The Scent of Freedom

The Scent of Freedom

Dave Wright

Darkness fell on Shawn Kelper as he pulled off the main highway north of Duluth onto the gravel road that led to the hunting shack he owned with his buddy, Dean Lossit.

Dean had planned to drive up with him, but Dean’s wife, Jessica told him that she had just heard from their daughter. “Barbara has arranged to come home from college for the weekend,” she had explained in a whiny voice. “Can’t you stick around this weekend to see her?”

Dean relented, so Shawn was on his own. It was still ten miles of potholes before he reached the lane, but Shawn didn’t mind. He was eager to escape the noise of the city and spend a long weekend in the North Woods.

Even before they had graduated from high school, he and Dean had found good-paying jobs with the railroad. They had dedicated their summer earnings to the purchase of a small plot of land on an obscure lake tucked deep in the Superior National Forest. Each year they hunted grouse in October, hunted deer in November and developed the property during the summer. Improvements continued as their pooled funds allowed. They graveled the lane, dug a pit toilet, and over the years transformed the shell of a cabin into a comfortable but rustic hideaway. They still needed to carry in drinking water, but the lake provided water for washing. A wood-burning stove made the cool evenings cozy and their latest improvements, a propane stove and refrigerator allowed for longer stays and easier cooking.

Neither Shawn nor Dean had visited the cabin since early December the previous year. Both men shared January birthdays and had turned forty that year. Shawn had remained a bachelor and preferred hunting and fishing to the complications of women. Dean had married Jessica, the most sought-after girl in high school. They had one daughter, Barbara who had recently enrolled at Macalester College in St. Paul. She, like her mother, never had much time for the North Woods.

Shawn pulled off the gravel road and onto the lane to the cabin. A chopped-off stump next to the driveway, still rooted in place after twenty years marked the entrance. Shortly after he and Dean had purchased the property, they arrived to find an elm tree had been dropped directly in their path. The V-cut in the stump confirmed it had been intentional. They had to chain saw their way in. Campfires had claimed the bulk of the tree, but the stump remained. No one accepted responsibility for the roadblock, but they suspected it may have been the work of the only other person who owned property on the lake.

Shawn dismissed the thought and rolled down his window to inhale a whiff of freedom. He loved the smell of the forest and the scent of pine: time off, no phone, worries set aside. But he was never quite sure what he was going to smell when he opened the cabin door. In a good year, he was welcomed by the fragrance of knotty pine and musty furniture. In a bad year he was greeted with the smell of dead mice.

He parked his Dodge Dakota behind the cabin in a graveled space large enough for several vehicles. He grabbed his flashlight from the glove box and pulled his duffel bag from the back seat, then walked toward the lake and the front of the cabin. He pointed his flashlight on the outhouse to his right. Tucked into a thicket of dogwood on the edge of the property, it doubled as a utility shed. A few steps more on his left, a screened porch was attached to the front of the cabin. It opened to a view of the lake, now dark and choppy from a moonless night and a brisk east wind. A shallow creek emptied into the lake a hundred feet beyond the corner of the deck.

Shawn’s flashlight lit the door to the screened porch. It squeaked and swung in the wind. A floorboard on the first step to the deck groaned under the weight of his boot. I’m surprised to see the spring detached from the screen door, thought Shawn.

He stepped into the porch and shined his flashlight across the deck. Two wicker chairs that normally invited conversation were tipped on end and strewn across the floor. Shawn set down his duffle bag and pulled the key from his jeans. A gust of wind slammed the screen door shut behind him. Shawn jumped as the key skittered from the lock. He poised the light on the lock again. He noticed that the door frame had been chipped in an unsuccessful attempt to pry it open.

Shawn cracked the door. A pungent odor escaped. This was not the smell of musty furniture, and it was not the lingering odor of dead mouse. This was the unmistakable smell of death. He had smelled it before when he had walked past the bloated carcass of a deer laying in a road ditch. It was the same nauseating smell that he had read about in a scene at Gettysburg the day after the Civil War battle.

