Once in a Lifetime Read online

  The door to the truck opened and a man stepped out. "Hello? Anyone there?" He stood looking around for a few minutes and all she could see was that he was very tall, and she felt suddenly very foolish hiding there. As her feet and legs ached with the cold, she wanted to come out from behind the tree and ask for a ride, but how would she explain that she was hiding? It had been a stupid reaction, and now she had to stay there. He walked slowly around the truck, shrugged, hopped back into his truck, and kept going. And then he was gone, and Daphne walked slowly out from behind the tree with a foolish grin, talking to herself.

  "You dummy. Now you'll freeze your ass off all the way home. Serves you right." She began to hum then, amused by her own stupidity, and knowing that she had lived in cities for too long. There was no reason that she should have felt threatened, except that she had noticed that feeling more and more in the past few years. It was as though she had grown fearful, from her lack of contact with people. And she always felt so totally responsible for Andrew that she was suddenly desperately afraid something might happen to her.

  She walked on down the road for another mile, and suddenly she was startled to hear a car behind her in the distance. Once again she thought of running off the road, and this time she shook her head, saying softly to herself, "There's nothing to be afraid of." She felt even more foolish for the spoken words, but she stood her ground as she moved to the side of the road and watched the same truck she had seen before come toward her. The truck stopped again and this time she could see the man as the light went on when he opened the door.

  He had a rugged face, gray hair, and broad shoulders and he was wearing a heavy sheepskin coat that he pulled close around him.

  "Is that your car back there?"

  She nodded and nervously smiled, noticing that his hands were large and rough as he took them out of his pockets. The same shiver of fear ran through her that she had felt before, but she forced herself not to run from him. If he was a decent man, he would think she was crazy. And if he wasn't, it was too late to hide from him now. She would have to deal with whatever happened in whatever way she could. She smiled, but her eyes were wary. "Yes, it is."

  "Did I pass you awhile back?" He looked confused about it as he looked down at her. "I thought I saw someone on the road, but when I stopped I didn't see a soul. When I saw your car back there, I figured I'd missed you." His eyes seemed to understand something she didn't want him to know, and his voice was deep and husky and gentle. "Broke your axle, I see. Can I give you a ride? It's an awful cold night to be walking." They stood there like that for a long moment as she searched his eyes, and then nodded.

  "I'd like that very much. Thank you." She hoped he thought the tremor in her voice was from the cold, and by now even she wasn't sure. She was frozen to the bone, and she could barely manage the door handle with her numb fingers. He opened it for her and she slipped inside, and then a moment later he came around to his side and slipped behind the wheel, with scarcely a glance at her.

  "You were lucky you weren't on the main road going fifty. Did it give you any warning at all?"

  "No, it just snapped and the front end collapsed and that was it." She felt better now and the inside of the little truck was wonderfully warm. Her fingers ached as they thawed out and she blew on them. He handed her a pair of thick sheepskin-lined gloves without further comment and she slipped them on as they drove toward her cabin.

  It was almost five minutes later when he turned to her again, with that same gentle husky voice. Everything about him suggested the rugged strength of the mountains. "Did you get hurt?"

  She shook her head. "No. Just cold. It would have taken me a couple of hours to get home." She remembered to tell him where she lived then.

  "That's the old Lancaster cabin, isn't it?" He seemed surprised.

  "I'm not sure. I think so. I rented it from a woman named Dorsey, but we never met. I did it all by mail."

  He nodded. "That's her daughter. Old Mrs. Lancaster died last year. I don't think her daughter's been back in twenty years. She lives in Boston. Married to some social lawyer." It was all so wonderfully small-town, the details that everyone knew so well. It made Daphne smile at the memory of her terror of being attacked. All this man wanted to do was tell her the local gossip. "You from Boston too?"

  "No. New York."

  "Came up for a rest?" It was idle chitchat as they drove along, but Daphne sighed softly. She wasn't really sure she wanted to tell him, and it was as though he instantly understood. He held up a hand, smiled at her apologetically, and then turned his eyes back to the road. "Never mind. You don't have to answer. I've been here for so long, I forget my manners. Everyone in town asks questions like that, but it's none of my business what you're doing here. I'm sorry I asked."

  He was so kind about it that she smiled in return. "It's all right. I came up here to be near my son. I just put him in the ... the Howarth School." She had been about to say "the school for the deaf" but the words stuck to her tongue and she couldn't. The man turned to her then, she might as well have said it, he knew what the Howarth School was. Everyone in town did. It was neither a disgrace, nor a secret.

  "How old is your boy?" And then with a concerned glance, "Or am I being nosy again?"

  "Not at all. He's four."

  He frowned and looked at her as though he understood. "Must be damn hard to leave him. He's awful young."

  It was strange, she wanted to ask him questions then. What was his name? Did he have children? They had suddenly become traveling companions on the dark country road. But a moment later he stopped in front of her house, and he hopped out to help her out. She almost forgot to give the gloves back, and she smiled up into his eyes. "Thank you very much. I wouldn't have been home for hours, if it weren't for you."

