17.
The alarm on his phone woke Stan from a dream he’d had repeatedly since Barb’s ordeal on the cross-he was driving aimlessly around the city looking desperately for something (it was never clear what) and not finding it. Fortunately in real life, he had found her in time, as evidenced by the fact that she lay on her back beside him in bed, sleeping peacefully.
Stan shook her gently. “Barb, time to get up.”
“Mmmm,” she grunted.
“Wakey-wakey,” Stan coaxed.
“Shit. What time is it?” she asked, still half asleep.
“6:30. It’s a good two hour’s drive up there, so we should get a move on.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, but despite her protests she pulled her Minnesota Vikings T shirt over her head and headed for the showers. Stan marveled at her lithe figure, his eyes fixed on her undulating behind.
They grabbed a quick breakfast. Barb held her bagel in one hand, typing on her laptop with the other. “My ‘French Resistance’ post got 9 likes.”
“Wow!” Stan said, pretending to care. “Someone in Czechoslovakia ‘likes’ you. Must make your day.”
“It’s Czech Republic and has been for almost 30 years, you dinosaur,” she told him. “Get with the times Goldman.” That was one of Stan’s annoying habits-referring to things he had learned in school as though nothing had changed.
“Any from our putative suspects?” he asked
Barb glanced down. “There’s one from noose92, the one who lives in Manhattan.”
“Or Czechoslovakia,” Stan said. “No invitations to what do you call it?”
“PM thread,” Barb said, rolling her eyes. “No. Not yet.”
“Too bad, but if you can tear yourself away, let’s get going.”
The drive up was pleasant, the leaf color increasing as they drove north, following the Hudson River, though too far away from it to see it most of the time. Around 9:30, they pulled into the place where Marty lived. It was a converted barn on what had once been a dairy farm, but had reverted to woodlands. Only a part of the space had been converted to living quarters, a kitchen, a sitting area, two small but comfortable bedrooms. The remainder was more or less as it had been when the structure had been used as a barn, high beamed ceilings and some stalls where the cows had slept.
Marty answered Stan’s knock-they embraced, clapping each other on the back. Marty favored his mother, Stan’s ex-wife, so it wouldn’t have been obvious to a casual observer that they were father and son. Stan introduced Barb; Marty gave her the once-over; at least they resembled each other in their eye for feminine charms.
As they entered, a woman emerged from the kitchen, an apron over the T shirt and sweat pants she wore for the day’s activities. It was Marty’s girlfriend, Melissa. She was late-20s, with brunette hair, similar in color to Barb’s though cut much shorter, with a healthy, outdoorsy glow on her cheeks. She was the baker at the restaurant where Marty cooked, which was how they met.
After the introductions all around, Melissa invited them to come back to the kitchen. “A fresh-baked cinnamon bun and some coffee are just the thing to fortify us for the hike, aren’t they?” she asked.
“That sounds perfect,” Barb said. “They smell great!”
Stan was thinking of begging off on the hike, claiming sore knees, but he didn’t want to look like a spoilsport, so he got into the front seat of Marty’s SUV, while Barb and Melissa got in the back, giggling about something, probably how Stan looked in his hiking clothes. Marty drove the short 15 minutes to the trailhead, which was already fairly full of cars on this beautiful Saturday.
The hike was flat in the first part, the woods blazing with reds and oranges and yellows, the trail following a lovely brook, the leaves that had already fallen thick underfoot. The women forged ahead, talking animatedly like old friends, while Stan struggled to keep up.
“How did two guys like us manage to snag two gorgeous intelligent women like those two?” Marty asked.
“Beats me,” Stan said. “Though I suppose saving Barb’s life didn’t hurt my chances. You haven’t saved Mel’s life by any chance, have you?”
“I did once remind her about a batch of rolls she had forgotten in the oven,” Marty replied. “I guess that’s as close as you come to lifesaving in the culinary world.”
By this point, they had reached the base of the mountain, and the trail got much steeper. Stan was panting with the exertion. Barb and Melissa were out of sight now, though he could just hear the murmur of their voices when the trail wound back on itself.
They reached a long straight stretch and he could see them ahead and above them. “Come on Goldman, move your fat old ass!” Barb yelled.
“Which Goldman?” Stan yelled back.
“Both of you guys!” Melissa replied and he could see her and Barb dissolving in giggles. Fortunately, the climb didn’t last too much longer. They came out just below the wide, flat summit. The leaves were pretty much gone at this altitude, allowing a breathtaking view of the Hudson Valley, carpeted in its fall glory.
They sat and ate the sandwiches and cookies that Melissa had made, joined by a few other parties that had preceded them up, then made their way back down.
Back at the house, Marty and Melissa gave their visitors a quick tour of the barn and property. “It must be nice to have all this space,” Barb said.
“It is,” Melissa replied, “Though I wish we had more time to do things with it. Eventually we hope to finish more of the barn”
“Speaking of time,” Marty said. “We have to get over to the restaurant to get things ready for the dinner service. We’ll see you at seven o’clock, right, Dad?”
“We’ll be there,” Stan replied. Alone in the house, Barb and Stan made love, slowly and gently, Stan moving languorously inside Barb, kissing her on the mouth and breasts as he moved on top of her. They lay together for a long time afterward, listening to the sounds of birds and the wind in the trees, the sounds you seldom heard over the cars and street shouts in the city.
Finally, it was time to shower and get dressed to go to Marty’s restaurant, which was on the main street of an old river town that recently had an influx of people from the cities and was now filled with trendy bars and restaurants, art galleries and antique stores.
Dinner was a delicious and elaborate affair, featuring the products of local farms in all their abundance in the harvest season. They had a pumpkin soup, beautifully spiced, then lamb chops with roasted potatoes and a purple cabbage slaw. That was followed by a selection of local cheeses accompanied by delicious oat bread that Melissa had just pulled out of the oven. Her featured dessert was a bread pudding with an apple and maple compote. Stan beamed with pride at the life his son had made for himself after his early problems.
Back at the house, Barb turned on her laptop and checked Hanging Fantasies. “Any more likes? Stan asked.
“No,” she replied, sounding a bit disappointed.
“That’s OK, I like you enough for that whole site, Stan said. She smiled. “You know, I’ve been thinking. If the book deal comes through, maybe we should move up here and buy out the rest of Marty’s partners in the restaurant. What do you say to that?”
“It’s worth thinking about,” Barb said
“You could certainly have some great parties in that barn,” Stan added.
Suddenly Barb’s face lit up. “Did you just hear what you just said? The high ceiling, the beams. That barn is the perfect place for that hanging party I’m going to host to catch the perps who helped Amanda off herself! You’re a genius, Goldman!”
“Since when?” he asked.
“Oh, stop it,” Barb replied. “Now I have to catch their attention. I think I’m going to write a story about hanging for that site. Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.”
