“You’ll have to change these, too, if you plan to be open for ski season,” he said.
Rudy seemed amused by their back and forth. He led them out the back door and on to the motel. With its wooden shingles and log pillars it looked exactly like the saloon-hotel combo from countless Western flicks. There were signs of termites on the porch, and the foyer smelled of mold. The doors to the large but utterly bare rooms all hung open.
“Nothing for folks to steal,” Rudy said. “Might as well air the place out.”
Jim started to say something, then stopped when he noticed his wife smiling like a little girl on a trampoline.
“I have such incredible memories of this place,” she said, then turned and ran up the stairs.
Jim and Rudy followed. They found her standing on a rickety balcony, staring out at a large, overgrown meadow.
“They used to stage Civil War reenactments there,” she said. “Afterwards, there’d be a Southern-themed buffet.”
“I hope you’ll let that tradition lie,” Jim said.
Rudy chuckled. Once again, Bonnie didn’t seem to hear.
CHAPTER 2
RUDY WALKED THEM through the cabins, which were more like the skeletons of cabins, and then on to the bar: a standalone log structure situated on the access road to the resort. There was an unpaved parking area out front. Jim pointed to crisscrossing, single-tire tracks.
“Bikers?” he asked.
Rudy rolled his eyes.
“Harleys are the loggers’ vehicle of choice up here,” he said. “No gangs, though, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I won’t lie: it’s noisy at closing time.”
He dug out his keys and led them inside. It was more saloon than bar, with swinging half-doors, sawdust covering the floor, and nothing hanging on the walls save a silver-framed mirror above the shelves of whiskey. The wooden tables and hardback chairs seemed, like the cabins, to be arranged in no particular order.
“This place turns a profit?” Jim asked.
“There’s a small crowd most nights—bigger on weekends. The Edwards Group isn’t getting rich off it, but I’d guess they’re breaking even. They’d have cut bait before now if they weren’t.”
Bonnie walked up to the bar, ran her fingers along the zinc.
“This is vintage,” she said. “Real mahogany. With a little polish and elbow grease, it might be worth something.”
“A diamond in the rough,” Rudy said.
He smiled. Bonnie smiled back. The exchange bothered Jim: it was like watching adolescents bond over some pop band he’d never heard of.
“So what do you think?” Rudy asked when they were back outside.
“You know what I think,” Bonnie said, still smiling.
“We’ll get back to you,” Jim told him.
* * *
“I’ve been developing other people’s properties for upwards of twenty years,” Bonnie said. “I want a project of my own.”
They’d left Rudy and were following the Camp Nelson Trail through a forest of giant Sequoias and mountain streams. Despite the mild temperature and perfect blue sky, they had the trail all to themselves.
“Okay, but why this project?” Jim asked.
“Why? Just look at these mountains, Jim.”
“Just look at that property. One well-placed kick and half those buildings would fall right over.”
“We came here every summer when I was a kid. You know that.”
“So you’re nostalgic?”
“Look, I know the lodge has been in decline for years, but you couldn’t ask for better bones. Just imagine what this place could be. Hiking, horseback riding, swimming, fishing—it’s all right here. We’ll replace those old, rickety mattresses with waterbeds, give each cabin a private sauna. And we’ll bring that god-awful bar into the twentieth century.”
“The locals seem to like that god-awful bar. You heard your caretaker friend: it’s the only thing keeping the place afloat.”
“They’ll learn to like the new one, too. Just think what a day could be like up here. Think about breakfast at altitude. Stacks of homemade pancakes and fresh fruit and those venison sausages you like. And after breakfast, a nice stroll into the mountains while the air is still cool and the deer are active.”
“I’d rather sleep in and go for brunch. You know, there’s something to be said for museums and concert halls.”
Bonnie stopped midstride, gave him a pointed look.
“Really? How many symphonies have you seen in the last year?”
“I’m thinking about our kids.”
“So am I. I don’t want them to grow up all urban and neurotic, like me.”
“They’re only halfway through the school year.”
“So they’ll finish it out. I’ll stay up here, get the place ready. We can talk on the phone every night. You guys’ll visit on weekends. That way they get a slow introduction to the place. Think about it. It’s a dream life.”
They came to a small footbridge, paused to look at the stream below, then stood facing each other, leaning against opposite railings.
“We’ve got two healthy kids and all the money we could ever spend,” Jim said. “I thought we were living our dream life.”
“Maybe you were.”
“What does that mean?”
“This place is the first thing I’ve asked for—the first thing I’ve really wanted in all the time we’ve been married. You, on the other hand—you get everything your heart desires and I never say boo about it.”
“Like what?”
“How about that little trip to Spain with your buddies so you could run with the bulls on your forty-fifth birthday? Without me, of course.”
“I was gone a week.”
“Okay. What about your little trek through the Amazon? Also no wives allowed.”
“Again, that was two weeks, not the rest of our lives.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes, sucked in a deep breath.
“The point is you needed those trips to get through your midlife crisis, or whatever it was. And I let you have them. Well, I need this. I’m not saying you have to give up the place in Newport, but I need this. Our marriage needs this.”
