Chapter 31 Causeway
Causeway
“You don’t believe me, do you,” Sam said.
She and William were tromping along the shoreline in their snowshoes, as they did every morning, but this time they were looking
for different prints. Rabbit tracks. William was a few feet ahead of Sam, posture alert, head thrust aggressively forward
like an explorer investigating a hostile continent. He’d shaved off his beard the day after Sam arrived, since it was unkind
to the more sensitive parts of her anatomy, but he’d since been experimenting with muttonchop sideburns, and in the early
dawn light, he looked like a retired 1970s porn star in a plaid hunting cap. He leaned over to inspect something in the snow,
then pointed silently.
“Whitetail,” Sam said. “Bobcat.”
William nodded and crunched onward. There were plenty of snowshoe tracks, too, which he and she had made; if a third person
had been there, there’d be no way to tell the difference. Sam labored to keep up. She was still not very proficient on the
snowshoes. William could wait for her. He usually did. And why was he not talking? Sam had never known William to be quiet for so long, not even after
he’d chased the Rabbit unsuccessfully in the Portsmouth Marriott.
She floundered up behind him as he trekked up the hill toward the causeway.
They’d combed the house attic to basement with flashlights after Sam saw the Rabbit, then searched the yard.
Warmed up with coffee and carbs at dawn and come back out for a more thorough sweep of the island, though William had said, You can go back to bed if you want.
Sam said No, I’m good as she stepped grimly back into boots that felt squashy and smelled weird.
She’d never had sweaty feet before, but maybe
snowshoe boots were different. She’d look for disinfectant products next time they were in Augusta.
“I swear I saw her, William,” Sam said now. “She was in the house.”
William held up a hand as he stepped onto the lake near the gate pillars, then gestured to Sam that it was safe. Sam edged
out onto the ice. The rising sun dodged in and out of low clouds, brightening and darkening the morning around them.
“I’m not loving the silent treatment,” Sam said. “Are you mad at me?”
“That’s not the word I would use,” said William without turning.
“What then?” William didn’t respond. “Annoyed? Frustrated? Humoring me? Because you really don’t believe she was in our bedroom. Right?”
Now William glanced at her. “I believe you believe it. I believe you think you saw a—” he cocked an eyebrow—“wascally wabbit!”
“It’s not funny,” said Sam.
“No, it isn’t,” William continued, proceeding across the ice. “You rout me out of bed while I’m on a deadline, when you know I need my sleep and every minute counts, just because you had a bad dream—”
“That’s not what it was.”
“I hope that is what it was, Simone. Or similar. Because I’m starting to wonder . . .”
“What?” said Sam.
William climbed onto the causeway, now an elevated snow-covered plateau bisecting the ice. Sam stood on the lake with her
arms crossed.
“What do you wonder? Just spit it out,” she said.
William looked down at her, his expression calm, even flat, and Sam felt a moment of danger, not to her but to them, as if
the ice she was standing on were mushy and unsafe after all.
“Never mind,” he said as if to himself. “You’re not that Machiavellian.” He held out a gloved hand to Sam to help her. She ignored him, crawling up over the invisible boulders on all fours.
“It’s your brilliant Simone brain,” said William, forging down the causeway toward the logging road. “You’re a writer who’s
not writing, and your mind is like an hyperactive puppy. If you don’t give it something to chew on, it’ll destroy everything
in its path.”
“Whether I’m writing or not, and thanks for that dog analogy, by the way—” Sam began, and then her right snowshoe caught on
something and tipped her sideways and she tumbled off the causeway. It wasn’t more than a few feet, but the wind had been
strong in the night and scoured away much of the snow. She landed badly and hit her head on the ice.
“Ow,” she said. “Fuck.”
William was crouched at her side instantly, pressing her in place.
“Oh honey,” he said. “Stay still for a minute. Do you feel dizzy?”
“No.”
“Nauseous?”
“No. Just stupid,” Sam said. She laughed. William didn’t. He pulled off her hood and wool hat and very carefully felt her
head, Sam wincing when he found the tender spot.
“Nice goose egg,” he said. “We’ll keep an eye on it. I’ll take you to Augusta if you’re concussed, or we can call for a medevac.
