Intolerable

By Joseph Zaun

Jordan Harrington is an elementary school teacher living in a small Iowa town who has made elaborate plans to propose to his girlfriend, Katie. Those plans become interrupted by two terrified children (Ben and Jackie) and their mother (Deborah), who is the victim of an abusive husband. Jordan and Katie step in to the rescue and must find a safe haven for Deborah, Ben, and Jackie before it's too late. After running into a series of dead ends, Jordan and Katie soon discover they are in for more than they bargained for after learning Deborah has been keeping a secret--a secret that puts all of their lives in peril and creates an ethical dilemma for Jordan, who has been trying to come to terms with his own past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638811169

Book preview

1

What would happen, Jordan, if you put down your weapons, stepped out of the trenches, and just walked away from the war?

Timothy Patterson had posed many hypotheticals in the time I had been coming to see him, which was now five months and counting. His office was on the second floor of the Woodland Building on the west end of Bickford, the town I had been living and teaching in for the past two years. It was secluded enough that I had little fear of being spotted by someone I knew when I would sneak in and out of the building each Friday afternoon.

In March of 1982, when I was five, I tasted fear for the first time. In childhood, seminal moments often lack clarity and are either forgotten or years later remembered differently. Then you become an adult, or at least are told acquired years now qualify you for consideration, and everything from childhood—as best as you can tell—becomes obscure, even moot. Adulthood has a funny way of making childhood seem a mere rumor of another life only imagined in passing. Where that which is forgotten or repressed gets further lost in the mundane.

And so it was for me. Then the vestiges of March 1982 and other fragmented pieces of a distant past I was once detached from exploded into 2007. New Year’s Day 2007, or nine months ago, to be exact.

While most of the world spent the day nursing hangovers, I spent it working on some early spring-cleaning projects while keeping a close eye on the scores of college football bowl games. By late afternoon, I got sucked into watching the Rose Bowl between Michigan and USC. Right as the third quarter was about to start, I felt a weird tingling in my chest. A moment later, I jolted up from the couch due to feeling a sudden urge to pace. My vision became blurry as my legs started to go numb. I gasped for air when my heart began beating out of control.

Stumbling to the kitchen, I grabbed my cell phone off the counter and dialed 911.

It felt like I was fading in and out of consciousness as EMTs and paramedics arrived ten minutes later and drove me to the nearest county hospital. At some point, I had passed out. When I woke up, I was alone in a triage room. I heard faint voices outside the door and the sound of a gurney being pushed down the hall. I then heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor. I looked to the left and tried to make sense of the three squiggly lines rolling across the screen.

Did I just have a heart attack? Impossible. I had only turned twenty-nine last March.

I spent the next ten minutes racking my brain, trying to figure out what had happened to me before hearing a quick knock at the room door. The door soon swung open as a short, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair entered, wearing navy blue scrubs. He held a clipboard by his waist and, after stopping at my bedside and introducing himself as Dr. Madison, asked me how I was feeling.

Confused, I answered. What happened to me? I’m too young to have a heart attack or stroke, right?

Dr. Madison licked his lips then offered a quick nod. After a short eyebrow raise, he said, Well, every test came back normal. He cleared his throat then asked, So, Jordan, anything you can think of that would have caused you to end up here today?

I looked at him confused. What do you mean?

Lifestyle things. Drug, alcohol use? Unusual stressors?

I shook my head.

Dr. Madison studied my face then asked, Have you ever had a panic attack?

Huh? I replied.

Do you have a history of panic attacks? Have you ever had one?

Are you kidding?

A lot of times people will confuse a panic attack for a heart attack.

I shook my head, uncertain what to say.

Dr. Madison spent a few more minutes talking to me about my panic attack then handed me a small medicine bottle with a few lorazepam tablets. He instructed me to set up an appointment with my primary care physician and go from there.

I ignored Dr. Madison’s instructions to see my doctor, figuring there was a more practical explanation, such as the pizza I had eaten the night before. I left the hospital thinking if I avoided pepperoni, I wouldn’t have an issue again.

