Wildland Read online

  WILDLAND

  A Novel

  REBECCA HODGE

  To my parents, Tom and Ann Elleman, who always encouraged me to reach for new challenges.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MONDAY, 11:00 AM

  Kat forced the last thumbtack through the yellow bedsheet and adjusted the fabric to make sure the bedroom mirror was covered. Facing her future was the goal of this trip to the southern Blue Ridge, but that didn’t mean she had to face her reflection. Cowardly, perhaps, but no one would know. She lifted her empty suitcase off the bed and put it in the closet. A shame the rest of her life wouldn’t tidy up so easily.

  Lunch was next on her agenda, but the unexpected roar of a car struggling up the mountainous gravel road drew her to the front door, curious and a bit wary. This cottage sat by itself on a dead end. Someone must be lost.

  She stepped onto the porch, ready to give directions, as a dust-covered 4Runner with dark-tinted windows came into view, dodging potholes and spitting pebbles in wide arcs. A robin and a pair of towhees took flight in a flurry.

  Not someone lost—her daughter, Sara. They had made plans to meet for lunch in Franklin in two weeks to mark the halfway point of her stay, so Kat couldn’t think of any reason Sara would drive an hour and a half to visit on her first day here.

  A wide patch of gravel in front of the cottage ended at a stone bench that perched at the edge of a steep mountain drop-off. Sara parked, climbed out of the SUV, and waved. “Hi, Mom.” She rooted around in the back seat and emerged with a bulging canvas bag and a bouquet of yellow daffodils and blue cornflowers. “I brought you some welcome-to-the-mountains gifts.”

  A nice gesture, but flowers didn’t explain her daughter’s arrival. Sara always had a master plan—something else was up. Regardless, it was nice to have her here. “Hi. You’ve come a long way. I’ve only been here a few hours.”

  “It’s a nice day for a drive. I wanted to make sure you’d be okay up here.” Sara turned and surveyed the view to the east—already Kat’s favorite, a panorama that could have sold a thousand postcards. Broad, protective mountains. Gently rolling hills. A long crescent lake, sunlit and spangled, stretching across the valley floor far below.

  “Wow. Pretty spectacular.” Sara crunched through the band of drought-stricken grass that edged the house and joined her mother on the porch. “You and Dad came up here when I was doing junior year abroad, right? He must have loved it, away from it all.”

  “He did. This is the same cottage, too. He went hiking every day.” Jim was the one who had gone out exploring while Kat enjoyed the view from the front porch. She had seen this forest, these mountains, through his enthusiasm—a landscape of nuance and mystery, waiting to be embraced. She wasn’t all that outdoorsy herself. Now, here on her own, she found herself focusing on practical details she hadn’t fully considered—how isolated she was, how long it was going to take to drive to the nearest grocery, how much hassle it was going to be to live up here with no phone.

  Kat gave Sara a quick hug and wrinkled her nose. Her daughter smelled like a mixture of citrus shampoo and wet dog, her consistent perfume. Between her job as a dog trainer, working with everything from police dogs to agility competitors, and her volunteer work at the Asheville animal shelter, Sara was never far from a four-legged companion. She preferred dogs to dates, and any hopes Kat had for grandchildren had proven wildly unrealistic.

  Kat took a deep breath and let a wave of sadness roll past. Now, more than ever, it mattered that she would leave so little behind.

  “Not a bad drive,” Sara said. “But could you rent a place any harder to find? I passed the last house at least a mile back.” She frowned at the fluttering strips of peeling paint that hung from the cottage siding. “I can’t believe you’d rather be here than back home.”

  Kat bit back an illogical urge to defend the house. “It’s faded more than I expected, but at least I have this view. I stopped at a yard sale on my way here and picked up a few things to brighten it up.” The blue-and green-patterned ceramic bowl that now sat on the porch’s end table and a cheerful quilt hanging on the back of the rocker did little, however, to distract from the sagging front steps, the ragged shingles, and the starburst cracks threatening one of the front windowpanes.