Although it’ll take them an hour to get out here . . .”
“I think I’m fine,” Sam said. “Just clumsy.”
“Not clumsy. Unpracticed. This is what I’ve been telling you,” William said, sitting next to her. His cheeks were bright red,
tiny ice crystals in his sideburns. “This is why you must never go out without me. You’re not used to it here. This doesn’t look like a bad fall. But if it had been . . .”
“I’m not a child, William. I lived in the Berkshires. And I’m learning.”
“I know you are. I applaud what a sport you’ve been. But experienced countryfolk get in trouble out here. Even ones born into
these conditions. Look what happened to Pen.”
Pen? thought Sam. His sister? She was about to ask, What had happened to Pen? when William said, “I’m being too hard on you, I see that now. Let’s get you back to the house. I’ll continue
the hunt on my own. I keep forgetting how new all this is to you. You’re acclimating. That’s why you’re seeing things.”
“I am not—” Sam started to argue, but instead, as he helped her to her feet and dusted her off, she changed tack and asked,
“What about security?”
“What do you mean?” William said. He guided her along the ice back toward the house, holding Sam’s hand now, though she could
feel nothing in the insulated Mickey Mouse gloves they both wore.
“I mean do you have any security here, in addition to the gates?” Which they were passing now, navigating back around the
pillars. The stuffed rabbit was still affixed to one of the spikes. He’d lost an ear, and his fur had molted off in patches.
“There’s ample security,” William said shortly. “Do you see where we live? Do you know how hard it is to get here in the winter?”
“But there’s no security system per se,” Sam persisted. “Right? Like no cameras or alarms that alert the police or anything?”
William laughed. “Simone, sweetheart. The difficulty anyone would have getting here to do us harm is the difficulty anyone
would have getting here to help us. How long do you think it would take the sheriff to reach us on an unplowed road? Even
a plowed one? If we had a fire, the house would burn to the ground long before the fire department could get here. We are
unincorporated.”
“Oh good, I feel so much better now,” Sam said.
“I won’t minimize the risks, Simone. We face real dangers here. But I’m your security.” William pulled her up onto the snowy shore of the island. “I know it’s hard for you to suspend disbelief,”
he continued as they trekked toward the house. “How can you trust, after what you went through with Hank? But I am not some
poor feckless addict. You’re safe now.” He put a hand on Sam’s heart. “Believe,” he said emphatically.
Sam stared at him, unblinking.
“Work with me for a minute,” she said. “Just pretend the Rabbit was in the house. What if she comes back? What if she gets in again?”
William gazed out across the lake. He was in profile to her, the icy light turning his closest eye into a translucent marble.
It shifted back and forth as if he were dreaming. He’s not here, Sam thought. Where is he?
“Let the Rabbit come,” he said, distantly, almost casually. “I welcome it. I’ve prayed to catch her in my house. Because that
would be a clear case of self-defense. I’d end her.”
Sam squinted up at him. His hair, more gray now than brown, whipped around the ear flaps of his cap. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” said William, still in that remote tone. “I’d try to disable her first. Humanely. And permanently, so she couldn’t
pull any more stunts. Then turn her over to the authorities. But if things get out of hand in the moment, well . . . she’ll
bring her fate upon herself.”
“Whoa,” said Sam. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“I can’t tell you how to feel, Simone. It’s simply what’ll happen.”
Sam turned away to stare out, too, at the uncompromising vista that was all rock and ice and pines and snow, the only movement
an eagle circling and circling, seeking prey for breakfast. She felt dismay at the turn this morning had taken: William’s
dismissiveness; their lack of an actual alarm system, and now this, his cold-blooded predetermined plan for the Rabbit. But
he had been living with the reality of this threat for years, and he was under deadline pressure, and Sam had woken him screaming
in the night. Neither of them was exactly at their best.
“Can we at least change the locks?” she said finally.
William seemed to return from wherever he was. “Yes, if you don’t mind handling it. I really need to keep on top of the book.”
“Done.”
“Deal,” said William.
He looked down at her then and seemed to remember who Sam was, smiling for the first time that morning. He bent to kiss her,
his nose an icy blade. “Let’s go get warm,” he said. “I have some ideas.”