My plan seemed to be working just fine until I found myself inside a bathroom stall in Walmart two weeks later, struggling to breathe. My heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of my chest. The worst of this lasted ten minutes, during which time I tried to figure out if I were dying or just going crazy.

What would happen, Jordan, if you put down your weapons, stepped out of the trenches, and just walked away from the war?

Timothy was talking about the battlefield in my mind. He asked me to consider this metaphor just before ending our latest therapy session two and a half hours ago. A minute before this, he had used the Chinese finger trap to illustrate the point I couldn’t think my way out of the past. Nor could I resolve it in my head. The harder I tried to pull my finger out of the trap, the stronger it seemed to grip, which soon induced a panic feeling the more I continued to pull without gaining a release. But once I stopped pulling and just allowed my finger to slide out of it, I was fine. Easy enough in theory. Real life was another matter.

I continued to dwell on my most recent therapy session with Timothy while sitting in my girlfriend’s, Katie Conklin’s, living room. I had settled into her love seat a half hour ago. I flipped through pages of that day’s Des Moines Register while she scurried through her apartment trying to find everything she wanted to take on our weekend camping trip.

I had met Katie a little over two years ago during Memorial Day weekend in 2005 at a campground by Lake Mills. Originally, it was just supposed to be my best friend, Dave Gibbons, and me going, to have what some might consider male bonding time. Dave’s wife, Julie, had pleaded with him for about a week to let her come. The night before the trip, Dave called me to announce he had finally caved in.

There’s a silver lining, though, Dave had said.

What’s that?

She’s bringing a friend.

Okay.

The phone went quiet.

She’s pretty hot, Dave said, snickering.

Okay.

And single.

We hung up.

When Katie first stepped out of the passenger seat of Julie’s ’95 Bronco, I gulped. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dave smirking. I elbowed him after Katie had turned her attention to Julie.

When Katie and I crossed paths, she extended her right hand and said, Hi.

I swallowed air then took her hand. Hey, I managed.

Katie’s eyes were a delicate chocolate brown. Her cheeks had been tinged with wisps of pink; otherwise, her face was the color of a delectable, sun-kissed tan. At the time, she had put her natural blond hair into a braided ponytail. In a word, she was gorgeous. We stared for a moment, then she walked past me and followed Julie to the restrooms at the top of the campground.

That first night, Katie and I didn’t say much to each other as the four of us gathered around the campfire. Occasionally, she or I would stare, then quickly look away once the other had taken notice. Dave and Julie had been the center of attention most of the night. They took turns sharing inside jokes, most of them having to do with coworkers at a HyVee grocery store that Dave was now a shift manager at. I had found nothing they had shared entertaining or interesting. When I stared at Katie, she usually had a pleasant but bored expression on her face.

The last night of camping, Katie and I had the opportunity to talk alone, thanks to Dave and Julie cutting through the woods once it had gotten dark to go skinny-dipping. Katie and I chatted by the campfire for a few minutes, and then I asked her to go for a walk to explore the area some more. She agreed to go.

We walked past the main highway and took a quiet country road. After about a mile, we ended up at a one-lane bridge that overlooked a creek. We spent several minutes there leaning against the guardrail while watching the quiet current turn to a subtle uproar where a few boulders set in the middle of the creek. At some point, idle chatter turned intimate. We became more at ease with looking into the other’s eyes without the awkward laughs and averting glances to the ground.

I took a chance, as I leaned forward and kissed her—the kiss, a short, innocent peck. It seemed to change everything, though, as we walked back to the campground hand in hand. We’ve been dating ever since. And now, two years later, Katie and I were going back to Lake Mills to camp again. If all went according to plan, at some point during the weekend, Katie and I would take the same country road and follow it to the same bridge where everything started; there, in that moment, is where I planned to make my marriage proposal to her.

Jordan, did you pack any bug spray? Katie asked from inside her bathroom.

Yeah, I did. I flipped over a page of the newspaper.

Hey, do you think I’ll need a sweatshirt?

I doubt it, but I’d bring one anyway.