The gas lantern that waited on a table to the right of the door glowed to life with a single match. It’s harsh light illuminated the single room—the free-standing wood stove in the far left corner, the kitchen table to his right, beyond that a counter with its porcelain basin, the window above it that opened to the screened porch and a view of the lake, a book case under another window overlooking the stream, and in the far right corner a set of double bunk beds large enough to sleep four. A mound the size of his duffel bag lay under the crumpled bedspread in the bottom bunk. The window that opened over the lower bunk to a view of the rear of the cabin was ajar.

Shawn stepped cautiously to the bed and raised the lantern above his head. He took hold of the edge of the quilt and pulled it back slowly to reveal a wad of matted fur. Another wave of pungent odor filled the room. He leaned into the lower bunk and lifted the lantern above his head. The creature’s eyes stared cold and vacant. Dried blood the color of rust stained the sheet. Its bloated body took the shape of a football. Its feet and legs protruded in awkward angles. A tan and black striped tail stretched behind the stinking mass. A dead raccoon had been tucked beneath the sheets.

The quilt could be saved with a swish in the lake and a good airing, but the sheets would never be slept in again. After hanging the lantern on its hook in the rafters, Shawn gently pulled on the sheet and used it as a shroud for the coon. He held the stinky bundle at arms-length, took it outside and deposited it in the back corner of the lot beyond the outhouse but the smell lingered in the cabin. He pulled the mattress from its frame and hauled it to the screened porch with the bedspread, then returned to light a fire in the wood stove. Leaving his clothes on the wingback chair beside the stove, he locked the door and climbed under the quilt in the upper bunk. He closed his eyes and dropped into a fitful sleep. I’ll worry about who vandalized the cabin in the morning.

That night he dreamt of high school days. It was junior year. Jessica Anderson’s blue eyes stared into his eyes. Her red hair fell onto his shoulders, He tasted her mint-flavored lipstick. Her eager mouth nursed his lower lip. It was their first date and Shawn was unprepared for a girl like Jess. His previous encounters with girls were limited to premeditated questions and cautious hand holding. Shawn squirmed in his seat when a floodlight filled the car. He struggled to sit upright and fumbled for the crank window. “Yes, officer. We’ll be on our way.”

One date led to two, then three. Soon they were a high school number. Shawn beamed with adolescent pride as Jessica shadowed him through the hallways the rest of that school year. She selected a locker next to his when they began their senior year. Shawn could not understand until later why Jess was so attracted to him. He was handsome enough with his blue eyes, angular jaw and auburn hair, but his best feature was that he was the only boy in high school who did not chase her.

Shawn and Jess attended games together and took in movies, often double dating with Dean and his girlfriend at the time. Early in their senior year Shawn began to notice Dean’s growing interest in Jess—and Jessica began creating demands on Shawn’s hunting time. “Why are you always running up to that stupid piece of wasteland you and Dean bought? If you’d be here on weekends, we could drive to the Cities and see a play or a concert. And you always come home from that camp of yours smelling of dead bird or something. Look at your fingernails! Is that dried blood?”

Shawn broke up with Jessica over Christmas break. This was a shock for Jess. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” she complained.

“I like you,” explained Shawn, “but we just don’t have the same interests. There are plenty of guys who are eager to go out with you.”

“But I want you!” whined Jessica at the time, but by Valentine’s Day Jessica was going steady with Dean.

Even though Jessica was going steady with Dean, she continued to flirt with Shawn the rest of the school year. As Shawn tossed in his sleep, he remembered how uncomfortable he had been when she brushed against him when they stood together at their lockers. He arranged his schedule so he would not be caught alone with her. He did not need or want to re-visit their break-up. It was over. Couldn’t she see that? They still saw each other the rest of the school year at parties and group gatherings, but Shawn looked away whenever their eyes met.

