NEW BEGINNINGS

By J. Gawlik

When you’re young and first starting out in life, the possibilities seem limitless: a career, adventure, finding love, a family. But what about when you’re fortysomething, your children are grown and you find yourself on your own again?

Maybe you’re not the same wide-eyed twenty year old, but you aren’t ready for th

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Mar 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948779661

J. Gawlik

J. Gawlik has taught for over 25 years. She put herself and her son through college, working multiple jobs most of the time. The most important accomplishment in her life, however, has been parenting. She regards good parenting, especially single parenting, as courageous, requiring dedication and selflessness, saying, When a child is grown, a parent crosses their heart. Though she strives for stability, her life hasn't always had that. Her son was diagnosed with bone cancer at age 15, affecting them both dramatically. Gawlik says, "It's not knowing what your fate will be that's so draining from one day to the next, month after month. So, to lead a 'boring' life, knowing that, at least for now, the ones I love are safe and reasonably happy . . . that's a good life in my book (pun intended)".

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Prologue

E mma! Where are you, Emma? Come back here! Don’t you walk away from me! Don’t you know how much I love you? Get back here! E mma!

The slow grinding of the garage door as it opened drowned out his muffled shouts coming from inside the house.

C’mon! Just a little higher. Emma looked over her shoulder, past her infant son sleeping in his car seat in the back of her Ford Escort. She was inching the rear bumper out as the garage door moved upward. She kept looking front, then back again, as she frantically kept one eye on the door that connected into the house. She waited for it to be thrown open at any moment and for David to wrench her from the driver’s seat, shake her until her teeth rattled, and beg her to stay. He would tell her how sorry he was, that he’d never do it again. And then it would all begin again.

Just a little more and the car would fit through the opening and she could run with little Mark! Get as far away as she could before he could follow. And she was sure he’d try to follow. He couldn’t let his drinking buddies know that his woman had left him and taken the kid. He’d have to make it obvious to everyone they knew that he’d thrown her out.

It was always about how he looked in front of everyone else. She was less than advertised, he would tell them. Not worth his time anymore. Used up.

The story would be that she’d cheated on him or had stolen money from their account or cut him off without sex. As if he hadn’t always taken what he wanted from her, even when she wasn’t willing. ‘As long as you’re sleepin’ in my bed, you are mine.’ The term rape didn’t apply if it was your boyfriend and you lived together. That’s what the local police officer had told her the first time he’d left her with a fat lip and bleeding in places she couldn’t explain. A neighbor had heard the encounter, Mark crying for an hour, and had called the police.

She’d left David that night, gone to a hotel with Mark when he went out for more beer. Less than two weeks later, he had talked her into coming back. Said they’d get counseling. That it would never happen again. It was just the stress at work that made him like that. That and the drinking. But if things got better at work and she promised to stay with him and not gossip about this private trouble they were having to her so-called girlfriends, then things would get better. You’ll see, Emma. I’m a changed man. I know how much you and Mark mean to me, and I’m gonna change.

Those words rang in her memory now as her headlights illuminated the road signs. Where was she going this time? How far away was far enough? How determined would he be? Would the police help this time? She was not a victim. She would not let this be Mark’s life. She had to change his story—and hers.

1

Fresh Start, First Steps

(twenty years later)

The house was in need of a little TLC, there was no den ying.

Okay, so it needed a lot of work.

Emma stood in the front yard, considering her newly acquired house with her hands on her hips. She smiled down at her ever-present companions.

What do you think, boys? Does it have potential or what? We’re gonna be comfy-cozy in no time, right?

Clyde, the younger of the two, looked up at her with his chocolaty eyes and whimpered a bit. A beautiful gray-and-white mix of husky and German shepherd, he was loveable. A pure soul. A loyal protector, but visibly nervous, tightly strung, and not quite the sharpest tool in the shed. Shadows and butterflies scared him. Most people couldn’t get near him.

Except Emma.

He’d been scheduled for euthanization at the shelter back home.Emma’s friend who worked there knew Emma’s soft spot for the forgotten and neglected. She called Emma as a last-ditch effort not to destroy the animal. Seeming to realize that she was his way out, Clyde had merely looked straight at her with his head cocked to the side, licked her hand when she offered it to him, and he had trotted by her side ever since, rarely letting her out of his sight.