I shifted my attention to the national news articles. I was drawn to a picture of Molly Munson, a seventeen-year-old pop singer who had gained fame on American Idol a couple years back. Katie took a liking to Molly, particularly Molly’s outspoken religious beliefs. Not that I had an ear for teenybopper pop music, but Molly’s voice always bothered me. Think Janis Joplin trying to sing Britney Spears. At least, that’s how it sounded to me. But as Dave had once put it, You don’t need a lot of talent when you got a face and ass like that. For Katie, it was probably as simple as Molly throwing Jesus into a few of her songs that hooked her. The rest—I assumed—was an acquired taste.

The headline above Molly’s photo read: Teen Idol Molly Munson in Drug Treatment. I cocked an eyebrow then read the two-paragraph article. Molly’s parents had found several grams of cocaine hidden in a jewelry box underneath her bed. They confronted her about it, then admitted her to inpatient care at a local hospital near their home in Orlando. The article reported this had taken place at the beginning of the week.

I got up from the love seat and went to the kitchen to throw the newspaper in the garbage. After sitting back down on the love seat, I turned Katie’s TV on. I flipped through channels while wondering how Katie would react to the news about Molly Munson, which was sure to create headlines and feeding frenzies within many media outlets, if that wasn’t happening already.

Katie walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later and entered the living room holding a plastic travel bag of toiletry items. She set the bag down by the two suitcases that had already been placed behind the love seat. Katie and I locked eyes. Her lips formed a cumbersome frown, and I started to wonder if she was preferring not to go.

After Katie entered the kitchen, I took in a long breath and tried to convince myself I was paranoid and too wound up about the marriage proposal. We had planned this weekend a month ago, and there was no reason to believe it would not be memorable. Unless, of course, Katie rejected me.

Katie, do you want me to take your bags out to the car?

Katie had grabbed a plastic ewer off the kitchen countertop and was in the middle of watering the plants scattered throughout the kitchen and dining room. As she leaned over the kitchen island and poured water into an earthen pot with eucalyptus leaves draped over the sides, she replied, Sure, that’d be great. I’ll be out as soon as all my plants are watered.

I got up and grabbed the plastic travel bag and two suitcases behind the love seat then headed out the door. The apartment complex Katie lived in had three floors; her apartment was on the third. I passed by the elevator and headed for the stairs.

The car I was driving was a metallic gray ’04 Toyota Corolla. I had parked it in the first open spot I had seen in front of Katie’s building when arriving earlier. The temperature was hovering just north of ninety as the unabated sun stretched across a cloudless canvas of sky. It was now at the perfect angle to cut through my windshield and fry the dashboard. I cursed myself for forgetting to crack open the windows, figuring the heat inside the car was by now suffocating.

I unlocked the trunk and rummaged through my travel bag, fishing poles, tackle box, tent, and small red Coleman cooler. I decided to move the fishing poles and tackle box to the back seat to make room for Katie’s bags. I then took a close look at my travel bag where the engagement ring was hidden inside. The ring was inside a small, flimsy white box that had been decorated with red lace. I stared at the travel bag, entertaining thoughts of grabbing the ring box right then and sliding it under the driver’s seat. I then looked up and saw Katie’s reflection in the picture window bounding down the apartment stairwell. Seconds later, she pushed her way out the plate-glass door of the main entrance. I flashed a smile as she approached me, realizing the ring box would be staying put.

Hey, I think we’re ready. Can you think of anything else we need? I asked.

Katie’s eyes met mine as she pulled at a strap on her backpack that hung loosely off her right shoulder; the backpack looked jammed full of textbooks. Katie was a graduate student at Central Iowa University, and it appeared she planned to devote part of the weekend to studying.

Nope, I think I’m good, she said.

Katie opened the rear passenger door and tossed the backpack inside before climbing into the front seat. I sighed then shut the trunk. After settling into the driver’s seat and putting the key into the ignition, I looked over at Katie and told her I was looking forward to the weekend.

Katie slid the passenger window down then fussed with her hair; her eyes turned harsh as she glared at her image in the side mirror. Me too. Hey, can we stop at a gas station before we get too far? I’m ready for a Diet Coke.

