Seclusion

By K. Olson

Forty-five-year-old Gus Henderson has climbed to the top of the ladder in the corporate world, makes good money, and is considered successful according to the outside world. But there is just one problem: Gus is not happy. While searching for something that will leave him less lonely and more fulfilled, Gus stumbles across a newspaper ad for a remote shack for rent in the hills. Gus has just found his answer.

A short time later, Gus leaves everything he knows and settles into the dilapidated shack where he soon becomes one with nature on his quest to find purpose in his life. Comforted by the sounds emitted from the hills surrounding his new home, Gus befriends the resident creatures, derives inspiration from Walden by Thoreau, and wonders if the seclusion will help him see his life more clearly. While learning to live in the present, Gus embarks on a journey of self-discovery where not only his life changes, but also the lives of those around him as he faces tragedy, embraces unexpected discoveries, and uncovers a powerful message.

Seclusion is the poignant tale of one mans quest to break free from a life he is not meant to live and find peace, purpose, and happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781480823679

K. Olson

K. Olson graduated from San Diego State University, worked as an Environmental Health Specialist, and later returned to college to earn a degree in Nursing. He worked as a nurse specializing in Oncology and Neurology. Olson and his wife currently reside in Olympia, Washington. This is his debut novel.

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Copyright © 2015 Karl Olson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2366-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2367-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015917231

Archway Publishing rev. date: 10/22/2015

Contents

Prologue

1    The Shack

2    My Boring Life

3    Another Assignment

4    The Affair

5    Job Interview

6    My Greek Island

7    Sara Meets Gus

8    Sara’s Divorce

9    Reconciliation

10    My First Real Date

11    Mom’s Revenge

12    Sara’s Mother

13    The Shack Is for Sale

14    Sara and Gus Buy the Shack

15    The Shack Lives on

16    Gus Takes a Philosophical Trip

17    Gus Proposes

18    Sara’s Mother Complains—Again

19    Johnny Come Lately

20    The Truth Emerges

21    The Shack Is Not Just a Shack

This book is dedicated to those who work to preserve

our natural resources and to those who love the sound of

quiet and the sounds of the earth by day and night.

May we pass to our next generation the love of nature?

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of my life and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had never lived.

—Henry Thoreau, Walden

Prologue

My name is Gus Henderson. I am here to tell you a story about my innermost self and about how I have decided I do not have a life. Learning how I reached that conclusion will require you to do more than scan the pages. I also have decided that I am not alone in my feelings. I have risen to a high level in the corporate world, make good money, and am considered very successful—at least, according to the façade.

Now you ask me, What is your problem? Well, if I knew, I would not vent as I am doing now, in secret and undercover. I am not a crowd person and like one-to-one relationships. I get uncomfortable in crowds and feel out of control unless I am at work or on an assignment. With the latter, I feel in control and ready to move mountains. I do not feel intimidated or insecure. Let me tell you about myself a little, and maybe we can discover together why there is a disparity between my professional life and private life.

My parents were great; they were supportive and encouraging, and they always listened to me. They did not attempt to inflect their value system on me but let me develop with little interference. So why and where did this insecurity come in? I cannot remember any traumatic experiences that I had. At work, I am particular, and my desk is always neat and orderly. I remember once coming to work and finding on my desk a large sign that read, A clean desk is the sign of a sick mind. I took this rather personally and had to be made to understand that my coworkers were acting in good humor. My room at home was always tidy and my bed neatly made. My mom loved it but was concerned that this was not normal for a kid my age. Throughout high school I was known as dorky and at college was called a geek. Maybe this is a genetic phenomenon.

I landed a great job by impressing the interviewers. They realized that I was so anal that I would definitely give my all, as I was married to work ethics. I must admit that I put my heart and soul into work. But when I got home, there was a lonesome and unfulfilled feeling that would not go away. When I was away on an assignment, I felt the need to find a willing girl and have sex. I do not know why other than to satisfy a carnal desire. When I did have sex, I carried the guilt around for days. I ate healthy food at work but pizza and jug wine at home. Planning a vacation was not easy. I tried to find a getaway place to be alone and have time to think about who I am and just what the heck is wrong with me.