  She had chosen this house in the belief that its familiarity would offer some comfort. Instead, its decline only underscored how much had changed. Jim was gone now, a midnight stroke taking him in his sleep, and life felt far too fragile. Instead of support, the house seemed to reflect her grief over the inevitable passage of time. “Come on in. I’ll find something for the flowers.”

  She led the way through the living room. Sara set her bag beside the well-used couch and leaned against the kitchen doorjamb while Kat hunted for a container big enough to hold the bouquet.

  “Mom, I’m worried about you.” At least Sara didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Your doctor wanted you to start chemo a week ago. Instead, you hide here. It feels like you’re giving up.” She pushed her shoulders forward as though she were a child again, arguing for an extra cookie or a later curfew.

  Kat wanted to hug her, hold her, tell her everything would be okay, but it would be the worst sort of lie. Nothing was okay. She’d retreated here to these mountains to avoid exactly these kinds of discussions.

  Three years earlier, during Kat’s first round of cancer treatments, Sara had been her staunchest supporter. Jim had manned the front lines, coordinating the countless appointments and taking care of practicalities. But Sara had been there for the toughest moments, driving up to DC each time Kat needed her most.

  She’d held Kat’s hand when they went in to hear those devastating initial biopsy results. She’d shaved Kat’s head when chemo started taking its toll, cranking Gloria Gaynor up to maximum volume, claiming it was impossible to cry while listening to disco. It had been Sara who had gone with her to the plastic surgeon to pick out her new breasts, reassuring her every step of the way, boosting her spirits when Kat faltered.

  Their repeated arguments the past few weeks had thrown them into territory Kat was struggling to navigate. This time around, when reassurance was no longer possible, they couldn’t seem to find common ground.

  “I know this is hard.” Kat tried to sound unemotional, but her voice shook and her eyes filled. She kept picturing Sara, alone. She’d spent thirty years trying to keep her daughter safe and protected, and now it felt traitorous to abandon her. “I need time on my own to make a final decision. I’ve done the surgeries. Taken the drugs. I’ve fought, and for the last three years I thought I’d won.”

  It hadn’t been a total victory—breast cancer, even when silent, hovered always at the edge of her consciousness, a predator in her peripheral vision, waiting to pounce. She tried not to think about the new lump that lived now in her armpit. The biopsy two weeks ago had merely confirmed the truth she had known in that first heartbeat of discovery.

  “Now they’re talking about even more chemo and radiation. Enough is enough. I’m done with this battle.”

  Sara looked away. “Just because it didn’t work for Oma doesn’t mean it won’t work for you. A lot has changed since then—better drugs, fewer side effects. Treatment could mean years.”

  “What kind of years?”

  No answer.

  Kat turned away, and her hands closed around the edge of the chipped kitchen sink as she stared out the window above it.

  Maybe Sara was scared—Jim gone two years earlier and now her mother threatened as well. Kat well remembered the loss of her own parents and the devastating realization that she no longer had them to lean on. Leaving her daughter was inevitable, but now Kat had to decide what she wanted from the time that remained.

  “Sara.” She couldn’t force hers
elf to look at the lines of worry that twisted her daughter’s face, because they wrung her heart and strangled her resolve. “You were so young when Oma died. You don’t know what it was like. The vomiting. The weakness. I watched my own mother wither into nothing but bones and teeth and endless pain. I refuse to drag this out and force you into months of caregiving.”

  Other factors weighed heavily as well. Jim had been at Kat’s side through her surgeries, through those first rounds of chemo, a steady reminder that a future existed. They had hopes, they had plans, she had responsibilities. None of that anchored her now.

  Since Jim’s death, each day had consisted of a series of check boxes: make coffee, pack lunch, drive to work, select the right packet of lecture notes, stand in front of a classroom of high school students who read only CliffsNotes. Say the same things she’d said a hundred times, then return home with stacks of essays to grade. The evening work at least served as a distraction from the silent, echoing house. When she thought about more cancer treatment, the unanswerable question was what’s the point?

  Kat straightened, gave up any attempt to find a vase, and plunked Sara’s bouquet into an inch of water in a dented saucepan. The blooms flopped sadly to one side.