And then there was Duke. Duke was a jet-black lab who was a well-established companion and perimeter guard. Even as a puppy, he’d always been very laid-back in character. He’d slowed a bit, gotten a little gray around the muzzle and a slightly thicker around the middle in his ten years with Emma, so he left the really energetic territory defense to Clyde. Instead, he would look and listen intently, then direct the canine version of a heavy sigh at Clyde when the alarm turned out to be nothing but a passing car or bird at the feeder on the front porch.

When it really mattered, though, Duke was a fierce protector and wise in strategies of defense. He knew how to wait patiently for a stray cat to make its way farther into his territory where he could then gain the advantage. He would burst upon them with speed and strength. He’d earned his rank in their little pack a few years back when he chased off a potential burglar in the middle of the night as Emma and Mark slept. Emma had been awakened by his low growling. She looked to see him, hackles up, standing rigidly at the end of her bed and facing in the direction of the back door. She’d gotten up to investigate, flipped on the patio light only to be startled out of her wits at the sight of a young man tripping over her garbage can as he scrambled over her back fence. Good boy! Go get ‘em, Duke! She’d opened the sliding glass door onto her backyard and let Duke run after the would-be thief. He was her enforcer.

*****

The Cold Creek real estate agent hadn’t shown much enthusiasm when Emma had asked to see this house. It had been on the market for several years, completely empty for the last three. Surely the list of available (and higher priced) properties she’d compiled for Emma would be better (and they would yield a higher commission).

Really, Mrs. Callen, wouldn’t you rather see—

"Collins. Ms. Collins. Emma, please."

Right, Miss, uh, Emma, well, we really haven’t had any interest in that house since it was put on the market, and for good reason. It’s practically falling down and would take several men quite a while to put it right. It’s most likely going to sell to someone in a few years who’ll want to tear it down and build a bigger more modern house. You did say you wanted a move-in-ready house, right?

Emma had not missed the slight emphasis on the word men, and the implication that the real estate lady didn’t seem to think that she would be up to the task of fixing it up.

Maybe you’d be more interested in something a little closer to town. Something newer, a nice little cottage-type starter house, closer to the schools and shopping perhaps? Now, we have a lovely little two bedroom not far from the school where you’ll be working. It has a nice little garden area and a lovely southern exposure.

I’ll meet you at your office, nine tomorrow morning, Mrs. Johansson, and you can take me out to see the property on Willowick Road. Can’t hurt to look, can it?

She already had a good idea that she was going to want it. Ten acres of meadow and forested land, surrounding a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch, potting shed, and barn. Well, it wasn’t a real barn. Not the red-and-white-slanting-roof with the-hay-baling-loft-style-barn that you see on farms. It was more of an oversized homemade shed/garage about twenty yards out back of the main house. Perfect for storing lawnmowers and garden tools and all the extra materials she always seemed to accumulate when doing projects around the house. She anticipated that she was going to like the space a lot, but she hadn’t been able to see the place up close when she stopped by before. She’d been limited to the view from outside the locked gate at the end of the drive. She’d read the description on the real estate website, though; and it was supposed to have a large fireplace, hardwood floors, and a roomy kitchen. All the things that said home to her. Once she made up her mind, once she had that feeling in her gut, Emma knew the details were all that remained. That, and quite a bit of elbow grease apparently.

Heavy sigh.

*****

It was time for a fresh start, for the house and for her. A makeover, as it were. So here she was, two months later, trying to convince herself and her dogs that it had been the right move. She was still surrounded by boxes and disarray and at least half an inch of dust on everything. All the paperwork was signed, her belongings were here now, and the other house was in the process of closing to a nice couple who would be enrolling their five-year-old at the elementary school just half a block away. No more long trips back and forth to the other side of the state, filling up the van, packing and labeling boxes. She was finally in her dream home. Quiet, away from the prying eyes of nosy neighbors, the sounds of traffic, and screaming children who wandered neighborhoods without parental supervision. Just fresh air, limitless projects to occupy her free time, and no one dropping by out of the blue because they were ‘ just on their way somewhere and her place was close by.’ No surprise visits from her mother, for instance, to offer her opinions or her passive-aggressive decorating or landscaping critiques. Just the company of the birds, squirrels, random wildlife on the national forest reserve bordering her property on the south side, and of her faithful, playful dogs.

This was heaven.

At least, it would be as soon as she fixed the roof, strengthened the porch, sealed the shower tiles, tightened the plumbing under the kitchen sink, had the roof inspected, and tended to about two dozen other projects that needed to be done before the colder wetter weather set in.

