Bad Games

5



With the half-eaten blue lollipop now discarded, and Josie the doll in the hands of a stranger, it would likely take Santa Claus himself to bring a smile to Carrie’s face—or perhaps a dog.

As the silver Highlander pulled into the gravel driveway of cabin number eight bordering Crescent Lake, a mangy Border terrier began yipping and yapping at the SUV with an enthusiasm that suggested it might explode at any moment.

“Daddy! Look at the dog!” Carrie yelled, straining against the binds of her car seat to get a better look.

Patrick needed only a second’s glance at the dog before saying, “Don’t go near that thing, honey. He doesn’t look very clean.”

Carrie ignored her father’s comment and continued to gape, letting out anxious squeaks and smiles that matched the dog’s eagerness for contact. Caleb leaned over and took a hard, wary look at the dog the moment Carrie began shrieking.

Patrick caught his son’s expression in the rearview mirror, reached back and rubbed his knee. “Don’t worry, pal, it’s no big deal.”

“You think it’s a stray?” Amy said.

“Probably. Stay in the car for a couple of minutes though. I’ll get out and shoo it away.”

The instant Patrick stepped out of the car the terrier leapt towards his thigh, begging for affection, its spastic behavior accompanied by a multitude of whines that could crack glass. Patrick shook him off and nudged it away with the tip of his shoe. He clapped his hands loudly. “No! Bad dog! Get out! Shoo!”

The terrier took a few cautious steps back, regrouped, then dove after Patrick’s leg for a second try.

“No! Get out of here! Bad dog! Bad!” Patrick yelled louder, nudging harder with his foot. This time the dog took several steps back and eventually sat. It quivered and whimpered from its spot, spring-loaded, anxiously waiting for Patrick to succumb to its canine charm so that it could rocket forward again.

Patrick opened the driver’s door and poked his head in. “You know what, baby? Why don’t we take the kids inside, and we’ll unload everything. It seems harmless enough, but looks pretty dirty. I don’t want the kids touching it.”

Carrie whined. Amy reached back and squeezed her daughter’s knee to quiet her. “Okay, that’s a good idea,” she said.

Carrie folded her arms and grumbled, “No it’s not.”



* * *



With both kids now safe in the cabin, Amy and Patrick began unloading the rear of the Highlander.

“So what do you think?” Patrick asked, taking a brief look around before reaching for a bag. “Seems just as peaceful as last time, doesn’t it?”

Amy turned her back to the car and looked down the driveway and beyond, out onto Crescent Lake. The lake itself was man-made and about half the size of a football field. The surrounding homes that bordered the green water were in contrast of one another. Some were rustic blocks of wood that looked as if they’d been erected by pioneers hundreds of years ago, and some were more modern establishments that resembled basic, one-story homes you might find in any modest suburb throughout the country.

Crescent Lake was not flashy; that wasn’t its purpose. Its purpose was serenity and solitude, and in that, it excelled. Amy turned back to Patrick, smiled, and said, “Just as peaceful.”

Patrick smiled back and breathed in deep. The smell of wood, leaves, and mountain air calmed him to no end. The trees that surrounded the rear of their cabin, and nearly every cabin bordering the lake, narrowed upward from a mighty base until their tips were lost among an explosion of red and orange, with not a single leaf daring to fall to the earth just yet.

“It really is, isn’t it?” Patrick said, more to himself than Amy. He breathed in the earthy scents again and closed his eyes, the gentle calls of nature singing to him, more acute with his eyes shut. He thought it might actually be possible to fall asleep standing up.

Amy took hold of a small duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder. “What do you want to do about food?” she asked.

Patrick snapped from his daze and brought his attention back to the Highlander. He took a small black suitcase from the car and set it at his feet. “You want to go shopping now?”

Amy grabbed another small duffel bag and balanced it atop the black suitcase. “Might as well get it out of the way before we get comfortable.”

Patrick shrugged. “Okay. You want me to go?”

“Nah, I’ll go. You can take the kids for a walk around the lake or something.”

“Oh, I get it. Dump the kids with the naïve dad and the new mangy mutt while you drive off to reunite with your forbidden mountain man.”

Amy raised an eyebrow, and did not smile when she said, “Actually, I was going to go look for your little buddy, Arty.”

Patrick dropped another bag at his feet, stood upright and sighed. “Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?”

“Kind of weird? That was flat-out bizarre Patrick. What would a grown man want with a little girl’s doll?”

“Well, I’d like to think he didn’t actually want the doll, Amy.”

“So explain then.”

“I don’t know. My guess is that he was just using it as a way to give Carrie a piece of candy. I mean let’s face it, the guy did have a bit of an odd way about him, to say the least.” He paused for a second, smiled and added, “I guess we must have forgotten to give our daughter the ‘don’t take candy from strangers’ speech.”

Amy shot him a disgusted look. “It’s not funny, Patrick. She was out of my sight for less than a minute. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.”

Patrick frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well for starters, how did this guy know Carrie wanted a piece of candy so badly? Was he watching us in the restaurant? Listening to our conversation at the table somehow?”

Patrick’s back stiffened. His wife’s question was a damn good one. He had sized Arty up from the moment he met him and did not figure him a physical threat in any way. Weird? Hell, yes. But a threat? No. The man’s actions at the gas station and the restaurant were no doubt bizarre, but Patrick still felt comfortable that if push came to shove, he could deal with Arty with little trouble.

Amy continued. “I mean that whole thing at the station with the free gas was strange enough.”

Patrick steadied himself, took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want me to say, baby. Maybe in his weird little world, it’s his way of being friendly. You know there are some people out there who just don’t know where the line is.”

“Bullshit. The way he smiled and waved as he was driving away from the restaurant…that was…that was something different than being friendly.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know. Just different, okay?”

Patrick held up both hands. “Okay.”

Amy shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “And what the hell was that whole thing with the doll? Carrie barely lets us hold that damn thing, yet she gives it to a strange man for a piece of candy in less than a minute?”

Patrick felt his wife’s frustration and shared it equally, if not more so, but he desperately wanted to put it behind them in order to focus on the weekend ahead. It was the role he often played in their relationship. Amy was strong, tough, and outspoken, but she was a worrier, and Patrick frequently found himself assuring her all would be well, even if it meant bottling up his own fears and misgivings for the time being.

“Honey, I agree, what the guy did was exceptionally odd, but let’s just think about things for a second. He’s got a wife, in-laws, and twins to entertain while he’s up here. I highly doubt we’ll ever run into him again. Chances are, he was probably just passing by the restaurant, spotted our sore-thumb-of-an-SUV in a parking lot full of battered pick-ups, and decided to…I don’t know…reach out again.

“If you ask me he’s just a very strange guy who never received the handbook on acceptable social etiquette. Please, let’s not let it ruin our weekend, okay?”

Amy gave a weak smile, leaned forward and rested her head on Patrick’s chest. He stroked her long dark hair. “You know I would never let anything happen to you guys.”

“I know,” she said softly, her head still in his chest. She remained quiet for a moment before lifting her head and looking up at him. “You do realize we’re going to have to buy Carrie a new doll right?”

Patrick nodded. “Maybe I’ll go buy some lollipops and canvas the local pizza shops later. You know, look for a trade?”

Amy slapped his chest hard and pulled away. “You’re sick.”

Patrick took a step back and rubbed his chest. “Ouch,” he laughed. “That hurt.”

“Good,” she said without a trace of a smile. She picked up one of the small duffel bags and started walking towards the back door of the cabin.

A second later, the censor button on Patrick’s sense of humor appeared—late as usual.