  This discussion was doing nothing to bridge the gap between them. She turned. Sara looked so sad and alone that Kat’s determination to drive home her point seemed irrelevant. She crossed the room, wrapped her arms around her daughter, and hugged her tight. Sara dissolved, hugged back, and buried her face in the hollow of Kat’s shoulder.

  “The sense of death is most in apprehension.” Kat didn’t realize she’d spoken the quote aloud until Sara stiffened and pulled away. When Jim had been alive, he had enjoyed hearing her quote Shakespeare whenever it popped into her head, but no one else appreciated it.

  “Stop it, Mom. A dead playwright can’t solve this. We’re talking about cancer. About your life.” Sara’s jaw was so clenched, it sounded like she spoke through a narrow tube.

  “I know you’re worried, but I’ll only be here for a month.” Kat tried to make it sound like no time at all. “I’ll think about everything you’ve said these past weeks. All your arguments for more treatment. I promise. When we meet for lunch, we’ll talk it through one more time.” A somewhat deceptive promise—Kat didn’t think she would change her thinking—but it didn’t feel dishonest to offer what comfort she could.

  Sara’s face pinched in an anxious frown. “I’m worried about you staying up here by yourself. My cell can’t even get a signal. What if something goes wrong?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. I’m probably safer here than in the city. I just need some time.” Time. The one thing she wanted. The one thing she might not have.

  “Okay, okay, okay. I get it.” At least Sara now seemed resigned. “I’ve got one more thing to bring in.” She turned and headed out the front door.

  Kat sighed and tried to loosen the tension in the back of her neck, but it was there to stay. She glanced at the four large boxes she’d stacked against the far living room wall. Packed to the brim, they held more than thirty years of someday-I’ll-organize-all-this memories—photos still in their drugstore packets, programs from DC’s Shakespeare Theatre, Sara’s school papers, souvenirs, and tennis team certificates. A fitting project for her weeks alone. Perhaps someday in the years ahead, Sara would look through the albums Kat created in these weeks and feel the love invested in them.

  Kat’s eyes dropped to the canvas bag Sara had carried in with the flowers, and she lifted it onto the couch to see what it held. A book on top—Coping With Cancer. Oh good, a little light reading. Her stomach tightened, and she regretted her promise to talk to Sara again about treatment. Under the book, two large, metal, flat-bottomed bowls. A half-dozen fluorescent-green tennis balls. At the bottom, a ten-pound bag of dog kibble.

  Shit. Kat took two steps toward the door, but it opened before she got there.

  Sara, her expression anything but innocent, held a leash attached to a large yellow Lab who must have been hidden in the back of the SUV. The dog panted, its tongue hanging low and its tail wagging high.

  “This is Juni.” Sara unclipped the leash and turned the dog loose. “She needs a foster home, and you need company. A perfect match.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Kat made no attempt to soften her tone.

  Juni came over to sniff Kat’s hand, her breath warm and damp. Kat flinched and pulled away. She liked dogs just fine at a distance, but she’d never been around them much. She sometimes wondered whether Sara’s passion for animals was simply a pendulum swing away from Kat’s refusal to let her have pets as a child. Back then, they had seemed an unnecessary complication to a busy life, and right now, the last thing Kat needed was another complication.

  The dog snuffled at Kat’s sandaled feet, nosed into the dusty space under the couch, and inspected the crevices between the floorboards. Wisps of pale dog hair drifted behind her.

  “You know I’ve never had a dog,” Kat said. “Never wanted one.”

  “She’s perfectly trained. I worked with her years ago. Her owner died after a long illness, and there’s no one to take her. She’s a total sweetheart, and she needs someone who will spend lots of time with her. I can’t do it—I’m already fostering four. You don’t want her put down, do you?”

  “Come on, Sara, stop with the guilt trip. I don’t want a dog.”

  “You may not want it, but you sure do need it. Up here in the wilds. All by yourself.”

  “This is a rental. Dogs aren’t allowed.”

  “I stopped at the realtor’s on my way up and paid the pet deposit.”

  “I. Do. Not. Want. A. Dog.”

  “I. Do. Not. Care.” Sara emphasized the words the same way Kat had, but then her face softened, and she launched one of her hard-to-ignore smiles. “Mom, come on. Give it a chance.”