*****

Every day, she was up with the sun. Soon enough, she would start the getting-to-know-you process with her new colleagues at her new school. She knew she should probably be working in her new classroom; it was early August already. She should be showing everyone what a professional, dedicated teacher she was. However, all she really wanted to do was to use the days she had left of summer to put a dent in some of the more major projects.

She measured coffee into the basket of her coffee pot each morning by upending the grounds from the bag until there was a good-sized mound in the basket. As far as she was concerned, if it wasn’t strong, why bother? Within an hour or so, she was awake enough to pull on her work jeans and an old T-shirt for the day’s labor, and out she would go into the cool, fresh morning air. She usually spent more time taking in the surrounding scenery than putting hammer to nail. Would the breathtaking beauty of this place ever get old for her? She doubted it. It changed constantly. The shadowy silhouettes of the pine trees against the sunrises and sunsets, the way the wildflowers swayed when the breeze blew, the fresh slightly musty scent of the air that was always just a bit damp here on the Olympic Peninsula. She had always prized solitude, yet contrary to what everyone back home always thought, she never felt alone, or lonely for that matter. She talked to her dogs, the trees, and the chipmunks. One of the many reasons she preferred to live alone. The freedom to talk out loud to any living thing or inanimate object she wanted to without having to come up with an explanation for why she didn’t need therapy. No one was watering their lawn nearby, staring at her. She didn’t have to shut the blinds or duck down in a crouched position, fresh out of the shower, to scamper across the house to take her clothes out of the dryer. Hell, if she wanted, she could work outside in her pajamas or water the flowers on her porch naked, and there would be no one to say or see anything! When thoughts like this came to mind, she would giggle aloud, satisfied and happy, then go back to nailing down the shingles she’d recently purchased or sanding the new porch railing.

Emma had, so far, only ventured into town on the occasions when she needed groceries and supplies since classes hadn’t started up yet. Therefore, she was completely unaware of how much she’d become the focus of conversations among the locals. She was, for example, a frequent topic of some discussion at the local Ace Hardware, Sporting Goods and Country Store. She was the only woman who came in regularly and alone for lumber, nails, screws, plumbing, and lighting fixtures. She always loaded her own truck and rarely asked for any advice on how to use or install any of the items she purchased. She didn’t have a man with her either. Ever. Not a husband or muscular boyfriend or even a father or uncle in tow. Very strange. Maybe she was one of those girls who never marries and has roommates from the city. The store manager and the stock boy had a running bet that would keep them watchful whenever she came in, looking for any other ‘telltale signs.’

When the Cold Creek school board met for the first time, in anticipation of the coming school year, her name circulated as one of the newly hired teachers for the middle school, whose student body was up to 448 this year, requiring the addition of a new section in the eighth grade. Whispers like Wasn’t she the one who’d finally bought the Thompson place? went around. Had anyone seen her around town? Did she have a family? Where was she coming from? They all agreed they couldn’t be too careful. Only a few years back, that coach over in Kitsap County had been involved in a . . . situation. The gossip flew for months.

Half of the folks in these parts had either grown up with or were related to the other half of the local population, so it was with curiosity and skepticism that any new resident was welcomed into the community. Of course, one remained a newcomer for quite a while. Even Mr. and Mrs. Allen, who ran the town’s post office and Seed and Feed, were still considered relatively new to the area, though their children had started school at the Cold Creek Elementary and were both in college now.

Emma had known this would be the case, and so she didn’t hurry to make introductions, join any church groups, or go to the Seed ’n’ Feed for bingo on Saturday evenings. Apparently, the loading platform could be closed off in the colder weather to conserve heat while they stacked the inventory, and it made a nice large space to set up tables and a Ping-Pong-ball spinner. No matter what she did, how many people she shook hands with, even if she were to walk down the main street in town wearing a sandwich board with all her personal information on it for a day, there would be whispers, questions, sidelong glances, and speculations once she settled in. So she stayed home.

Even on the Fourth of July, she had spent a quiet evening at home, with Duke and Clyde. The flyers for the thirty-ninth annual town barbecue and fireworks display at the beach park plainly stated that that was where everyone should be. The corners of the home-printed flyers flapped from the automatic doors in both grocery stores. The bold lettering glared from the windows in all three gas stations, and they could be seen posted on telephone poles that she passed on her way out of town back up to her place. She didn’t care for crowds, though. Crowds of people, loud noises, and unsolicited advice about her life thrust upon her? Nope, no more of that.

