Page 50 of Wildwood

I nod, slightly. Yes. I trust you. But why don’t you trust me?

Later that evening, I let Hugo out to do his business. As I stand on the back porch, I scan the meadow. Is there some small tree or brush that I could have mistaken for a person? No. The thought is both comforting and unsettling. After Hugo returns, I stand guard a few minutes longer. The sun is setting, and the sky is a rich orangey red. It looks like it’s on fire. Just before it sinks below the horizon, I think I see some vague twinkling in the trees. But before I can make anything out, the last shades of red are swallowed by the arrival of night.

Chapter 40

“Julian’s asked if I want to go hunting with him tomorrow.”

I pause, fork of spaghetti lifted halfway to my mouth. We are having our one dinner of the week together, on his night off.

“Oh. Well, obviously, you can’t.”

He looks at me quizzically, while sipping his beer. “Why not?”

“Work,” I say simply.

“I have an extra day off, remember?” His eyes hold mine, almost challenging me.

I rack my brain. Shit. That’s right. He had mentioned something about it, some days ago. Everything is blurring together lately.

“Oh. Right. Okay, I forgot.”

“It’s okay. I did text and ask if you wanted to plan something special, but you never replied, so I told Julian yes.”

I feel an unpleasantness in my stomach. So he’d already said yes. To hunting. With Julian. But what can I say? I did space on trying to plan something special. I’ve been so preoccupied, so obsessed with Lydia. And I want Topher to be happy here. I need him to be happy here. So I force a smile onto my face, even though the thought of it makes me sick.

“Sure, okay. That’s great, babe. We can do something nice for dinner. Have fun.”

“Great.” He squeezes my hand and continues eating, a look that I can’t quite read masking a face I thought I knew so well.

* * *

Hunting starts early in the morning. Apparently, it’s the best time to get whitetails. Though he tries not to disturb me, I hear Topher creep out of bed when it’s still dark. I lay in bed awake, for a while, listening to him in the bathroom. Listening to the mundane movements of a man getting ready for the day. Water slapping the tiles as he showers. The soft shushing as he brushes his teeth. The gurgle of the toilet. His telltale throat clearing. The sounds are so familiar, though I haven’t heard them nearly so much since we’ve moved here and night shifts have taken over our life. I wonder if that’s why there’s a strange foreignness to them now. Or if it’s something else. When he’s done, he creeps over to my side of the bed and kisses me softly on the cheek. All of this should be comforting. The return of old routines, the loving husband. But when his lips graze my cheek, instead of turning in for a kiss, I keep my eyes shut and pray he doesn’t hear the erratic thudding of my heart.

When I fall back asleep, I dream of Lydia. This time I can see her and I’m following her through the woods. Sometimes she has the face of my mother. Sometimes it’s my grandmother’s face. Sometimes it’s cousin Anna. But I know it’s Lydia. She is focused and carries a basket tucked under her arm. She bends down every now and then, brown-stained fingers digging gently around the forest floor. She picks something up and inspects it. It’s a charcoal-colored mushroom, its cap almost blooming like a flower. She places it in her basket and gathers some more before standing up. It is now that I see she is pregnant, as she carefully braces herself against the tree as she stands. She moves off farther into the forest, walking deliberately, following invisible paths she’s walked before. Lydia’s basket fills with mushrooms. Black trumpets. Some that look like cauliflower. Some that are fat and brown. I swear I can smell them, the scent of dirt and fungus.

As she walks, it’s almost as though I can hear her thoughts. Gather the mushrooms. Stack the firewood. James. Elias. Jacob? Must not forget to check the traps. She has my mother’s face now. It’s lovely, this dream. And I don’t want it to end. I feel like I could stay like this forever, watching my mother gathering mushrooms in the forest. But as time goes on, I feel a sense of dread beginning to creep at the edges of my vision. There’s a darkness encroaching on us. Me. My mother. Lydia. Some animal stalking her. A bear? The serpent? But it’s coming for her and there’s nothing I can do to protect her. My heart is pounding. Run.

* * *

Topher’s jacket is bloodstained when he arrives home that afternoon.

“I got a deer.” His face is triumphant.

“What?” I look up from my cup of tea. The dark red splatters make my heart stop.

He pulls off his jacket, which I don’t recognize, and realize it must be one of Julian’s. He drapes it lazily on one of the antique kitchen chairs.

“I got a deer. On my first time out. I know it’s beginner’s luck, but Julian seemed genuinely impressed with how quickly I picked it up.” He opens up the fridge and grabs a beer. “Isn’t that incredible?”

I’m speechless. I didn’t expect him to actually get anything. And I’m still mildly irked that on one of his rare days off, he decided to get up before dawn to hunt with Julian.

“That’s great,” I say finally and can hear the lack of enthusiasm in my own voice. His neck flexes slightly as he watches me, and I almost see an internal sigh.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d get so covered with blood though.” I have zero basis for this statement. Why can’t I just say something nice?

“Well, the blood’s from processing the animal. I helped Julian a bit, back at their house. He’s gonna finish it and then he’ll give me most of the meat.”

Topher is pacing around the room now, giving off an almost giddy male energy. Whatever deflation he felt at my reaction is gone and he’s babbling on about the thrill of the hunt. The feel of the gun. The appreciation of the animal. It makes me seethe and I almost tune it out, unable to hear it. It’s not that I oppose hunting. But my husband is not a hunter. Who is this man pacing about my kitchen, blood in his fingernails?