Shawn woke with a start when he remembered graduation night. Jess had been sitting next to Dean and was following him to the stage to receive their diplomas. She paused beside Shawn who was sitting by the aisle and leaned over and whispered, “You might want to know…I’m pregnant.”

Shawn stood up for Dean at his wedding to Jess. Five months later baby Barbara arrived. Work, family, and adult responsibility took a front seat to Dean’s relationship with Shawn. Their time together was soon limited to a few hunting trips and an occasional cabin-improvement weekend. Shawn attended a technical school and became a lineman for the Rural Electric Association while Dean attended St. Cloud State, studied accounting and landed a job with a local firm. Jessica had wanted to become a nurse but chose instead to become a stay-at-home mom with Barbara.

****

Shawn climbed down from the bunk, dressed in his flannel shirt, jeans and vest; then fried a couple of eggs over the new gas stove. A pot of coffee bubbled on the far burner. He sat at the table and looked through the window that opened to the porch and the lake beyond. The lake shimmered cheerfully in the morning sun and brightened his spirits after his disconcerting discovery the previous evening.

As he sipped the last of his coffee and mulled over the source of the raccoon, he noticed a bald eagle drifting over the far shore of the lake. He pulled the binoculars from a hook by the door and walked to the end of the wooden dock that jutted into the lake from the beach. The eagle was still circling the trees. Shawn spotted it with the binoculars and focused on the image as it landed in the upper branch of a tree.

He watched the eagle as it twitched its head back and forth looking for a fish that might venture too close to the surface. Shawn lowered his binoculars to take in the far shore. He froze. A man squinting through the scope of a rifle was pointing it directly at him. Shawn slowly raised his left hand and waved. He kept the man in his sight as the man lowered his rifle, turned away and limped into the woods.

Bill Banewill occupied the only other cabin on the lake. It was a shack tucked well into the woods behind a cluster of white pines. Shortly after Dean and Shawn had purchased their ten acres of land, they paddled their canoe around the short perimeter of the lake. Lilly pads and shoots of wild rice bordered its circumference. The first pass offered no clues to the presence of another resident, but closer inspection revealed a half dozen faded “NO TRESPASSING” signs near the shore. They were attached to gnarled tree limbs chopped from the woods and were placed randomly across a hundred yards of brush-filled shoreline.

Dean peered into the dark woods. He glimpsed the corner of a shabby unpainted structure with a tar paper roof. “It looks like we have a neighbor—and not a very friendly one at that,” he said quietly.

“I agree. Best to try to ignore whoever it is,” replied Shawn. “I expect he just wants to be left alone.”

“We have that in common.”

Shawn and Dean discovered more about their neighbor over the years by asking about him at the hardware store and café in the little town on the highway. They had never spoken to him directly. Bill Banewill, they learned, was a Viet Nam veteran who had returned from his stint in the army to an unappreciative country. Bill had been sent to the front lines, hiding from enemy fire in swamps of rice paddies. Week after week while on patrol, he sat with his platoon huddled under ponchos. They passed the long rainy nights smoking cigarettes, keeping track of time by counting the number of puffs per minute, then extinguishing the cigarettes on a parade of leeches that crawled up their legs.

Bill drove an old jeep painted in camouflage and was seen once a month in town to deposit his check from the Veterans Administration. He walked with a limping gait from a battlefield injury that sent him home from Viet Nam one month before his scheduled discharge. When he left the hospital, he learned that his platoon had been ambushed a week after he had been helicoptered to safety. None of his combat buddies had survived.

