual cottages, arranged either side of the path. Behind, on both sides, the forest loomed, dark and foreboding.

She drove down the trail, checking out the numbers on the cottages. Most where dark and unused, but a few had lights on and there were smoke coming from one or two – obviously the occupiers had seen the forecast too.

Eventually she found cabin 37. It was much further back from the road than the others. It was in significantly better shape than the others, had lots of patches on the wood, where some logs were obviously newer than others. The windows were clear and there were curtains and not blinds on the inside.

Outside, there was a chopping block and a huge pile of wood that had been split, some under cover and more out in the open. Presumably this was the source for the whole came site. There was a fire pit – not recently used – a grill, which was clean and had a cover. There was even a washing line she could see out the back.

April got out of the car and just looked at it. Joe Sullivan's final home. She'd found it. She didn't know what to feel about the end of her journey, but she knew she had to go in and see the inside.

She approached the door and the key she had worked first time. The lock was oiled and just slid open.

The cabin was neatly laid out. Large living area, with a small bathroom carved out in the back, she could see a shower and a toilet behind a partially opened door. Stairs along the left wall led up to a loft-style bedroom area, with a small balcony so the bed area could see down into the main living space.

There was a small kitchenette, with water and a drying rack. A small gas-driven built-in burner was inset on one of the work surfaces, and there was a fridge and even a one-piece washer and dryer, all neatly plumbed in.

There was a couch and a single recliner arranged around the fireplace, and a small TV and DVD player in the corner. There was even a CD player set up in the corner.

But what there wasn't were any pictures on the walls. There were some prints, but nothing personal. No pictures of anyone, save one on the mantelpiece, of a bunch of Army guys in sand fatigues, posing against a desert backdrop.

She looked around the room, turned on a light the was a sudden WHAP noise, and then the room seemed to be full of black Labrador dog, barking at her, poised to launch, but never actually doing so, just barking a lot.

She looked down at the dog, trying to judge if he was an actual threat. He was salivating and barking and doing the dance a dog does when it wants you to know it's there but isn't confident enough to actually attack.

She looked down at him and smiled. "Hi there? What's your name?" she said, gently.

The dog stopped barking for a second and sat down, look at her, mouth open. April looked around, wondering where he had come from, and then spied the doggy door in the wall, by the back door.

She also spied a couple of bowls on the floor, one for water and one for food. Both were empty.

"Oh you poor baby. Have you not been fed?" She moved towards the bowls, which set the dog off again, barking.

"Hush, Dog. Stop it. Cease. Be Quiet!" The last statement she made in a sharp voice, staring down the dog, and he stopped and sat down.

"Good boy. Let's get you something to eat and drink." As she picked up the water bowl, the dog started whining and got up and paced around, looking from the food bowl to April and back again. She filled the water bowl and smiled down at him. "It's OK. I'll feed you, don't worry."

She put down the water bowl, filled the food bowl and within seconds, the dog was tucking in like there was no tomorrow.

April wandered around the place, never settling. She tried sitting down, and couldn't get entirely comfortable. It wasn't that the place wasn't comfortable; it was. It was just...full of ghosts.

She put on coffee, using the small coffee maker – complete with personally ground coffee she found in a glass canister. Then, for lack of anything else to do, she cleaned out the fireplace and laid a new one, setting it going.

The act of setting it going meant that she was planning on staying, even though consciously, she wasn't aware of it. By now the heavens had opened and it was pouring outside, and she noticed that the cabin was totally dry. No leaks. She stood with a cup of coffee, watching the rain, with a fire behind her and the dog splayed out on the floor in front of it.

She'd petted him while waiting for the coffee to perk and discovered a nametag on his collar – his name was Max. Maximum Dog, apparently. She'd smiled at that. Joe had a sense of humor.

Once Max was used to her, he was fine. Even sitting on the floor, laid out, his eyes never left her as she moved around the cabin.

Eventually, she plopped herself down in the easy chair in front of the fire and said to Max, "What is there to do around here? No computers, the TV isn't hooked up, what do you do all day? Is there a book or something?"

Max looked mournfully at her and yawned, opening his mouth all the way as he did so. She looked around and saw a notebook on the side, along with a pen. Notebooks and pens. That meant writing! That might be interesting. She might get some insight. She picked up the book and opened at a random page and began to read.