A Life Untethered

By Sharon Chaconas

When tragedy strikes, a young American girl is broken and lost in the wilderness of a harsh Russian winter. Death becomes a hauntingly, familiar figure as she tries to survive the forces of nature. Fate, faith, and stubbornness become key factors to her survival when she is alone. A silent stranger emerges as her savior, companion, friend, and perhaps more. The harsh weather, stark climate, and lack of supplies threaten their existence. Together they forge a relationship that saves their sanity and keeps them alive until they can find their way back to their former lives. Unbeknownst to either of them, her disappearance and that of her diplomat father have become the top story on news stations around the world. Conspiracy theories emerge quickly and their faces are plastered everywhere. Though separated by language, culture, and life experience; they find common ground--survival. In the remote cabin can the two strangers fall in love within the silence?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon Chaconas
• Release date: Nov 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311366450

Sharon Chaconas

Sharon Chaconas is a kindergarten teacher. She is currently the webmaster for her school's website. Many Saturdays are spent on the sidelines of her son's soccer games. Quiet evenings are devoted to lurking on Facebook to see what friends and relatives are doing, reading the funny posts, and enjoying the inspirational posts. Her family and friends know not to call her at 8:00 on Wednesday nights because of her obsession with watching Survivor.

Book preview

A Life Untethered

Copyright 2015 Sharon Chaconas

Published by Sharon Chaconas at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One –December 15

Chapter Two –December 15 Afternoon

Chapter Three-December 15 Evening

Chapter Four-December 16th or 17th

Chapter Five-December 18

Chapter Six-December 19

Chapter Seven- December 20

Chapter Eight-December 21

Chapter Nine-December 22

Chapter Ten-December 23

Chapter Eleven-December 24

Chapter Twelve-December 25 Christmas…

Chapter Thirteen-Drifting

Chapter Fourteen-Moving Forward

Chapter Fifteen-Anxiety

Chapter Sixteen-Tethered

Acknowledgements

About Sharon Chaconas

Chapter One-December 15

Groggily I peek through one squinted eye into the brightness. Oh great! Another spectacular view. I had been hearing my dad softly humming a hymn, though the words escape me; I readily acknowledge that it was one of comfort. The high altitude makes my head feel like it is going to either implode or explode perhaps simultaneously. As I immerge back into a wakeful state I am immediately bombarded with the intense and exquisite brilliance of the snow-covered jagged peaks. Blue-gray shadows blur into the whiteness that passes through the streaked car windshield before me. The road ahead twists and turns into a stomach churning mess and I am its’ victim.

Hey sleepy head. My dad’s voice is gravelly from exhaustion.

The dashboard clock screams that it is 11:00 a.m. Those shiny neon digits overwhelm me with guilt. We have been up since 4:40 a.m. to rush and catch our chartered plane. Pull over, I’ll drive. You should have woke me up hours ago. I really don’t want to drive but I think holding onto the steering wheel may alleviate the sickness that is overtaking me.

No. I’m fine. He sighs as he is talking and his words slur together. I sort of thought we would have been there by now. There is a hint of agitation in his tone. I did not think the detour on this road would be this bad, or long, or curvy. It is within these words that have tumbled out of his mouth without a filter that I detect a touch of hesitancy. This is not normally a character trait in my always positive, self-assured father. I’m sorry honey. If I had known the weather was going to turn this quickly…and harshly. I would have postponed this trip. This declaration is steady, though it is heavily etched with the physical and mental exhaustion of driving in mountainous terrain.

I shift myself into a more upright position. My neck is stiff from being propped up against the cold window. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. Drooling and probably snoring with this stuffy nose, my oh my, I am a truly delightful traveling companion. Thank goodness this is my dad and he HAS to love me with all my faults. My face is cold and the rest of my body is overheating! It is stifling wearing this faux fur-edged coat. The hood has been my makeshift pillow. I feel like the abominable snowman in this huge monstrosity. I caught my reflection in a store window yesterday. I look like I am walking around wearing a sleeping bag. The locals are used to the bulk and are graceful in their movements. I am a totally awkward, clumsy beast with no sense of my own perceived girth. Dad bought this parka for me so… I gushed, grateful for the warmth. It is my own fault that I have misjudged my size a couple of times. It is embarrassing to unknowingly bump into people and knock over objects. I have not broken anything; yet. It is just a matter of time. I need one of those Wide Load signs across my back end.