Jim started to object, then stopped himself. He bent down, picked up a rock, turned it over in his palm like a prospector appraising the soil.
“I guess it’s settled then,” he said.
CHAPTER 3
1990
BONNIE SAT FLIPPING through a wildflower guide on a brand-new porch swing outside the Camp Nelson Lodge, glancing up anxiously at the road. It was only five days since she last saw her husband and children, but it felt longer. It felt like they belonged to another life, maybe another lifetime—back when she drove a Lexus instead of a Jeep, back when all she could see from her porch was a cluster of suburban mansions and lawns decorated with hydrangeas and plastic flamingos. She didn’t miss her lawn, didn’t miss anything at all about the ’burbs. It may have taken her forty-seven years, but she’d finally landed where she was meant to be.
She spotted Jim’s Mercedes, tossed aside her book, and ran to greet her children. Jim Jr., who’d just turned thirteen, was asleep in the front passenger seat, his mouth hanging open. He’d never in his short life been able to stay awake in a moving vehicle, and Bonnie was already worried about the prospect of him one day getting his license. The car pulled closer, and she saw eleven-year-old Mindy in the back seat, too engrossed in her Illustrated Mythology to look up. Bonnie knew this was a snapshot of the last five hours in her family’s life: Jim listening to talk radio, making snarky comments about the hosts and callers; Jim Jr. snoring away with his head slouched against the window; Mindy quietly reading, tracing the pictures with her fingers. It was like Bonnie might as well have made the trip with them.
Jim was the first out of the car.
“You’re looking a little crunchier every week,” he said, referring to her leather hiking boots, her long ponytail, the beaded necklace he’d never seen her wear
before.
“Nice to see you, too,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Maybe you’d better wake up Rumpelstiltskin.”
Jim banged on the hood of the car with an open palm.
“Hey, buddy, come on now,” he called.
Jim Jr. raised his head, looked around, seemed to want to retreat back into his dream. Mindy ran up and grabbed her mother around the waist.
“It’s so beautiful here, Mommy,” she said.
“There’s my girl,” Bonnie said, giving her daughter a squeeze. “God, I missed you.”
And Bonnie realized that this was true. She’d had her hands full looking after the guests, renovating the final cabin, supervising the bar, fitting in the occasional hike—but beneath all of that there had been an ache. The nightly phone calls weren’t cutting it: she wanted her children there with her. Soon enough, she thought. Only a few months left in the school year.
She leaned into the backseat, the smell of bubblegum momentarily replacing the smell of pine, and pulled out Mindy’s duffel bag. When she turned around, Rudy was standing there. He reached for the bag, and she felt his hand on hers, felt it linger there a beat too long. Bonnie spun her head, found Jim lifting luggage from the trunk. Oblivious.
* * *
Once the family had unpacked and settled in, they gathered in the dining room around two extra-large ice cream sundaes.
“So what do you kids think?” Bonnie asked. “Maybe some kayaking later? Or a hike?”
Jim cut in before they could answer.
“I’m anxious to baptize that new in-ground pool,” he said.
“You hate swimming,” Bonnie said.
“Yeah, but I like sitting in a lounge chair with a gin and tonic in my hand.”
“Swimming!” Mindy said. “I want to go swimming.”
Jim Jr. nodded enthusiastically.
“All right,” Bonnie shrugged. “Swimming it is.”
She shot her husband a pointed look. She was sure he’d prepped them. For Bonnie, the pool was the least interesting part of the property—the only part you could find back in “civilization,” as Jim called it. She’d only had one installed because it seemed to be something guests expected.
The door to the dining area opened and Rudy appeared. Jim watched him walk up to the table. He’d cleaned himself up since that day he first showed them around. Instead of a grease-stained polo shirt he wore a plaid button-down with short sleeves that showed off his bulging forearms. He was younger than Jim originally thought, too—maybe thirty-five or thirty-six? A good ten years younger than Bonnie, but still Jim wondered if he should worry.
“Excuse me,” Rudy said. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to bring you the mail before I run my errands in town.”
She can’t get her own mail? Jim thought.
Bonnie took the small pile, and Rudy left. Her eyes were drawn to a pale-blue envelope addressed in a shaky cursive. The kids started squabbling about whether or not Jim Jr. had spotted a black bear during the drive up (“So you can see in your sleep?” Mindy asked), and Jim took the opportunity to attack the remains of their sundae. Bonnie set aside the flyers and bills, slit the envelope open. Inside, she found a brief note written in block letters on a sheet of matching blue paper:
GO HOME WHILE YOU STILL CAN, YOU RICH BITCH.
She smiled to keep herself from shuddering, then folded the paper in thirds and slid it back inside the envelope.
CHAPTER 4
THAT NIGHT, BONNIE and Jim stayed in one of the newly updated cabins. Bonnie had set it up with a vase of wildflowers, a chilled bottle of white wine, a hand-stitched duvet. They sat out back in the hot tub, looking up at the stars.
“This isn’t so bad,” Jim said.
He slid closer to her, put an arm around her shoulders, kissed her neck. Bonnie didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t seem to know that he was there.