One evening after work I found an ad in the Telegram that showed a picture of a shack in the hills. The place looked like it had been abandoned for decades. The more I looked at it, the more it intrigued me. It could be rented for a weekend or week. I called to learn about its location. The guy told me it was off a forest service road and required hiking about a mile. The remoteness sounded appealing. I made plans for a trip to the mystery shack.

The place brought together, over the course of two years, events that formed a turning point in my life. I found a great lady, a son, purpose, and fun in my life. The windows were open, and the fresh air of living permeated my being. I may stumble, but now I have someone to help me see beyond.

Mother Nature in all its glory and beauty has serenity and peace. It has healing power, if you let it. Open your eyes and let what you see be your screen saver.

1

The Shack

I wake and lie there listening to unfamiliar sounds, wondering what they are and from where they come. They sound like breaking twigs and crushing dead leaves. I hear the wind caressing the bare branches of the trees that surround the shack. The fire is out, and it feels cold. I should get up, look for a live ember, and throw a log on to warm this place. The quilts that keep me warm and secure have been on this rough-hewn bed forever and smell like it. The old husk mattress rustles as I turn to get up. The wooden floor is cold, and I can feel the air through the cracks in the floor. I grab a quilt, wrap my shivering body, and hope the fire will warm the space. A century ago, the pioneers lived this way and felt it was great. To us now, such conditions are primitive.

I see the fire rise. The wood crackles and spits sparks. I get into bed and watch the sparks fly up the chimney. I can feel the fire’s warmth. The open shutter lets in light from the east, but it is slight. I do not know the time of day, nor do I want to know. My watch is in my coat pocket. I have decided to let the time go by without knowing or caring. I am mesmerized by the flickering light and the flame and feel like dozing off. My mind is in neutral, and it refuses to face what could be or may be. I am not going anywhere, so why should I be concerned with time? It’s funny how work habits follow you wherever you go, and you have to switch gears. I wake after a nice snooze, and the shack is warm. I get up, dump some water in the old, bent enamel coffeepot, and hang it from a swing bar over the fireplace. It is not long until it starts to boil and the aroma of coffee fills the room. I sit briefly and wonder what the noise I heard last night was. I decide to investigate it as soon as I have some coffee. I take a trip to the privy out back of the shack and find it is shared by many vermin and insects. I walked back to the shack and around the side to find animal droppings that may be from deer.

I peer out of the open window and gaze upon tree-studded hills that go into infinity. The sun is slowly rising, and the light filters through the dense trees. The trees have lost their leaves, and I wondered why I picked this time of year to come here. It is bleak and barren, sort of like my mood. I could have picked spring, watched the budding trees and the flowers in the meadow, and been part of a spring rainstorm. But here I am in late fall. The nights are cold, and I see frost every morning. The wind prevails out of the north and is chilly. I suspect snow will arrive soon. I am now able to be mobile, and I get dressed in my overalls and hiking boots. I grab a cup that sits on the wobbly table, blow the dirt out, and fill it with coffee. The rim has a chip, and there are dark stains on the bottom. This cup has seen little washing. I take the coffee and retreat to a rickety chair on the porch. I look out at the unspoiled beauty of the trees, taking in the filtered sunlight and listening to the quiet sounds of birds and the whistle of the wind through the pines. This is heaven on earth, and we cannot destroy something so beautiful and healing.

I listen to the sounds emitted from the hills and wonder at some sounds that are not familiar. Flocks of small birds fly around in a cloud of wings, alighting here and there and then disappearing. I look ahead and see a bald eagle sitting on the very top branch of the pine, surveying his kingdom. He gives me the eye as if to ask what I am doing here. With his keen eyes he may survey the pond and see if there are rodents or small birds around that would be breakfast. He seems disinterested in food, only looking at me for some reason. I wonder if he plans to spend the winter up here or go to the flatland where the winter is less severe. He is such a majestic bird and knows he is the king of the hills. I wonder if he will get used to me and allow me to share his domain.

The coffee is good and strong. My heart pumps with more vigor then before, and I feel that I just may live today. The sun is rising. I do not know the time and am not interested in the time. It is daylight. The