I nodded. Sure thing.

I pulled out of the parking lot and drove to a Kwik Shop. After entering the gas station, I walked to the back where the pop coolers were. I grabbed a Diet Coke for Katie and a lemonade for myself. A line was building up in front of the cash register. I got in line and observed the clerk behind the counter. He was a young Asian boy, possibly Korean, who looked younger than sixteen. He also looked extremely annoyed.

I had been hoping to get directions to Lake Mills. I hadn’t been there since first meeting Katie, and Dave had been the driver. As I watched the clerk frown and mouth thank you to every customer, I began to doubt he’d have directions. When I reached the front of the line, he confirmed my suspicion.

Whassup? he greeted.

Not much, I replied, setting the two drinks on the counter. Do you know of Lake Mills by chance?

Yeah, he answered as he scanned the drinks. Two eighty-two.

I grabbed three dollars from my wallet and handed him the bills. Know how to get there?

Naw. I’ve never been. Sorry. He dug out eighteen cents from the cash register then dumped the change in my extended palm. Thank you.

I nodded, grabbed the two drinks, then headed for the door. As I walked, I caught a glimpse of a four-hundred-pound farmer in bib overalls, probably in his late sixties or early seventies, standing by the lottery machine next to the ATM. He leaned against the window ledge and stared at me.

Ya headed to Lake Mills? he asked.

I stopped in front of the door. Trying to.

The farmer grabbed a Styrofoam cup and placed it by his chin before spitting a wad of chewing tobacco. I bit my bottom lip and looked away.

Which vehicle is yours? he asked, peering outside through the plate-glass door.

Uh, the gray Corolla, I said.

The farmer leaned his face closer to the door, trying to locate it. The one with the gal in the front seat?

Yeah, I said, so, do you—

She sure looks pretty. Is that your wife?

I pursed my lips. You mentioned Lake Mills?

He nodded. Sure did. Got an acreage close to there. Good pheasant hunting.

What’s the best way to get there from here?

Pretty simple. Take Highway 9 up to Clayton Road, turn right, go a few miles, and there’ll be all sorts of signs for it.

How far is this Clayton Road?

Twenty miles or so.

Great. Thank you, I said. I pushed open the plate-glass door and walked out, shaking my head.

Before sitting down in the driver’s seat, I put the drinks in cupholders attached to the middle console. Katie had her feet on the dashboard and was applying nail polish. She leaned her mouth as close as she could to her toes then blew on them.

What took you so long? she asked, removing her feet from the dashboard.

Long line. Plus, I wanted to confirm the easiest route to the lake and had to talk to this old, goofy, hick farmer.

Katie smirked. That’s not very nice, Jordan.

I drove out of the parking lot and headed for Highway 9. I shifted focus to how to propose to Katie, wondering if proposing that night was a good idea. I started to see images of me on one knee clumsily gazing up at Katie while she teared up and shook her head before running off into the woods to be alone. If that or something like that were to happen, the entire weekend would be lost.

I then considered it might be best just to get it out of the way. An entire weekend of agonizing over her response could be avoided if I popped the question that night. If she rejected me, the trip home would be uncomfortable regardless of what day it was.

As I turned on to Highway 9, I decided I would propose that night.

Oh my gosh, Jordan. Guess what? Katie blurted out.

I looked over. What?

I forgot to tell you this. I talked to one of my girlfriends at school last week, and guess what she told me?

I shrugged. What?

Molly Munson is coming to Cedar Rapids in November. We’re going to get online and try to buy tickets. That’ll be so cool!

I took my right hand off the steering and pretended to stifle a cough while I choked back a laugh. At the very least, I was grateful Katie was unaware of Molly Munson’s recently revealed nose candy issues. I then figured it was only a matter of time before this friend Katie spoke of would call or text to share the news.

This is probably a dumb question, Katie said, but if we were able to get tickets, would you want to go?

I turned to her. Will you buy me a T-shirt at the concert?

Katie rolled her eyes. Never mind.

I offered her a sheepish grin then stared out at the highway, hoping to see signs for Clayton Road soon. Oh, by the way, do you have your cell phone on you? I asked.