Emma knew her own mind better than anyone, and if there was something she wasn’t familiar with, she’d ask. Otherwise, butt out (though she’d never actually said that to anyone, even when she wanted to).

Looking back, she was proud of the choices she’d made in her life. Her family was rich with love and loyalty but short on finances, so she had worked all through high school then college. She took whatever jobs she could find while she earned her associate’s, bachelor’s, and, finally, a master’s degree. Raising her son, Mark, on her own hadn’t been what she’d planned, but that’s the way it had turned out for the both of them; and she wouldn’t have changed a moment of it, looking back.

Not his terrible threes, not his roller-coaster grades in school, or even the lost year when he’d been diagnosed and their world came to a crashing halt. They’d spent thirteen months in and out of the hospital. She’d had to take him out of school and take a leave from her job teaching. They both gave up control over every aspect of their lives. They were in survival mode, at the mercy of hospital policy and medical technology. She found herself accepting the generosity of a family member two hundred miles from their home so Mark could get treatment at the best children’s hospital in their state.

For over a year, she would load up clothes and living supplies into her van on a moment’s notice if he spiked a fever in the middle of the night. Then she lived for weeks at a time bedside with him in the hospital. She had been his full-time caregiver and morale booster and had done whatever was necessary to save his life. She swallowed her pride to accept the help that others offered, even though it was always on the tip of her tongue to say, Thank you, but no thank you. We will manage. However, in the end, she was far too practical to turn any of it down with the mountains of medical bills piling up.

She tried to suffer in silence, tried not to show Mark when she was worried, or scared. Even as strong and determined as she was, eventually the weight of their situation would catch up with her. The complete loss of privacy, the bills, and, of course, the moment- to-moment, day-to-day worry for Mark’s prognosis—all would overwhelm her at times. There were a couple of low points when she did, momentarily, crumble, and she let herself cry while he was asleep.

Every sacrifice was well worth it if it meant saving Mark. He suffered through countless procedures, chemotherapy, blood transfusions, and major surgery before finally—and thankfully—making a remarkable recovery. She was so extremely relieved and proud of his spirit and tenacity as he picked up the threads of his life as soon as he had been pronounced cancer free. He’d gone on to graduate from high school and to earn himself a place at a prestigious university. He was there now, finally, back on track, a normal young college student with a bright future. It was what she’d always envisioned for him, what they’d both worked so very hard for, over the years.

She tried very hard not to think about him now, possibly driving his car ninety miles an hour down the road, riding wheelies on his friend’s motorcycle, or drinking at campus parties, blowing off steam after finals. He was an intelligent, level-headed young man. He’d continue to make her proud, she knew that. She had to stop worrying about him. Her job with him was done, and she had done everything in her power and always to the best of her ability. Now, she was ready to head up a new path in her own life. One she’d imagined for herself one day. Always in the back of her mind over the past twenty-two years of being just Mom.

Now, when the feeling struck and the evening was particularly nice, she would build a fire in the pit she’d dug, just off the back deck. She would sit with a cup of coffee or something stronger, and she would chuckle when her ‘boys’ and the coyotes in the foothills howled and whooped out into the darkness. This was her freedom. This was Emma’s new life. She now had everything she needed— and everything she’d been wanting—for so long. Most everything anyway. The years of waiting for her life to be completely hers, for the bills to be paid down, for her son to be ready to be on his own and find his own way in the world. All the years of school and building her career were behind her. She felt she’d earned the right to live a smooth, stable, quiet life now. No more turmoil or unexpected drama. She wasn’t a naïve girl anymore. The monsters weren’t hiding in the shadows anymore. She wasn’t timid or afraid. All she had to do now was wait for the day when she would gladly welcome surprise visits from her grandkids. Of course, if all went as she hoped and planned for Mark, that wouldn’t be for many years yet. Mark had a lot of living to do first. So she would continue this course of predictable, blissful simplicity and make a life for just herself for a change. A quiet life. A private, if solitary, life. That sounded good to her.

Sing it, boys. Ouuuuuuuuuu! Emma smiled and sipped.

