Summer People by Aaron Stander Page B

On the long descent he started to pull away. He could see the other vehicle slowly falling back, but as he started climbing, the gap narrowed again. He switched off the overdrive. As the revs dropped, he pulled the car into third. The engine bellowed. The needle on the tachometer was well into the yellow. The truck pulled closer.
    The lights of the truck disappeared just as the blade hit his rear bumper. He held on for control. He jammed the accelerator to the floor. He started to pull away from the truck, first by only inches, then the gap gradually widened. He looked at the dash. The needle was in the red; the engine screamed. Then there was a loud metallic explosion and a half-second of silence before the car started to spin. The wheels caught in the soft shoulder and the car rolled, side-to-side, down a steep embankment until it struck a large oak tree. Then the wreckage tumbled forward end to end until the vehicle came to rest, top down, in a rain-swelled marsh.
    The truck on the road above stopped, and backed onto the shoulder. A figure emerged, walked to the side of the road, looked down into the darkness, listened, and after several minutes got back into the truck and drove away.

20

    Marc was tense; he had been tense from the moment he awakened shortly after five a.m. He had rushed to shower and dress, so he could drive Lisa to the airport in time for a 7:00 a.m. flight.
    They stood in the departure area and drank black coffee from paper cups. At last her flight was called and as they walked toward the gate she said, “Remember to pick me up on Wednesday.” She kissed him warmly and, without looking back, headed toward the boarding gate. He watched her go through the door, watched until he couldn’t see her anymore. Then he went to the window and saw her walk across the tarmac to the aircraft and climb up the stairs.
    As Marc walked back to his car, he felt down—lonely, sad, and angry. He had finally gotten used to the idea that Lisa had moved in with him. Now she was leaving for a few days to take part in the wedding of a friend. She had invited him to come along, but he wasn’t comfortable with the idea.
    Marc drove through Traverse City along the bay and then took the highway that ran along the shoreline to Suttons Bay. He stopped for breakfast at a small restaurant overlooking the water. He tried to interest himself in the Detroit Free Press as he ate, but he couldn’t concentrate. He searched for the cause of his anxiety. Was he upset that Lisa was going to be gone for a few days, or was he feeling anxious that things had moved too quickly and he wasn’t in control? Perhaps it was good, he thought, that he would have time to think things over. He left a half-eaten breakfast and barelyread paper and drove back to the lake. He was still tense when he got back to the cottage and decided to take a long bike ride.
    Marc needed to think. As an adolescent he discovered that he did his best thinking on a bicycle. He carried his bike, top tube resting on his shoulder, from the cottage out to the paving; he didn’t like rolling it through the wet sand of the two-track. He rode south at Burdickville, went west at Fowler Road and south again at Indian Hill Road. He used roads that he knew from long experience would be lightly traveled.
    Marc was thinking about Lisa. He was trying to think about what he was feeling. An old acquaintance, but a relative stranger, had suddenly been living with him in complete intimacy. He was not used to the closeness. He tried to remember if he and Elaine had ever shared such relaxed intimacy.
    He remembered the feelings—strong emotions—he had years ago. But those weren’t feelings he had ever had for Elaine.
    Lisa had rekindled those old feelings, feelings that had once scared him so much. And, he thought again, it was moving too fast. He was not used to being close to anyone or letting anyone close.
    He worked his way along the back roads until he got to Crystal Lake and