Shawn and Dean had heard periodic gunfire from across the lake. Once when they were together driving the bumpy gravel road to their cabin for a weekend of grouse hunting, they met Bill’s jeep on the road heading for town. Bill looked straight ahead without waving. When Shawn and Dean arrived at their cabin they decided to venture over to Bill’s by canoe. They beached about fifty yards from the nearest “no trespassing” sign, pulled the canoe into the brush and picked their way through the woods to Bill’s property. A pile of firewood was stacked beside a crude shack. It was sided with a mismatch of boards that looked as though they had been harvested from a demolished barn. Tufts of fiberglass insulation poked out from under the tar paper roof. An NRA membership plaque was nailed to the door of the shack. The two young men followed a path behind the shack that led to an open area set up as a firing range. A series of stumps had been placed in a line about thirty yards from the path. Broken bottles, once holding a precious cargo of Jack Daniels littered the ground around the stumps. The tattered remains of posters used for targets lay like confetti among the shattered glass. Shawn picked up a larger piece of poster. “This is a corner of Barack Obama’s face.”

Dean stooped to find another scrap. “This one looks like Martin Luther King.”

“I suppose if we keep digging, we’ll find the remains of Bobby Kennedy,” said Shawn. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they retraced their steps to the shack, they heard the rumble of a jeep coming up the driveway. They dove through the underbrush and lay prone beside the canoe, which like Bill’s jeep, had been painted camouflage so that it could serve as a duck blind. As they caught their breath, they heard the door of the jeep slam. Bill grunted as he hauled a month’s worth of supplies to his shack.

“How did he get back so quickly?” whispered Dean. “I thought we’d have had a few hours before he returned.”

“I don’t know,” said Shawn. “Maybe he has a standing order and just picks it up as he drives through town.”

“If we get into the canoe now, he’ll see us and know we’ve been snooping around,” said Dean. “It’s dusk now. Let’s wait here until it’s dark before we paddle back.”

“Agreed.”

Shawn shuddered at that memory as he walked back to the cabin. I know Bill never wanted us to have this place, but why would he stuff a dead raccoon into our bed? If he wants to scare us, he could drop another tree in our driveway, take a pot shot at the cabin, or sit on his shore and stare us down with the scope of his sniper rifle. Maybe that’s his point…

I really need to talk to Dean about this. I miss his company. Not having cell phone coverage is peaceful, but sometimes I miss it. I’ll have to call him on the way home when I get better reception.

****

Dean Lossit woke early at his home in St. Cloud and looked out his upstairs bedroom window. He cracked the window to inhale the lilacs that were in full bloom below. A blue sky beckoned him outdoors. Jessica was sleeping peacefully, the curls of her red hair splayed across the pillow. He slipped down the stairs to turn on the coffee maker, stepping to the side of the creaky step so as not to wake Barbara, who had decided at the last minute to come home for the weekend. She was finishing her first year at Macalester College in St. Paul.

Dean greeted the news of Barbara’s homecoming with mixed emotions. He loved his daughter, but her first year at this expensive liberal arts college seemed to reinforce her extreme views on everything from politics to food. At the age of ten, Barbara proclaimed herself a vegetarian and insisted on eating little more than sprouts and beans. Dean watched her physical development in dismay. While Barbara’s classmates filled out into mature, full-bodied figures, Barbara stayed slim as a stick. He did not know with any certainty whether she had even had her first period. That was Jessica’s domain. He tried to explain the importance of protein and (heaven forbid) fat to his daughter but his advice fell on deaf ears.

Jessica stood by her daughter. She accommodated Barbara’s nutritional whims and scoured the internet for recipes—cauliflower tacos, smoked tofu with hot sauce, brown rice sautéed in soy sauce and peanut butter. Jessica even assumed a similar diet for herself, leaving Dean to grill his steaks, chops and venison on the back patio alone.

Barbara’s infatuation with a vegan lifestyle did not stop at the dinner table. While Dean and Jessica tithe to their church, Barbara tithes to PETA. She worships its leader as a saint. Barbara quotes Ingrid Newkirk like an Old Testament scholar recites passages from the Red Sea Scrolls. She speaks with the intensity of an evangelist. Her blue eyes turn sapphire. Her freckles become luminescent. Her red hair shakes as if on fire. Whenever hunting is mentioned in the Lossit home, condemnation descends on Dean as if God had just discovered an apple core in Eden.