2

Encounter

On a crisp Saturday morning, a month into the new school year, Emma sipped on her usual strong mug of coffee as she contemplated the chainsaw in the back end of her truck. She didn’t like loud smoky mechanical tools. Hammers, handsaws, nonelectric screwdrivers—these were the tools of her choice for most things that needed building or repairing. Even without added power in her tools, she usually managed to need some sort of bandage or dressing for some cut, bruise, or abrasion. So often was the case, in fact, that gauze strips and Band-Aids were like a staple in her wardrobe. She was a bit clumsy and more than a bit anxious about any tool that worked on its own. However, she’d finally acquiesced and bought a power saw after working on one of the many downed dead trees on the southeastern edge of her property. Armed only with her trusty but small handsaw, she had been out of breath and soaked through after only thirty minutes’ work. After all that, she hadn’t really even made a dent in it. She realized she needed help. The cooler evenings, though not yet unpleasant, had reminded her of the fact that she loved having a fire in her fireplace in the fall and especially in the winter around Christmastime. If she didn’t want to be trekking all over in the snow and fighting to saw through frozen timber, she’d better start stocking up now.

So out she went on this bright Saturday morning. She hopped into the beast of a pickup she’d bought as a work vehicle and drove over the uneven ground, up across the back pasture, and into the trees to work on this weekend’s project of firewood gathering. When she’d gotten as close as she could to the fallen pine with the one-ton truck, she got out and let her two companions down. Clyde and Duke immediately went to work sniffing the perimeter and marking every rock and fern in their territory while she unloaded the offensive gas- powered saw and looked through the manual.

How hard could it be? Just loud. Really loud. She’d come prepared with earplugs, but she didn’t like how vulnerable she felt when she couldn’t hear. Logically, of course, nothing would be sneaking up on her or even coming close without the boys hearing it. They’d let her know. There were no people nearby, and what were the odds of a bear or wolf attack in the late morning with all this noise? Most creatures would be looking for a place under a tree or near a rock face to lie low until twilight. With that comforting thought firmly in her mind, she set to work, earplugs and all. While she worked on the huge log, she had to resist the urge to look over her shoulder constantly, or to stop and turn off the saw, unplug, and listen. The dogs were sitting in the shadow of the truck; and she was sure that if someone or something was watching her through the trees, the boys would see, hear, or smell them. This itch to turn around constantly was nothing more than her own paranoia. ‘Get over it, Emma!’

By early evening, the enormous dead tree had been cut into manageable chunks and loaded into the bed of the truck. She sat on a nearby rock, drinking cold water from a jug.

The absence of the hungry growl of the chainsaw made the silence of the forest seem deafening now. She listened for a long moment to the quiet. Then, was that the snap of a twig? Something, in the distance. She looked to the dogs. They just stared back in her direction, looking eager to climb back into the cab of the truck and go home. Again, her own imagination. She scoffed at herself. Too jumpy. Leftover from the city life probably.

She loaded both dogs and herself into the truck; then turned the truck around, pointing it toward the house; and headed in for the evening. In the rearview mirror, though, she thought she caught a glimpse of a figure, disappearing just over the ridge above where she’d been working. Who would be out here? Someone from a nearby house? Doubtful. There weren’t any so-called neighbors for several miles up the main road. A stray hiker? Possibly. If they had ventured too far off the trails on the national forest lands, they might wander onto the edges of her property by accident. Hmmm. Maybe she’d have to look into marking her property boundaries better. For now, though, it was home, a shower, and something to eat.

Sunday was supposed to be warm again toward the middle of the day, like the last five days. Though the calendar said fall had begun, the summer weather leaked back into the afternoons. Even though there were still regular rain showers, inescapable here on the coast, there had been more sun than usual this year, and most people didn’t question it when it happened; they just took advantage while the sun was out. She decided to get up early and take the dogs for a rambling walk up the unpaved road that ran in front of her place. She always followed Willowick downhill, into town; now she thought she’d get familiar with the area uphill from her. She’d planned to explore a trail that looked like it led down to the water just off the road, about a mile up. So she pulled on her most comfortable walking shoes, tied her hair up, and set off down her gravel driveway to the road.

As she walked, she was keeping the dogs in her peripheral sight as they roamed off to her left into the grassy area between the road and the line of trees about thirty feet away. She looked around at the depth and varying shades of greens and browns in the trees. She turned her face up to the contrasting pale light growing in the eastern sky, and she watched the birds as they hunted the morning bugs. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp, fresh air. Emma listened to the chatter of the little critters, squirrels, and birds, mostly unseen in the trees, and the background music of the stream that ran down the mountain. So caught up in watching and listening and breathing, and so certain that she and the dogs were utterly alone at five in the morning, that she didn’t notice the man on horseback as he came slowly down the road toward her.

She saw them just as Clyde caught the scent of the horse and rider and alerted Duke. They both began to growl and take defensive postures. Neither dog had ever seen a horse before; but true