One perk of this monstrosity is that it is so long; it covers my posterior. I can wear stretchy ski pants and my booty is completely covered. I consider myself average height for a girl at 5’3. I wish that I were taller so clothes would not always engulf me. I try to focus on the positive aspects of having to purchase clothes in the petite section of the department stores. Mom is 5’7 and Dad is 6’2", not that it really matters, because it really doesn’t. Secrets, secrets, secrets, I look at my dad and just wonder.

The one not so great perk to being in Russia in December is wearing boots! My winter boots keep my toes toasty in this snow scape though I feel as if my clothing is trying to smother me. This feeling of being constricted is unfamiliar. My daily attire usually consists of light cotton clothing and sandals for my Southern Californian lifestyle. I do have a pair of boots to go Country-Western dancing however that is just for a few hours. Many of my friends wear stylish boots; I don’t like the feel of being so confined. Sandals and brightly painted toenails… yes!

I sit up further and adjust the rearview mirror so that I can see myself. Yikes! I gave up on trying to flatiron my hair in this weather. I have tried to pull my longish dark blonde hair into a tight, sleek ponytail however many strands have escaped and are dancing about without any rhyme or reason. I return the mirror to its position. Who cares what I look like? My face is abnormally pale with my cheeks glowing with a dark shade of pink.

I hear myself sighing loudly. It really looks like a Christmas fantasy outside. I concede that it is a tragic shame that no one can admire my cute pedicure hidden beneath my thick socks and boots. Hot pink nail polish that matched my awesome dress. Last night at the party I wore the cutest open-toed shoes. It is the only time my toes have been out since my arrival on this distant continent. I know you wanted to show me off to your friends. I am pretty impressive. Who knew my dad could be so much fun! We had a great time with his work colleagues last night. They really are a nice bunch of folks. I pull out my phone and look at the photo of us. I can’t believe we were just dancing and laughing at our own inside jokes. He looks so handsome with his open-mouthed smile. The picture is a snapshot of time right before he burst out laughing. I smile to myself as I remember that he began singing the song that was playing in the background, very loudly and very badly. My dad loves attention and loves to laugh. I shove my phone back in my pocket.

My dad is pretending to gag on my conceit. Yes darling, your modesty is underwhelming. He has perked up and so begins the tone of our usual banter. I hear a wisp of concern in his voice. We are good traveling companions. Dad and I can find the positive, or see the funny side of most things. This adventure is just one of many over the years. We will laugh about this long drive when we tell mom about it. Dad is good at exaggerating things to make the story funnier; he has the heart of a storyteller. Hopefully we will be able to fly out of here or take the bridge road when we leave.

Should I pretend to remember him? I was three years old in that picture where he is holding me. Dad only has a few photos from college. Back then everyone did not document their daily lives with countless selfies. You know I am going to ask him about all the embarrassing things that you did in college. I wonder if Dad dated a lot back then. Oh! I wonder if any of his former girlfriends are around. I would LOVE to meet them and ask them to tell me stories.

Ha. Ha! And no you are not. I am now a semi-important, low-level diplomat. I am not going to have my spotless reputation unraveled by my teenage nemeses. I mean my favorite daughter." This is his go-to joke. I am his only daughter, only child, and truly the center of his universe. I smile to myself.

My dad met his buddy while they were pursuing Olympic dreams as biathletes. I have seen a few old newspaper articles. Dad still loves skiing though I don’t remember when he last went target shooting. Of course he loves a sport that is obscure in the United States. He ended up going to school in Russia and living with his buddy. Dad loves to travel and drags me along for company. Mom is a timid tourist. I was born and raised in the suburbs of San Diego, California. I may whine that I am bored sometimes. However when we when visit other countries, I am embarrassed that I ever complain. My life is good.

Teasingly I taunt him and say he only got his current job because he could order alcohol in Russian without an accent. I only half-pay attention when dad talks about his what he does at work. It has to do with the government. There were lots of military uniforms at the party last night. Visiting his college roommate was an impulsive idea. We plan to spend a few days with his buddy in a cottage in the mountains. The boys will be able to relive their past glory days of skiing and shooting.