Dean had given up a weekend in the woods with his good friend and cabin partner to face the prospect of arguing with his daughter and wife about the sanctity of life of an earthworm. The backdrop of blue sky that bathed the lilacs suddenly became a looming dark cloud.

Dean poured himself a cup of coffee, stepped onto the patio and took a seat on a lawn chair. I wonder how Shawn is doing. I’ll bet the lake is open, frogs are peeping from the marsh and birds are in a mating frenzy. What I wouldn’t do to be sitting on the dock instead of this patio.

“Are you down there, Dean?” called Jessica from the bedroom window. “Can you be a sweetie and bring me a cup of coffee? It smells even better than the lilacs.”

“Sure,” he grunted. “I’ll be right up.”

Dean hoisted himself from his lawn chair, hiked up the stairs and delivered the java to the bed stand. A glance at the mirror confirmed a knit in his brow that matched the knot in his stomach. He forced a relaxed expression and turned to his wife.

“What do you and Barbara have planned for the day?” he asked.

“I know you wanted to go up north with Shawn,” said Jess, “but remember that you haven’t spent quality time with your daughter all winter.”

“Quality time! She hasn’t been home all winter,” he replied in exasperation. “In January we took in a Minnesota Orchestra concert together. Then in February we spent a long weekend at the St. Paul Hilton. In March I spent a full day traipsing around the Mall of America schlepping your shopping bags. Since then I’ve been working overtime to take care of all the delinquent tax returns on my desk. You, on the other hand have driven to St. Paul to visit her nearly every weekend.”

“Barb needs the company,” said Jess, lifting her head from the pillow. “She is so lonely at school without Bitsy. Maybe next year we can find her an apartment that accepts pets.” Bitsy was a blonde, pug-nosed Pekinese. Its long hair mopped the floor as it ran from room to room searching for Barb whenever she left for school.

Jess paused to check her nails before responding to Dean’s original question. “Maybe we’ll start with a manicure later this morning. Barbara loves that Korean spa in the mall. You could join us for lunch.”

Dean considered the suggestion and thought, If the conversation turns to hunting, a restaurant might be the safest place for it to happen.

“OK,” he sighed. “When would you like me to meet you?”

“How about noon?” replied Jess. She could sense the irritation in Dean’s voice before reminding him, “You spent most of December at that silly camp of yours. You owe us some of your time.”

Although Dean was the trained accountant, Jess kept her own balance sheet. Dean could hear her mental abacus flipping the colorful beads from one side to the other. Time at a concert or a shopping mall: an asset on her ledger; time hunting or a weekend working at the cabin: a liability. Jess audited her books weekly and kept Dean informed of any disparities. This weekend was apparently necessary to balance her books.

Dean paused to consider this and continued, “I was really looking forward to this weekend away, Jess. We agreed to celebrate Mother’s Day early with a dinner out on Tuesday so I could open the cabin with Shawn.”

He walked to the window to look again at the day he was missing and asked, “What prompted Barb’s decision to skip studying for finals and come home this weekend?”

“I don’t know, dear. You can ask her over lunch.”

Barbara appeared at the bedroom door cuddling Bitsy. “Ask me what?”

Dean turned to gaze at his daughter and then at the mirror. He had never seen much resemblance. His hair was the color of coal; hers, fall maple. His eyes were coffee with cream; hers, this morning’s sky; his complexion was desert at dusk, hers, a milky white.

He had been so distracted by her appearance as she grew that he wondered if he was really her father. She looked a lot like Shawn—same hair, same eyes, same pale skin. Dean’s paranoia ate at him until Barbara was five years old. Without telling Jess, he scheduled a surreptitious paternity test. Although the results confirmed that Dean was Barb’s father, Jess found out about the test and accosted him angrily. “Don’t you trust me?” she had demanded. His apology and explanation went largely unheard. The lab test left a splinter in their relationship, like a tiny sliver that never quite found its way to the surface.