  Kat tried to think of a snappy response, but the past two weeks had left her with no ammunition. She looked away and silently named all fourteen of Shakespeare’s comedies in date order, trying to find a path forward.

  If Jim were here, what would he say? Probably something infuriating like choose your battles or look at the intention, not the action. Perhaps he was right, and this wasn’t the fight to cling to. The dog was a present. Misplaced, perhaps, but as genuine in intent as the painted clay ashtray Sara had made in second grade for her nonsmoking mother. An all-too-familiar weight of guilt clamped hard on Kat’s chest and forced a decision.

  “I’ll keep her for one month.” The sentence hung in the air, underscoring Kat’s foolishness. “No longer.”

  Sara gave a victorious smile.

  Juni disappeared into the front bedroom.

  “Don’t let her get into my stuff.”

  Sara turned toward the bedroom door and paused, her head tipping to one side, her gaze focused.

  Too late, Kat realized what she was looking at.

  She hurried forward to stop her, but Sara crossed the bedroom and lifted the yellow sheet Kat had tacked to the wall. Sara froze, staring at the full-length mirror. The sheet slipped from her fingers and fell back into place. She turned to look at her mother, and her puzzled expression shifted to a gradual understanding.

  “You moved the mirror at home out of your bedroom after your surgeries.” Sara’s voice held nothing but kindness and compassion, and Kat’s irritation over the dog dwindled.

  “Yes.”

  Kat’s mastectomies and reconstruction had gifted her with nippleless, nerveless, fake Barbie-doll breasts, each with a five-inch scar. The last thing she wanted was a mirror big enough to showcase the damage. The small one in the bathroom was plenty for brushing her hair.

  Sara, ever rational, would never hide this way, and Kat braced for a lecture on facing reality. Instead, Sara closed the gap between them, and Kat found herself wrapped in strong, loving arms. Held instead of holding. Cared for. Loved. When Sara let go—far too soon—Kat could still feel the comfort of the embrace.
<
br />   “Okay, Mom, I get it. Do what you have to do. Maybe this break up here will help.” Sara glanced at her watch. “Sorry to head out so soon, but I’ve got to get back.” Her practical side surfaced, and she flipped back to her normal decisive self. “Take Juni for walks every day. Make sure she has food and water. She’s well trained, but don’t lose her. Call me if you have questions.”

  “I’ll call when I go into town.”

  “Good. I’ll be in Florida for the next week, judging a regional agility competition, but just leave me a message if I don’t pick up.” Sara gave Juni a pat and her mother a nod. A flicker of sadness on her face didn’t fit with her brisk efficiency, but it vanished so fast, Kat couldn’t be sure it had actually been there. Sad to be leaving? Sad about the future? Sara provided no clues and simply headed toward the door.

  A piercing desire for one more hug, one more bit of connection, sent Kat onto the porch, the dog coming as well but staying obediently at Kat’s side. Sara kept going, reaching her car, opening the door.

  “Sara.” Kat yelled the word, the twenty feet between them suddenly vast. Sara turned and Kat took a deep breath. “I love you.” She hoped Sara could hear all the words she couldn’t say out loud—sorrow for what the future held, apology for the fact that she couldn’t promise to do as Sara wished.

  “I love you too, Mom.” Sara’s face crumpled for a moment. “I wish you weren’t so damn stubborn. Be sensible. Call your oncologist. Schedule the chemo. You can hide your mastectomies from your mirror, but you can’t hide from the fact that if you do nothing …” Her voice broke, and she gulped, her head dropping forward to hide her face. It took a moment before she straightened. “We’ll talk in a few weeks. Stay safe up here.”

  She got into the car, and Kat lifted her hand in farewell. The shouted good-bye left her feeling hollow. She should have followed Sara for a final hug.

  Sara turned the SUV around, gave a wave, and headed down the mountain. The last of the dust settled back on the road, the last rumble of the engine faded into silence, and a razor-sharp stab of loneliness overwhelmed Kat. She shook it off. Decisions about her future had to be made on her own, didn’t they? That was why she was here.