  He smiled then, and she could see humor in his eyes that she hadn't guessed at before. "Could have saved yourself at least a mile if you'd trusted me the first time." Her face flushed in the dark and she laughed.

  "I'm sorry--I almost came out---" she stammered, feeling like a little girl beside this huge man. "I was hiding behind a tree, and I almost did come out, but I felt like such a jerk for hiding in the first place."

  He grinned at the confession and walked her to her door. "You were probably right. You never know who you'll meet, and there are some crazy kids in this town. There are everywhere these days, not just in New York. Anyway, I'm glad I found you and saved you the walk."

  "So am I." She wondered for a moment If she should invite him in for coffee, but that didn't seem quite right. It was nine o'clock at night, she was alone, and she really didn't know him.

  "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you while you're here." He held out a sturdy hand and she felt its strong grasp on her own as they shook hands. "My name is John Fowler."

  "I'm Daphne Fields."

  "Nice to meet you." She opened her door with her key and he waved as he walked back to his truck, and a moment later he was gone, and Daphne stood in the empty cabin, wishing she had invited him in. At least he would have been someone to talk to.

  Even her journal held no special interest that night. She kept thinking of the rugged face, the gray hair, the powerful hands, and she found herself oddly curious about him.

  The morning after Thanksgiving, Daphne went to the Austrian Inn and exchanged the usual pleasantries with Mrs. Obermeier. She ate bacon and eggs and croissants, and after breakfast she spoke to Franz and asked him what to do about her car. He directed her to one of the local garages, where she asked them to tow the car into town, and she set off in the truck to show the man where it was. But when they got there, the car was gone, and all that was left to show that it had even been there were the tire tracks in the dirt by the side of the road, to evidence that it had been towed.

  "Someone beat you to it, ma'am." The boy who had driven her to the spot looked bemused. "Did you call someone else to pick it up?"

  "No." Daphne looked startled as she stared at where her car
had been. This was obviously the spot but the car was gone. "I didn't. Do you think it would have been stolen?"

  "Maybe. But you ought to check the other garages first. Someone might have hauled it into town for "They couldn't have. No one knew where it was." And she didn't know anyone in town. Unless ... but that hardly seemed likely. She didn't know him after all. "How many other garages are there?"

  "Two."

  "All right, I guess I'd better check, and then I'll talk to the police." She remembered what John Fowler had said the night before about "crazy kids" in town. Maybe someone had stolen it, not that it was any kind of prize, especially with a broken axle.

  The boy with the tow truck dropped her off at the first of the two garages, and before she could walk inside to inquire, she saw her car, already being worked on by two boys in parkas, blue jeans, heavy boots, and greasy hands. "This yours?"

  "Yes." She was still a little stunned. "It is."

  "You got plenty of trouble under here." He looked up at her with a boyish grin. "But we'll get it fixed for you by tomorrow. Jack Fowler said you had to have it by noon, but we can't do it if you want us to fix the rest, too."

  "He did?" Then it was he after all. "When did he bring it in?"

  "About seven o'clock this morning. Hauled it in with his truck."

  "Do you know where I might find him?" The least she could do was thank him ... and then she flushed suddenly, remembering that only the night before, she had been afraid he might rape her. And what a decent human being he had turned out to be.

  Both boys shook their heads in answer to her question. "He works out at Anderson's logging camp, but I don't know where he lives," the freckled redhead answered, and she thanked him as she dug her hands into the pockets of her coat and began to walk back toward her end of town. She was halfway there when she heard a sudden honking and saw his blue truck pull up beside her, and she looked up at him with a wide smile.

  "I owe you an enormous thank you. You were awfully nice to--"

  "Never mind. Want a ride?" She hesitated for only a fraction of a second and then nodded as he swung open the door. "Hop in." And then as she settled herself in the wide seat she glanced at him, and his eyes were laughing. "Sure you wouldn't rather hide behind a tree?"

  "That's not fair!" She looked embarrassed and his laughter was a deep chuckle. "I was afraid that--"

  "I know what you were afraid of, and actually what you did was very smart. Still"--he smiled broadly at her--"it's a little bit insulting. Am I that fearsome-looking?" But as he took in her size he answered for her. "I suppose for a little mite like you, I am, aren't I?" His voice was suddenly gentle and his eyes kind. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

  "I didn't even see you when I hid behind the tree." She was still blushing faintly, but there was laughter in her eyes as well. And then as they drove toward her cabin she let out a small sigh. "I think I've gotten a little quirky since ... since I've been alone with my son. It's an enormous responsibility. If anything ever happened to me ..." Her voice trailed off and she turned her eyes back to his face, wondering why she had told him that, but there was something very comforting about him.

  He was silent for a long moment and then at last he asked, "You're divorced?"

  She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm a widow." For five years she had hated the word. Widow. Like a spider.

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I." She smiled so he wouldn't feel so bad, and they pulled up in front of her house. "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?" She at least owed him that.

  "Sure. I'd like that. I'm off till Monday, and I've got nothing on my hands but time." He followed her inside, and they hung their coats on pegs beside the doorway, then she hurried into the kitchen to warm the coffee left over from that morning.

