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Part One:
A Path Through the Forest
Chapter One
The path through the trees was rocky and uneven. While the trail could be difficult to follow as it meandered through the forest, the wooded scene remained one of Stephen’s favorite routes for his afternoon strolls. Despite being in a mountainous region, the inclines never became too steep for him. The physical therapist had both approved and encouraged the light activity, as long as he didn’t strain himself. His pain had gradually improved, and his limp was less pronounced since he had moved from the city. Though he’d never be back to “normal,” it was the best recovery he could have hoped for.
As he entered the tiny cottage he now called home, the angry chirp of his cell phone alerted him to a new message. Grabbing it from the kitchen table, he grumbled about forgetting to bring it along with him yet again. He didn't need to check the list of missed calls to know who it was, and he longed for the days when there was no reception out in the woods.
“Hi, Stevie!” came the expected, overly cheery voice of his older sister Jill. “I just wanted to check in and—”
He hit a button on the phone, deleting the message. The voicemails were always so similar, he could repeat them back word for word. He appreciated Jill’s concern, but he wasn’t in the mood for idle conversation and continuing attempts to assure her everything was fine. “I’ll call her back tomorrow,” he muttered to the empty room, switching the phone off and placing it back on the table.
The sun set behind the rounded hills, casting a soft golden glow over the leafy trees surrounding the small house. Not enough light trickled through the thick branches and the windows of the kitchen, so Stephen flipped up a light switch before opening the cabinets to decide on an evening meal. Gone were the days of dining in posh little Manhattan bistros or ordering take-out on lazy late nights. Although cooking for one usually seemed more like a chore than a pleasurable experience, he didn’t miss his previous habits.
The pantry produced a near-empty box of spaghetti, and there was enough tomato sauce left inside the jar in the refrigerator door to make it a halfway interesting meal. After setting up the necessary pots on the stove, he frowned at the spent containers. Alison, his ex-girlfriend, had always turned her nose up at the store-bought sauce, complaining about how little effort he put in to the times when it was his turn to cook for them. It frequently seemed as though complaining about him was her favorite hobby. He tossed the jar into the trash can, the thoughts of Alison pushing away the reminders on the label to recycle, and waited for the water to boil.
A trip to the grocery store would be a necessary interruption to his usual routine the following day. Since Stephen had moved upstate, far away from the lightning-fast pace of the city and expensive cars driven by those in too much of a rush to stop for pedestrians in a crosswalk, he had settled into a comfortable, if not mundane, way of life. On occasion, he would get into his car and travel to the artsy towns dotting the map of the Finger Lakes region, and he’d had some various successes in selling some of his paintings. Other than those brief expeditions, he stayed close to his new home, immersing himself in the world of dense forests and oils and canvas.
The rattling of the lid caught his attention and he dumped the spaghetti into the pot. Eight minutes later, his dinner was ready, and he brought it over to the table. It was a simple meal at the end of a simple day. There were no surprises or anything out of the ordinary to disrupt the sturdy wall he had built around himself, and he imagined the next day would be the same.
Nothing in Stephen’s life bothered him anymore. Not much excited him, either. His painted landscapes depicted his surroundings well enough. He didn’t consider them particularly inspired. He had Jill, he had a small handful of acquaintances who lived nearby, and his former roommates sent him an insubstantial email or text message every now and then so they could pat themselves on the back for staying in touch. While he didn’t know how he was going to feel in a week, a month, or a year, for now, it was enough.
The branches of the nearest tree scratched at his window as he climbed into bed and wrapped himself in a thin blanket. The weather during the day had been breezy and the nights were starting to cool off, a sure sign summer was drawing to a close. He hadn’t experienced a winter in upstate New York yet, and he was apprehensive about the inevitable piles of snow that would be falling upon him in several months’ time. The abrupt move had been a much-needed change, though, and he was at peace with his decision to completely uproot his life. In the absence of traffic, sirens, and the other noises of the city’s wild nightlife, he lulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Two
A morning of unsatisfying painting sent Stephen back to his favorite trail. The tranquility of the wind rustling through the leaves and his footsteps shuffling on the path was disturbed by the metallic whine of the phone in his pocket. He glanced at the screen before pushing the appropriate button, confirming what he already knew. “Hello, Jill.”
“Hi, Stevie! I’m so glad I finally got a hold of you. I was starting to worry.”
“I keep telling you not to. I’m fine.”
“I know, I know.” Jill sighed. “But I can’t help it. You know I always worry about you.”
“Did you need something?”
He visualized her narrowing her eyes at him in frustration. “I just wanted to check in,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he repeated.
“And your leg?”
“Still attached.” He’d expected the noise of exasperation crackling through the phone’s speaker. “A little stiff every now and then, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“I hope you’re not overdoing things up there.”
“Jill, I’m fine.” He was growing tired of the word. “The doctor doesn’t even want to see me again for another three months.”
“I suppose that’ll be the next time you come down here.”
There was silence on both ends for a moment. “I suppose so,” Stephen said softly.
“The kids miss their uncle, you know.”
“I’ll email them when I get back to the house.” The next quiet stretch indicated she wasn’t satisfied with his response. “And I’ll be sure to swing by New Jersey and visit after my appointment. Even though I’ll probably hit traffic.”
“Mm-hmm.”