Yeah, why?

I have mine turned off and stashed in my travel bag just in case of an emergency. I was hoping to have a relaxing weekend with no distractions from other people. Would you have a problem with shutting your phone off just for the weekend?

Katie thumbed at her ear as she took a few seconds to consider my request. I guess not.

Katie reached into her pocket and pulled her cell phone out, pressing down on the button that turned the power off. She then opened the glovebox and placed the phone inside. I smiled, feeling grateful that none of her friends would be able to blow up her phone over the weekend.

We arrived at Lake Mills half an hour after leaving the Kwik Shop. Unfortunately, setting up camp did not go as smoothly as the drive over did. The crown of the setting sun had slipped behind the tree line by the time I had finished pitching our tent. My next assignment was to inflate a queen-sized air mattress bed. I had purchased for the trip one of those air pumps with a foot pedal, which proved to be terribly inefficient. The air mattress was only halfway filled when I decided to rest on the tent floor.

I wiped across my brow then pulled out my phone to check the time. It was eight thirty-two. I slid my phone back in my left pant pocket and told myself I hated camping. Those feelings were soon amplified by the laughter of four teenage boys who had set up camp next to Katie and me a mere fifteen minutes after I had unpacked the trunk. They had pulled into the neighboring camp site in a rusted Volkswagen Beetle.

I had just started aligning the tent poles when the Volkswagen was heard sputtering over the hill. My thoughts soured, fearing the worst. The driver, who had long, free-flowing auburn hair, stepped out wearing a Bob Marley tie-dyed T-shirt and camouflage pants tucked into white Reeboks. His three buddies had similar fashion sense. All of them looked baked, and none appeared to have showered in recent memory. Of the two-hundred campsites around the lake, they just happened to have chosen the one next to ours. Swell.

I blew out a long sigh, then stepped out of the tent, hoping for a break from the gnats inside the tent in the throes of a feeding frenzy. Katie was sitting on the picnic bench gazing into the crackling fire she had started. I noticed a closed textbook resting beside her and figured the darkness and ruckus created by the four cast members from Dazed and Confused kept her from being able to focus on it.

Katie looked up at me then returned her attention to the campfire. You wanna eat soon?

Yeah, I’m just trying to get the air mattress bed blown up.

Well, I’m starving. I’m going to roast a hot dog.

Go for it. I’ll be done with the air mattress shortly.

I looked across the road at the teenagers who were now throwing around a Frisbee. I then looked over at the mess they had left on top of their picnic table and was happy to see the littered cans among their trash were soda and not beer. I felt a wave of optimism, hoping they were harmless stoners who would mellow out as the night went on.

Katie, these guys haven’t been bothering you, have they?

Katie rummaged through the cooler trying to locate the package of hot dogs. After spotting the package and grabbing it out of the cooler, she replied, Not really. They’re okay. I think I heard them talking about going down to the lake when it gets completely dark, anyway. They said something about lighting up a fatty. Whatever that means.

I chuckled at Katie’s naiveté. That doesn’t surprise me, I said as I wiped sweat off my forehead.

I returned to the tent and exhausted myself blowing up the air mattress. As my foot pumped the pedal, my attention was drawn to the suitcases and travel bags that I had placed in the far corner of the tent after unpacking the trunk. My eyes locked on to my travel bag where the ring box was hidden inside. I slowed my foot pumping and contemplated grabbing it. Darkness had set in, and I knew the walk with Katie couldn’t be delayed much after dinner. I also realized my opportunities to grab the ring box, while Katie was away or oblivious to me, were limited.

I took my foot off the pedal and listened for Katie’s movements outside the tent. I heard nothing but locusts and crickets serenading the night. Even the teenage boys were quiet. I tiptoed across the floor then pressed my face into the tent screen. Katie sat on the picnic bench holding a hot dog poker over the fire. She seemed content. I took that as a green light and made haste across the tent floor. I nearly slid into the suitcases as I dropped to my knees to pull the ring box out of my travel bag. After digging it out of my bag, I shoved it into my right pant pocket, then turned my head to the tent entrance. After confirming I was still alone, I breathed easier and resumed blowing up the air mattress.