  "The boys at the garage said that you work at the logging camp," she said over her shoulder as she took out the cups.

  "That's right, I do." She turned to look at him and found him lounging in the doorway, watching her, and suddenly she felt very strange. He had picked her up on the road the night before, and suddenly here he was in her kitchen. A logger, a total stranger, and yet there was something about him that made her want him to stay. She was at the same time drawn to him, and yet frightened, but she realized as she turned away again that it wasn't he who frightened her, but herself. Almost as though he sensed her discomfort, he left the kitchen, and went to wait for her on the living room couch. "Want me to start a fire?"

  Her reaction was immediate and he saw something startling in her eyes. "No!" And then as though she sensed that she had opened a part of herself to him that she hadn't intended, "It gets too warm in here. I usually don't--"

  "It's all right." There was something extraordinary about him. It was as though he understood things before she said them, as though he saw things no one else could see. It made her faintly uncomfortable to realize that about him, and yet at the same time it was a relief. "Are you afraid of fire?" The question was simply put and his voice was very gentle as she began to shake her head in rapid denial, and then stopping, she looked at him and nodded yes. She put the coffee cups down on the table and stood before him.

  "I lost my husband and my daughter in a fire." She had never said those words to anyone before, and he looked at her, almost as though he might reach out to her, his soft gray eyes boring into hers.

  "Were you there too?" His voice was so soft and she nodded as tears filled her eyes. She looked away then, and handed him his cup of coffee. But there were still questions in his eyes. "The little boy too?"

  She sighed. "I was pregnant then, but I didn't know it. They gave me so many drugs in the hospital during the next two months ... for the burns ... the infections ... sedation ... antibiotics ... by the time I knew I was pregnant, it was too late. That's why Andrew was born deaf."

  "You're both lucky to be alive." He understood better now why she felt so responsible to Andrew, and how difficult it must be for her to leave him at the school. "Life is strange sometimes." He sat back against the couch, his coffee cup dwarfed in his hand. "Things happen that don't make any sense at all sometimes, Daphne." She was surprised that he remembered her name. "I lost my wife fifteen years ago, in a car accident on an icy night. She was such a decent woman, everyone in town loved her." His voice grew soft at the memory and his eyes looked like a morning sky. "I never understood it. There are so many damn rotten people. Why her?"

  "I felt that way about Jeff." It was the first time she had spoken about him to anyone, but suddenly she needed to talk to this stranger about him, after five long, lonely years. "We were so happy." There were no tears in her eyes as she said it, only a dazed look that John watched carefully from where he sat.

  "Were you married for a long time?"

  "Tour and a half years."

  He nodded. "Sally and I were married for nineteen. We were both eighteen when we got married," he smiled then, "just kids. We worked hard together, starved for a while, did okay after that, got comfortable with each other. It was like she had become a part of me. I had a damn hard time of it when I lost her."

  This time Daphne's eyes consoled him. "So did I, when I lost Jeff. I think I was in a stupor for about a year. Until after I had Andrew." She smiled. "He kept me so busy after that, I didn't think about it as much anymore ... except sometimes ... like at night." She sighed softly. "Did you have children, John?" There was something new and awkward about saying his name, and hearing her own on his lips.

  "No. We never did. We didn't want to at first. We didn't want to be like the others, all the kids who married right out of high school and had four kids in three years, and then sat around complaining and hating each other. We made a point of not having any for the first few years, and then we decided we liked it like that. I never minded really ... until after she died. You're lucky you have Andrew."

  "I know." Her eyes glowed as she thought of the treasured child. "Sometimes I think he means even more to me because ... he's ... the way he is." />
  "Are you afraid to say the word?" His voice was so kind, so gentle, it almost made her want to cry, or bury her face in his chest and let him hold her in his arms.

  "Sometimes. I hate what it will mean to him."

  "It'll mean he has to try a little harder, that sliding by won't be good enough for him. It may make him better and stronger, I hope it does. I think what you've gone through has done that for you. Easy roads aren't always the best ones, Daphne. We think they are, but look at the people you respect in life, they're usually the people who've made it when the going wasn't easy, people who survived and grew from all the pain. The ones who have it easy don't have a hell of a lot going for them. It's the others, the ones who climb the mountains with their heads banged up, and their faces scratched, and their shins bleeding who're worth knowing. It's not easy to watch, but it may be that way for your child."

  "I didn't want it that way for him."

  "Of course not. Who does? But he'll make it. You have. And the going can't have been easy. It must have been damn rough for you."

  She looked at him pensively, their eyes holding from across the couch. "Sometimes it still is."

  He nodded. "What do you do with yourself when you're not living in a log cabin?"

  She hesitated for a moment, looking back over the past five years. "Take care of Andrew."

  "And now that he'll be at the school?"

  "I don't know yet. I used to work for a magazine, but that was a long time ago."

  "Did you like it?"

  She thought about it for a minute and nodded. "Yes, I did. But I was a lot younger. I'm not sure I'd like it as much now. It was a fun job when I was married to Jeffrey, but that was so long ago...." She smiled at him, feeling ten thousand years old. "I was all of twenty-four."