My dad is handsome. He was striking when he was younger. Even my friends have made comments at times that are just uncomfortable. He is my DAD. Everyone agrees that my father is truly the lucky one. My mom is a rare person, she is…. timeless. She fits into any situation and her quiet confidence draws people to her. Mostly, I admire her ability to not say unkind things. You would really have to push her limits. I want to have that quality—it seems so hard. It is so easy to fall into the sin of gossip. I am sure that is why she has so many friends and they are all fiercely supportive. There is just something special about her. We have our little issues. I tend to see her through my father’s eyes—he adores her. I favor my mom in my looks; in temperament... there- in is my challenge to be the best version of myself. I constantly work on the virtue of patience.

Patience is my go-to whenever I go to confession. I work at it and pray for more every day. No one would know that I am not patient. I just scream and curse in my head. It is only when I started to acknowledge that I get frustrated too quickly with myself, and others that I was able to start to work on this issue. This year I am pretty proud of myself. My mom noticed that I am not as tense as I used to be. The concept of thinking before speaking has helped me a lot. I have GOT to work on my filter, think it, then say it and sometimes—don’t say it. And look, here I am in the middle of nowhere just trying to live in the moment and not wish my life away. Well, maybe just wish away the queasiness. The high elevation makes everything seem brighter and the air is so thin. It is laborious just to breathe.

Lovely. Now we are on an endless road; whining and crying won’t change anything so… practice patience and pray for a bathroom, gas station, or ANY sign of civilization. I think my dad must have already stopped for fuel while I was passed out. I seem to recall a blast of artic air filling the car. I’m tired. We were up late last night having fun! Ooomph! The car lurches every now and then to get my attention. Perhaps we should have upgraded our rental car to a tank. I turn and stare at my dad as he drives. I wonder if we accidently got on an old logging road or something.

I turn sideways and face my father. It is uncomfortable in this position. I sleepily watch dad instead of the blurry scenery. He has little lines by his eyes that I never really noticed before. When did his hair get so grey on the sides? It photographs light brown. Huh? How old is Dad anyway? I do the math in my head. Sheesh! I never think of my parents getting older.

Last year at school we talked about genetics in my science class. I kind of figured out that my dad is not my bio-dad. I know my mom would never cheat. So, I just assume that I am the product of fertility treatments. This is the belief that I have mulled over in my mind for the last few months. There was no way they could have afforded anything like that at the beginning of their careers. My parents were married five years before they had me. I looked at an old photo album. I told mom that I wanted to see her wedding photos. Then I made the connection; seventeen years ago they visited Russia.

His Russian buddy had visited us in the states when I was three years old. The Christmas cards have been exchanged for years, always including a photo of me. I have similar features to his college buddy and I have studied the photos of his two sons. They would be my half brothers. Dad’s brother might have been their first choice as a donor however, he has medical issues and he could not keep a secret to save his life. I brought up my suspicions to my mother on a warm day when we were having lunch in the back yard.

Mom was only taken aback for a moment. She told me that dad’s name was on the birth certificate so he is my dad. She quickly regained her composure and just shared the facts. He was not able to give her children. He wanted to leave her so that she could have a baby. Ridiculous. They began the process of adoption. It was overwhelming. He asked his best friend to help them. He set everything up with some doctors he knew. It may not have exactly been on the up and up though I don’t know if it was illegal. My dad does not know that I know. He is just Dad. Always will be. I don’t have any real curiosity to know this man that is the reason I exist. I am grateful for my life. He must truly love my parents as much I do. I am not exactly a gift or a card that you give to someone. I am a living, breathing person with a soul. Dad has only ever spoken of him as a kind man. I don’t know if my dad is planning on telling me about my parentage. I hope that he does not. I am not sure if I should act surprised or fess up. I will only know if, or when, the time comes; I hope it doesn’t.

Every now and then I think my dad is going to tell me this fact. He sometimes looks at me with a very serious expression, and then the moment passes. His work is full of secrets that he does not share. This is an aspect of his life. Nature versus nurture, I have the gift of secret-keeping too.

This little excursion sounded like a good idea at the time. I would be able to let Dad know, really know, that he did the right thing. I have great parents. My friends think they are too strict. They just keep me busy so I don’t have time to get into trouble. I do feel sorry for kids that have parents that are their friends instead of parents. It is uncomfortable when I go to some of my friend’s homes and their parents’ just stick around and try to keep up with the conversation. Sometimes it is just sad.