Dean looked at Barb in the doorway and shrugged. “I was just wondering what prompted your decision to come home this weekend on short notice. I thought you have finals next week.”

“Let’s talk about it over lunch,” suggested Barb evasively. She scratched Bitsy’s ear and set her on the bed. The dog ran to lick Jess’s face. “Mom thought it would be a good time to visit.”

Dean felt a pang of anxiety run through him like a small electric current. Was this an orchestrated event? Am I being ambushed by my wife and daughter? Had Jess and Barb planned something for this weekend that I was not aware of?

“Let’s go to the Thai restaurant at the strip mall,” suggested Jess lightheartedly. “Barbara loves Thai food.”

“And they have a lovely coconut pork dish that you might like,” added Barb.

“OK,” said Dean, hesitation in his voice. “I’ll take a walk and meet you there at noon.”

“Can you take Bitsy along for your walk?” asked Jessica. “She seems agitated and could use some exercise.”

“Alright. Sure. Come along, Bitsy.” The dog looked at Barb and then to Jess. Seeing a small nod from Jess the dog swept itself out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

****

Shawn returned to the screen porch of the cabin, pulled the bedspread from the corner where he had thrown it the previous night, and carried it to the dock. A school of bluegills swirled away as he knelt to rinse it in the lake. After hanging it over the bed of the truck to dry, he found his ultralight rod and a webbed lawn chair in the utility shed. He unearthed a handful of earthworms beneath a dead log and dropped them in a rusty Folgers can. Settling into the lawn chair at the end of the dock, he baited his hook, set the bobber and sent a cast near the edge of the lily pads. As he waited for the water to ripple around the bobber, he thought about the anguish in Dean’s voice years ago when he had received a surprise phone call from him.

“I need to talk to you before Jess does,” Dean said without bothering with a greeting.

Shawn recognized the voice of his friend. “What’s up?”

“Jess is really pissed…and I expect you might be too. I did a paternity test.”

“Oh, why’s that?” asked Shawn after a moment’s hesitation.

“You probably noticed that Barb doesn’t look anything like me.”

Shawn shifted in his seat. “I hadn’t paid that much attention,” he replied. “She looks like a cute red-headed kid with a strong personality to me—a lot like her mother.”

“I guess I got paranoid. You know, you and Jess had gone out together for a long time just before we got together. We had only been going out a couple months and boom, she was pregnant.” Dean lowered his voice and whispered, “We only did it a couple of times. I thought she was on the pill. Stupid me.” He paused after his confession and continued, “Then came graduation, then the wedding. Everything went so fast.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Shawn replied quietly. He did not share how he had spent most of his junior year and some of his senior year fending off Jess’s advances, but he continued in an even voice, “I know Jess was pretty upset with me for breaking up with her, but unless she became pregnant from a wet dream, I can guarantee I am not Barb’s father.”

Dean laughed. “I know that now, but if Jess was upset with you then, you can imagine how upset she is with me now! I wanted to explain it all to you before you get a call from her.”

“Thanks for the warning, Dean. I doubt that she’ll call me. We haven’t talked since high school—except when I’ve been with you. But I appreciate the heads up. I hope you can smooth things over with Jess. Good luck, buddy.”

Shawn had noticed that his relationship with Dean had become strained after the wedding, but he had chalked it up to Dean adjusting to marriage, the prospect of raising a kid, and the overwhelming responsibility that came with it all. After Dean’s conversation with Shawn about the paternity test, their relationship thawed. Dean spent more time helping Shawn with construction at the cabin and Shawn helped Dean cope with Jessica’s mounting complaints.

****

The smell of curry greeted Dean as he opened the door to the Thai restaurant. Jessica and Barbara were already seated in a back-corner booth. Barb waved him over with a smile that appeared contrived to Dean. “You found us,” she said. “We had a wonderful morning.”