I walked out of the tent ten minutes later. Katie was hunched over the picnic table biting into the end of a hot dog bun. I sat next to her and watched her chew. Full darkness set in as a thick crescent moon turned the surface of the picnic table a lackluster gray. The fire crackled, and a few sparks shot outside the fire ring into the surrounding dirt. There was no wind, yet I felt a chill course through me. Anticipation stirred within me like never before.

2

I had purchased Katie’s engagement ring three weeks before our planned camping trip. After the ring was in my possession, I spent every day immersed in thoughts of what could go wrong, which ranged from the fear of losing the ring itself, which would probably explain why I kept it on me at all times, to having Katie somehow discover my secret. The worst fear, of course, was not knowing how Katie would respond once I took a knee before her and popped the question.

Was it too soon? Had I overemphasized our commitment to each other? Was I naïve or just paranoid?

While those worries were not without merit, all were trumped by an unforeseen bump in the road—Katie’s lack of interest in going for a walk.

I don’t really want to go, Katie responded.

Gulp. Uh, why not?

I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood.

I think we should go, Katie. Look, I said, pointing at the sky, it’s a clear, picture-perfect night. Remember how nice it was the last time we went for a walk out here? Plus, the weather is ideal. I say we go.

Well, if you insist. Let me change shoes.

I felt my blood pressure return to normal.

Two minutes later, Katie and I set out, as crickets and locusts continued to serenade the night. Neither of us spoke as we followed the windy road out of the campground. Katie moved at a brisk pace, staring off into the blackened woods along the road. Occasionally, her stoic eyes shifted in my direction, a hint of annoyance emerging in them, as if prompting me to pick up the pace. I was struggling to keep stride with her. As we continued on like that, I felt a sinking in my stomach, as it was obvious Katie just wanted to get the walk over with.

We came to the crest of the hill at the campground entrance and were a few hundred feet from the intersecting highway and gravel road. Katie continued to look annoyed as she fixed her gaze toward the highway. As I tapped my right pant pocket to ensure the ring box was still there and had not somehow fallen out, I started to second-guess myself. Each stride I took felt more rigid than the last. Lingering doubts crept in further. I wrestled with suggesting we turn around and head back. At that moment, I didn’t think I could go through with the proposal. I also questioned if I’d make it to the bridge without going into cardiac arrest.

I quietly took in a long breath then continued to debate myself. As Katie and I walked past the open gate and campground signs, I replayed my conversation with Dave from the night we had talked over the phone, and I had first let it be known I was planning to propose.

Whatever, you’ll puss out, Dave had said after I had finished telling him my plans in detail.

What?

Dave’s sardonic laugh filtered through the phone. I know you, Jordan. You’ll puss out.

No, I won’t.

His laughter continued. Sure.

Dave was hardly a soothsayer, but he knew me well. I closed my eyes for a moment and told myself I wasn’t backing out of this.

I looked over at Katie. We exchanged smiles.

Beautiful night, isn’t it? I said. I was hoping small talk might slow down the gymnastics in my head.

Yep, Katie replied.

A moment passed. I asked, How’s school going?

Oh, not too bad. I’m stressed a little, I know, but it’s going fine. It’s just a whole different ball game than being an undergrad.

I’m sure it is.

We resumed walking in silence. A minute later, Katie had been the one to end it. How’s teaching?

So far, so good. The kids are still in a mode of wanting to have summer vacation, but a lot of them are also eager and excited to be back. I cleared my throat. You know how kids are at that age. They squirm, they chatter, they daydream, they expect recess every ten minutes and…uh… I don’t know. It’s good to be back. I’m enjoying it.

This elicited a smile from Katie, which was encouraging to see. We had just reached the highway and were about to cross over to the darkened gravel road where the bridge that I viewed as our point of origin was a mile away. Katie reached for my hand before we crossed the highway, which at the time was free of traffic.

After I felt my shoes press into the uneven terrain of the gravel road, I felt many of the same feelings I had experienced on our