I will be my mom’s friend when I am an adult. Until then, I need to give her things to complain about to her friends. It is a little self-centered but I know that I am the topic of many of her conversations. Moms like to pretend that their selfish daughters exasperate them. Ha! The only reason my room is a disaster is so that my mom can complain about me. That is pretty unselfish of me. This is how I try to explain away my flaws. Now that I have this patience thing more under control, I’ll start focusing on praying about being neater. I can find organization in my chaos. It would be easier if I did not have the attention span of a flea. If I ever get my room under control, then I’ll have to find something else to drive my mom crazy, so many possibilities…

The hum of the road beneath the tires is a loud white noise. Today started out okay. It did not take very long for everything to go wrong. The little plane that we chartered would not take off in the unpredictable weather or it may have been mechanical problems. I could not follow any of the conversation. My dad just seemed exasperated. The Russian language just seems to fly by me. I can only pick up a few little phrases even when they are spoken slowly and deliberately. That little inconvenience led us to the ridiculous little car rental place. It was still early in the morning so that we had to wait for them to open. There were only two cars available. The sad part of that is that both choices sucked. Dad chose the lesser of the two junkers. Next, the main road we planned to take had a bridge out. It looked like a couple vehicles had slammed into the guardrail. There was probably some structural damage too. It looked pretty bad.

The weather is pretty dramatic here. Russia is huge. You look at the map and it does not do it justice. It just goes on and on and on. I always thought Texas was massive.

So finally, here we are; hours past our arrival time and nothing but jagged peaks in sight. There is however a small car that has been behind us for these many miles, many hours. They could be just a nice couple out for a leisurely drive however; I am not that delusional. The Cold War may be over but there is still a definite chill. I think we are being intentionally followed. Why would silly American tourists be this far out of the city, in the middle of nowhere? It is not as if anyone could be covert when there is no one else on this lonely expanse except our two cars. They have kept a polite distance and have never attempted to pass us. The story that I create in my mind is that the sudden change in plans from the plane to the car trip was unscheduled and may be seen as suspicious. What could we possibly be up to?

Dad told me a few stories, not exactly fairy tales with happy endings. He made sure that I understood that we are in a foreign country. He stressed to be respectful and vigilant.

I want to tell my dad that I feel carsick. It seems pretty childish. I do want to drive just to take my mind off of this nausea and slight headache. This is probably what a hangover feels like? I don’t have first hand knowledge of that experience, yet. I scramble for my sunglasses on the dashboard. It offers little relief. What tiny miracle could possibly take away this queasiness I am feeling? The car we rented for this little jaunt is clunking along. It feels so cold in here. The car heater is cranked up—it is just exceptionally cold.

Besides my enormous coat, I am wearing my gloves, and a ridiculous knit hat. It is my ode to my grandma. She knitted it. I agreed to wear it whenever I was with my dad to embarrass him. It is a LONG knit hat that she made with all her leftover yarn. The colors are crazy and have no discernable pattern. No one can really see it under my hood. Dad and grandma have this silly relationship that I have always admired. I love seeing my dad and his mom play these silly jokes on each other. They send each other the most obnoxious birthday cards. My grandfather is conservative and a shy man. He is playful once he is comfortable in a situation. It is so obvious that he adores his wife, my grandmother. I love spending time at their house. I am so blessed that they live nearby. We usually stop there on the way home from church for breakfast at their house. Mom is a cradle Catholic as am I. Dad met Mom at a church function and pursued her relentlessly.

My parents have been living separately on and off for the last few years. Mom is an elementary school teacher and did not want to leave her position. In the last three years, Dad has had jobs that take him all over the place. He calls Mom and I, his girls. This position is his last big hurrah. Both of my parents wanted me to have a stable life and not change schools. They seem okay with their part-time marriage in this age of technology. However, it is time for Dad to come home and stay home. He is ready and has begun looking for a position closer to home. I turn my attention back outside.

Every now and then I see a spattering of mountain homes in the far distance. Mostly the tiny houses are camouflaged and set away from the road. They must be summer homes to enjoy the unseen supposedly enchanting lake at the bottom of these seemingly endless mountains. The owners of the abodes must not like other people at all, or they value their privacy and solitude. Civilization must not be too far away now. My vision is getting fuzzy and my stomach is revolting against me. Dad keeps driving and our car is still being shadowed from behind by our road companions when; my stomach lurches a bit. I cannot wait any longer.