Jess scooted to the far side of the booth making room for Dean to sit next to her. “Yes. Look at these nails.” She held out her hands for inspection. “Aren’t they beautiful? Those Korean ladies certainly know how to make someone feel special.”

“The waitress just took our order,” interrupted Barb. “Is the coconut pork dish OK?”

“That’ll be fine,” said Dean. He glanced at the two women who shifted in their seats. “What’s the rush? Do you have something to tell me? What’s going on?”

Barb swallowed hard and said, “I did something earlier this week that you need to know about.”

“Oh? What’s that? Are you in some kind of trouble? A speeding ticket? Something wrong at school?”

“No. Nothing like that,” replied Barb, “but I knew you and Shawn were planning to go up to that hunting shack of yours this weekend. You know how much I hate your hunting—and killing those innocent animals.”

“I’m well aware of your position on my hobby, Barb. Can we just agree to disagree on the subject?”

“But you’re wrong, Dad. Don’t you see how defenseless those deer and ducks are. Haven’t you ever watched Bambi?”

“Of course, I’ve watched Bambi. That is not a legitimate argument coming from a college student.” He turned to Jess for support.

“Let her talk, Dean,” Jess said as she looked at the picture hanging above Barb and nodded for her to continue.

“You see, earlier this week I found this dead raccoon next to a dumpster outside the dining hall on campus. I think somebody poisoned it.” Her complexion turned pink and her voice rose above the background conversation in the restaurant. “I became so angry seeing that this animal had died for no reason. It was probably just trying to feed its family.”

Dean gripped the edge of the table and leaned back in his seat. “So, what did you do?”

“I decided to make a point.” Barb’s voice filled with biting cynicism. “That poor critter deserved a place of honor in your cabin. I drove it up there late Thursday evening. You should have found it in your bed when you arrived on Friday night.”

“You’re kidding me! What in the world were you thinking? Shawn is up there right now.”

“I know,” said Barb, her voice catching. “I didn’t think you would stay home for my visit.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Were you in on this Jess?”

Jess took a sip of tea. “Not really, but I have something to tell you too.” She took a deep breath and said, “I’ve applied to the nursing program at Macalester. I’ll be moving in with Barb next semester. We’ll take the dog, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

A palpable pause filled the restaurant.

The waitress delivered their food to the table. Dean stared at his plate. “I didn’t think things were this bad.” He looked at his wife and then across the table to Barb.

Barb lifted a bite of noodles from her plate with a set of chopsticks and looked up before putting them in her mouth. “It’s what you’ve always wanted,” she said, “and now you have it: time to hunt, time to fish, all the time in the world to be with your buddy up north.”

Dean’s face reddened. “I’ve done my best to balance my time with you, your mother and my outdoor hobbies,” Dean pleaded. “For god’s sake, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Jess has a spreadsheet to document it.”

 “You spend time with us,” said Jess looking up from her plate of peapods and rice, “but the problem is, you always seem to want to be somewhere else.”

Dean considered this for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he said laying his fork beside his plate. “I think I need a little time to digest this.”

He slipped out of the booth. “I’d better get in touch with Shawn. He’s probably looking for an explanation for our latest cabin guest.” He left the restaurant without touching his food.

****

The following Friday, Dean took off from work early and drove north. He had arranged to meet Shawn at the cabin to discuss the events of the past week. He stopped to fill up with gas in Duluth and picked up a local newspaper. The headlines startled him: Recluse, Bill Banewill Found Dead in Home

Dean pulled himself into the seat of his pickup, slammed the door and read further:

The Saint Louis County sheriff reports that William (Bill) Banewill was found dead in his cabin early today. Local residents alerted officials when Banewill failed to pick up his monthly supplies. When the sheriff and his deputy arrived at Banewill’s home they knew something was amiss. The sheriff said, “The smell of something dead greeted us before we entered the shack he called home.” When they pried open the door the officers found Banewill, bloated and decomposing in his bed. A fully loaded semi-automatic Berretta M9 pistol and a half glass of Jack Daniels were found on his bed stand. A Purple Heart was draped around his neck. Despite the evidence that Banewill may have considered harming himself, the coroner’s report determined that Banewill died of natural causes. Corporal William Banewill will be laid to rest at Fort Snelling National Cemetery.

