The reason I can’t find the enemy is
I have yet to look within myself.
― Craig D. Lounsbrough
The Presence
Ever since I came to Willow Grove I've struggled to fit in. I love big sky country and being out on my land, but making connections with the locals has presented a challenge.
I could argue it's a process of adjustment after my combat mission in Afghanistan, but that was several years back and although I still struggle with recurring nightmares and bouts of PTSD, things are more or less under control or at least manageable in that regard. It's my relationships with people that are causing me problems.
I've met three women since I settled in and each of them has presented a unique challenge. Maybe it's a case of arrested development because I can't recall even one satisfactory relationship even going back to high school.
Yeah, it doesn't augur well for the future.
I intended to stop by the store and touch base with Ella but witnessing the altercation between a local and a migrant worker really bothered me―it made me wonder if I made a mistake in coming here.
I could probably return to my crime analyst job in Toronto and just use the land as a vacation retreat―sort of treat it like cottage life and drop in whenever I felt I needed to get back to the land and get in touch with nature.
That was doable. I could scrap my plan of building a log cabin on the property and just pitch a tent or rent a trailer whenever I felt like roughing it.
Besides, my romantic relationships haven't exactly been stellar―more star-crossed if you ask me.
I guess I'm typical of most men, attracted to bright things but forgetting how quickly they can come to confusion.
Flora is married and almost twice my age but she can still twist me around her little finger. As for Sarah, I just don't get her―she says she's happily married but passionately kisses me. Whenever we're together the air between us crackles as if with static electricity.
And then there's Ella, the one woman I figure I can happily marry. But I sense she's holding back because she sees other women around me. She probably thinks I'm sending out signals because I'm not exactly God's gift to women and maybe she's right. Trying to figure out these relationships is futile and I'm exhausted from second guessing myself.
Anyway, the best thing I can do today is go for that jog. I intended to go the other day but I postponed it because Sarah needed to talk...and the two of us both know how that turned out.
So, having made up my mind, I change into my sweats and tee only to realize I haven't had lunch. That's annoying but I'm not postponing my jog again.
I head out the door without looking back and run as far as my legs will carry me. I don't do too badly―I actually last a half hour at a steady pace and it surprises me. I didn't realize I was still in reasonably good shape.
Mind you, I end up walking most of the way back and my throat is parched and lips dry as bark. I forgot to pack a water bottle.
When I finally reenter the house I'm ready for a shower but something stops me. Something feels wrong and for a moment my heart stops. I sense a presence in the house.
I quietly tip toe toward the kitchen where I keep my gun hidden in a cupboard above the stove and that's when I spot a woman's bag draped over the back of a chair.
My mind is spinning trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.
How the hell could somebody get in here? It may turn out to be one of the women ―possibly Ella, or Sarah...or even Flora. But whose name do I call?
I play it safe and simply call out, "Hello―is someone here?"
"In the garden," a woman's voice answers, slightly muffled, so I can't be sure.
I creep slowly to the kitchen window and peer out and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Ella is sitting on a Muskoka chair in the shade sipping a glass of cold ice tea.
I join her and as I do she shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you went for a jog and left your door unlocked and the alarm off. Whatever were you thinking, Scott?"
I sit down shamefaced and pour myself a glass of ice tea and drink it greedily. "I wasn't thinking," I finally manage to say after downing the liquid. "Just took off running without looking back and even forgot my water bottle."
"You must be under stress," she replies compassionately. "Have you eaten lunch?"
"No, I just needed to get out and guess I threw caution to the wind."
"You certainly did," she nods, "and I get it, but you know that can be deadly."
"I do," I agree lamely, but have to wonder if that weren't secretly my intention.