Dad! I know there is a whiney tone in my voice. I think I am going to be sick. He immediately begins to look for a place that would be safe to pull over. Not that it matters. In theory, he could stop in the middle of the road for hours and it would not be an issue. The snow is deep and the shadowy areas are incredibly icy. We have been climbing down a stretch of a LONG winding expanse. My ears have been popping like popcorn attempting to adjust to the air pressure. We drive to the far side, the sunny side of the road and stop. The temperature difference between the sunny areas and shade areas are palpable. The edge of the mountain is steep and frightening. Somewhere, down there is a beautiful lake that is the reason for the village that supposedly exists at the end of this road. It all seems circumstantial at this point. There is no evidence to prove that civilization even exists anywhere out here. Everything looks so tiny and far away when I peer out of the front windshield.

Slowly I open the door and step into the oncoming traffic—if there were any. The brisk air encourages me to quickly pull my coat tighter. It is probably in the forties however I am sick and I don’t really have a clue about the true temperature. Dad is getting out to stretch. It is amazing how stiff I feel. I continue walking back up the grade in which we have just descended to get a better view. My curiosity is getting the best of me. We have been driving around these mountains for SO long. I stop and let my eyes take in the majesty of my surroundings. Oh great! I think to myself, another spectacular view. The road has a lot of slushy ice on it. I am dumbfounded when I trudge forward looking down and ahead. The road has drifts of snow across it. Dad is next to me. I did not notice him.

How are you feeling? The concern in his voice is thick. His hand is on my shoulder. I have the chills now but I am not going to tell him. I am a bit afraid of talking. I don’t want to open my mouth and lose my breakfast. I think you may have a touch of altitude sickness.

I whisper back, Lucky me. I turn to see our shadow car has also stopped and its’ occupants are outside their car stretching. They have pulled in front of us, further down the mountain, a polite distance. Between the clouds the sun is blindingly vivid even behind my shades. The wind has picked up and I feel the wetness of the snow-melt being blown onto my face, cold and frosty. I pull my hat further down on my head and bring my hood up over it.

Honey. I’m going to ask our road-friends if they have crackers or soda to settle your stomach. He takes my hand. You okay? I just nod and give him a fake smile. Now I am feeling horrible. I watch him walk over to our road companions. He is walking towards them and waving friendly. I have no real concept of distance. I always use my dad as a measuring unit. He is six feet tall. I quickly guess that they are about a eight dads away. I walk further up the mountain road. I am surreptitiously looking for a place to relieve myself of the contents of my stomach. I don’t want anyone to see me. There is also my little issue with heights. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with having my two feet planted safely on the ground around sea level. I miss guardrails on the side of the roads like back home. I don’t know if they could actually stop a car from careening off the edge of a mountain but I miss them anyway. I also miss the reflective dots that delineate the lanes on the freeway. The snow often covers the lane lines here but everyone seems to be able to stay on their own side of the road.

I walk close to the mountain even though it casts a shadow out of spite and the temperature dips in the cold shade. I reach out and touch mountain’s face. It is comforting. I want to just hug it. It may be icy, colder, and slippery but it is away from the abyss that we parked beside. The frigid air hurts my lungs. This altitude makes breathing a chore. I feel more little drips of water splashing against me as I trip over my own feet. There is a warm wind teasing the melting snow, just to annoy me.

Oh duh. The realization of why dad continued to drive. He must have seen me white-knuckling it when we first began this trip right after breakfast. I look behind me to see my sweet, thoughtful dad. No wonder he just let me sleep. Back in the States, he was the one that snoozed in the car while I drove. He is the one that is nervous on the California freeways. As soon as I got my license, he relinquished his keys to me. That is my comfort zone; zooming along with the freeway traffic. Mountain driving is stressful. I don’t really know if I would be allowed to drive this rental car because of my age now that I think about it. Poor dad.

He is looking back at me and smiling. He has crackers in his hand and the nice couple is waving at me. Suddenly, I see terror in his eyes. Instantaneously I hear the sound of an…Explosion? Thunderstorm? Oncoming train? Oh God! It is deafening. The white blanket above