“Goddamn it, Bonnie,” Jim said, “what’s the matter with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The cabin, the wine, the hot tub—wasn’t that all your idea?”
“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “It’s just … I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I thought you came out here to clear your mind. Get away from the stress.”
She frowned.
“Maybe not in the first year, Jim. There’s a ton to do. To be honest, the place is taking off faster than I thought possible. Any chance we’ve got the cash flow to build two more cabins?”
It was true that she’d already found herself turning people away, but the suggestion that they expand was a whim. She’d figured out years ago that the best way to distract Jim was to give him what he most enjoyed: the power to say no.
And she needed to distract him. She had no intention of sharing what was really on her mind: another anonymous death threat on pale-blue stationery. Jim would insist at once that it was time to come home, give up this experiment in the woods. Only, as far as Bonnie was concerned, this was home—hers and her children’s—and she was prepared to fight for it if need be.
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire right now. Our money is spread pretty thin. Maybe in the fall?”
Not an outright no, but Bonnie knew why: Jim was feeling randy. Once again, the world boiled down to what he wanted. It made her so furious that she forgot about the letter for a minute.
“You’re so obvious,” she said.
“Obvious?”
“You’re like a teenage boy.”
“Excuse me for wanting a little affection from my wife.”
“Affection?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” Jim asked. “I miss you. I miss our life. A year ago we were the glamour couple. The real estate queen and king of SoCal. Now I feel like I’m second fiddle. Maybe not even second.”
Bonnie took a long sip of wine.
“That’s the problem, Jim: you think of me as your queen. An extension of the business, with side benefits. It’s like I’m one-stop shopping. Maybe I just got tired of being convenient.”
Jim sat up straighter, was on the verge of saying Well, there’s nothing convenient about you now when Rudy came bolting around a corner of the cabin.
“Jesus,” Jim said. “You might want to put up some fences.”
“Sorry,” Rudy said. “I tried knocking, but no one answered.”
“I wonder why,” Jim said.
“What is it?” Bonnie asked.
“There’s trouble at the bar. Some of the customers are asking for you.”
“Splendid,” Bonnie said. “Exactly how I hoped this evening would go.”
She reached for a towel, wrapped it around her torso as she stood.
“Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said.
“You mind if I finish your glass?” Jim asked.
CHAPTER 5
ON A SATURDAY night, Bonnie found the Camp Nelson Saloon, the only watering hole for thirty miles, crowded with locals from every corner of the county. Most of the patrons seemed to be having a good time, laughing, drinking, smoking, bopping to the country music on the jukebox, playing cards or backgammon at the tables. But a cluster of bikers at the bar, their voices drowned out by the general din, appeared to be giving the bartender a hard time.
Rudy greeted Bonnie at the door.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “They wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“What was the question?” Bonnie asked.
“Hey, there she is,” one of the bikers yelled, waving her over with a gesture that looked like a command. He was well over six feet, ruddy faced, wore a heavily patched denim vest and a red bandana. Bonnie started forward, took her time crossing the floor. Rudy followed close behind.
“What seems to be the problem?” Bonnie asked.
She counted five of them altogether. They hopped off their stools, formed a semicircle around her and Rudy.
“I was hoping you could tell us,” the one who’d called her over said
. “Did we offend you somehow?”
“I don’t understand,” Bonnie said.
“Seems the prices have been raised, but only on what we like to drink.”
“You mean the draft beers?” Bonnie asked.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”
Bonnie knew this was coming. In fact, she’d hoped it was coming. The man wasn’t wrong: she wanted him and his entourage gone. They were rowdy, coarse. Their motorcycles disturbed her guests. They disturbed her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but the distributor raised his prices. I had no choice.”
“He gouges you, so you gouge us. Is that it?”
“It’s business,” Rudy said. “You’d have done the same.”
“Don’t tell me what I would’ve done.”
The bikers surrounding them folded their arms, shifted their weight back and forth. Bonnie sensed a wrong turn coming.
“Look,” she said, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. How about a pitcher on the house?”
“How about you keep the prices where they were?”
“Sorry, can’t do it,” Bonnie said.
To her dismay, she realized she was guilty of the very complaint she’d just leveled against Jim: she had the power to say no, and she was enjoying it.
“Well, then you and your little houseboy are in for a tough time.”
Rudy stepped forward; Bonnie put a hand on his chest.
“If you can’t be civil, then you need to leave now,” she told the man.
He grinned.
“Sorry, you prissy skank,” he said, “but we were here first.”
He reached behind him, took his drink from the bar, held it out toward Bonnie, then slowly and deliberately let go. The glass exploded at her feet. Beer soaked her sneakers and jeans. She jumped back just as Rudy sprung forward. The whole bar was watching now. Before Bonnie could register what was happening, Rudy had the man’s arm up behind his back and was running him outside. The entourage followed on their heels.
Kelly, the tall and emaciated bartender who’d come with the place, handed her new boss a rag while making only the slightest attempt to hide her smirk. Well, Bonnie thought, it’s clear whose side you’re on.