“Whew,” said Dean to himself. “I wonder if Shawn knows about this.”

Dean pulled into the cabin within minutes of Shawn arriving. The two men stepped out of their pickup trucks, shook hands, and gave each other a bear hug.

“Good to see you, man,” said Dean. “What a week!”

“You’re telling me. I sure missed you last weekend” said Shawn. He pulled a cooler from the bed of the truck and walked toward the cabin. “I’m glad you caught me on my way home last weekend. I had hoped to call you when I got better reception anyway.”

“Yeah, I thought you needed to know why that damned coon was sleeping in the lower bunk. Barb intended for me to find it you know.”

“I gathered that after hearing about your dinner date with Jess and Barb. Kind of spoils a meal doesn’t it?” Shawn set the cooler on the deck inside the porch and turned to Dean. “The smell of that dead raccoon spoiled my appetite too. It stunk like hell—and it was pretty unnerving to find it in the dark.”

Dean dropped his duffel bag on the porch step. “I’m sure it was,” he said quietly. “Last weekend was terrible for me too. I didn’t realize how my family was falling apart.” He followed Shawn back to the truck for another load of supplies for the weekend.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” he reflected. “None of us were happy.”  He grabbed a couple of bags of groceries and added, “I’m sorry you had to find the raccoon.”

Shawn smiled, “I thought it was that kook across the lake. Did I tell you I saw him pointing a rifle at me?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I spotted an eagle across the lake with my binoculars. As I was lowering the binoculars, I caught Bill looking at me through a scope!” Shawn shuddered at the memory. “I kept him in sight with the binoculars and slowly raised my hand to wave to him. When he saw that I saw him, he lowered the rifle, turned and walked into the woods.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “I’d have pooped my pants.”

Dean set down the groceries, pulled the paper from the front seat of the truck and handed it to Shawn. “You must not have picked up a newspaper.”

Shawn unfolded the paper. After reading the article he looked up with his eyebrows raised. “Well, I’ll be. The old codger must have died that night.” He squinted across the lake to where the old man had lived. “I didn’t see or hear any more from him the rest of the weekend.”

Dean reached behind the seat for one more item. “I brought along a bottle of Glenlivet Scotch,” he said, proudly displaying the bottle of amber liquor. “I was saving it for a special occasion—maybe an anniversary or something” He gazed at the bottle. “Now I’m not sure I’ll be having another anniversary. If Jess moves out to live with Barb this fall, I could lose everything.”

“Might be a little soon to jump to that conclusion, don’t you think?” asked Shawn. “Jessica was looking at a nursing career way back in high school. This might be her opportunity to follow that dream.”

“Could be,” replied Dean thoughtfully. “She put her career on hold and stayed home with Barb while I was getting my accounting degree. I suppose she may have resented that.” Dean looked at his feet and mused, “Maybe if I encourage her to follow through with her plan and offer to pay for her school, we could avoid a fight.”

“That sounds expensive,” said Shawn, “but so is divorce. It might be worth a try.”

“Right. We could go our separate ways for awhile and see where that leads us.” He held up the bottle of Glenlivet and smiled. “Considering the events of the past week, I’d guess tonight is special enough.”

After a dinner of steaks on the grill, the two men sat next to each other on the end of the dock. They sipped the scotch, listened to a loon call from across the lake and hashed over the details of the week.

Shawn took a deep breath of night air. “Smell that?” he asked. “The smell of a pine forest always reminds me of the scent of freedom.” He looked up to follow the Milky Way across the sky. “Does it make you feel the same way?”

Dean took a whiff and followed his friend’s gaze. “A week ago I would have agreed with you one hundred percent. Tonight…I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

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