The Serpent's Bite Read online

  Worse, it had all come back in a flash, revising the fire in long-smoldering embers.

  Reimagining their early encounters had been a powerful aphrodisiac. Such fantasies were unstoppable, despite keeping his physical distance, and a massive effort at self-discipline. He was well aware that it had always been the prime obsession of his life. He knew, too, the power of its consequences.

  All efforts at normality in his relationships with women had gone awry. Even the shrinks had observed that the obsession might be the root cause of his other failures, suggesting that he felt so unworthy and guilt-stricken that he deliberately evaded success. He had resisted such an explanation as psychobabble. He had given up all shrinks more than five years ago.

  There is no such thing as eternal love, he concluded, especially an obsession complicated by incest. It had taken years for him to say the word to himself. The struggle to excise the idea of it, beyond the taboo, had been the central battle of his life.

  It was, he had finally concluded, a form of madness, a built-in dysfunction that could only be handled by isolating it from his thoughts and emotions. Indeed, he had tried mightily to suppress it, but there was no twelve-step program for a love addiction. He could understand pure sexual addiction, the need for the perpetual high of sensual stimulation. This was different. Like a fatal disease, it could go into remission but never be cured. As he had just found out, it was still raging beneath the surface.

  And here he was again, an easy mark for Courtney’s swift seduction, a sexual pushover. His surrender had been eager and explosive. Nevertheless, the Mexican’s observation of them was a warning. He bore watching.

  If the Mexican knew he was being watched, he showed no reaction as he concentrated on the details of cooking. He was frying trout along with onions and garlic in a big skillet and was making what appeared to be a tomato and rice concoction in a separate skillet. Beside him was a bowl in which he was mixing a salad. Apparently while they were away, he had made biscuits and on the grate was the cowboy coffee.

  The three of them sat on logs around the fire watching the process and the efficiency with which he operated under what were clearly primitive conditions.

  Harry was in his tent incommunicado. Their father, looking rested now after his ordeal, sat on the log sipping wine, while he and Courtney sat quietly beside him looking into the fire in deep contemplation.

  In this atmosphere, seeing his father alive and well, he dismissed Courtney’s earlier remarks. They were, when all was said and done, sick speculation on her part. Desperation had made her irrational. Her suggestion was both cynical and bloodthirsty. Even for Courtney, such a level of evil was unthinkable. Thankfully, contemplation was not action.

  Scott looked toward his father. He was a good man, decent, compassionate, fair-minded, and quite obviously searching to make peace with his children before entering a new chapter in his life. Scott supposed, too, that he needed to overcome his disappointment in them. They had not, after all, fulfilled his aspirations and their own dreams.

  The sun had dipped behind the highest Douglas firs, the light throwing orange flickers as it filtered through the breeze-brushed, pine-needled branches. An outward sense of serenity pervaded the scene, softening somewhat the turmoil of his interior life.

  It was too late for regrets or remorse. The cat was out of the bag. Scott’s thoughts now centered on the Mexican and what he might be thinking. Of course, he must know they were brother and sister. Did it matter to him? Still, the exposure of their secret, albeit to a complete stranger, seemed a ridiculous irony. Was he making too much of the exposure? In a few days the Mexican would disappear from their lives.

  Surely in the course of these treks, Tomas had observed bizarre conduct on the part of Harry’s clients. Wasn’t he outside the orbit of their lives, a mere facilitator of the wilderness adventure, with absolutely no interest in making social contact? Then why the angst? Perhaps it was the idea that someone knew, that they had been outed finally, their guilt exposed.

  Courtney seemed far less concerned than he.

  “That wasn’t very smart,” he had commented on their way back to camp.

  “Depends on your perspective. So he saw us. So what?”

  “He knows. That’s what.”

  “So he knows.”

  “It means, Courtney, that we have a witness to our—”

  “What does it matter? He’s just a flunky doing his job. He has no investment in what Harry’s clients do. So he saw two people screwing. What does our relationship mean to him? So what? You’ve always been a nervous Nelly, Scott, and you’re getting worse. Where’s the downside here? Threaten to tell Dad? Such an idea would be far beyond his radar range. He wouldn’t understand it.”

  “Who does?” Scott mused.

  “Let’s be honest. We turn each other on. Always have. Call it an aberration, call it a taboo, call it a perversion, call it whatever you like. When we do it, the pleasure comes from somewhere real deep inside, deep, real deep. Don’t ask why, and don’t take it so seriously. And stop all this love crap. It doesn’t mean squat. Just leave it alone.”

  “Leave it alone? Simple for you.”

  “Come on, Scottie. Older is supposed to make you smarter.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I know. Besides, after this so-called adventure, providing all goes well, we’ll go our separate ways again. Meanwhile get it while it’s hot. Fifty years from now, who’ll give a rat’s ass about who fucked whom?”

  “So that’s all it was about.”

  “Get real, Scott. Time to stop making a molehill into a mountain.”

  He shrugged. Any discussion was pointless. Life had certainly toughened her. More so than him. Constant rejection, frustration, and failure had made her more ruthless, more determined, more cunning than ever. She had armored herself with harder stuff than he had. Perhaps it was time to learn from her example.

  “Go with the flow,” she went on. “Who cares? Worry about that little Mexican prick? You’ve got to be kidding. Let him jerk off on it. Besides, we’ve got more important fish to fry.”

  They had walked back to camp mostly in silence. It continued to bother him. Someone else knew. He could not dismiss it as trivial. As for the other matter discussed, he put it aside. It was too appalling to contemplate.

  They sat around the fire, sipping their wine. He forced himself to disregard any further thought of Tomas and what he had seen.

  “What’s on for tomorrow?” Courtney asked.

  “Harry mentioned a ride around Bridger Lake,” their father said. “I think I remember that. It was like a mirror if I recall, lots of trumpeter swans, gulls, great blue herons. Good picture material.”

  “And the largest trout you’ll every encounter.”

  It was Harry who had come up behind him, in the familiar aura of an alcoholic haze.

  “I’m game,” their father said, laughing.

  “Maybe get some rainbows or brook trout,” Harry said. “They get fat in the lake. Good hiking, too. There’s a trail around the lake. Besides, it’s a great ride about five miles from here, a lovely trail ride. We’ll see lots of game. Maybe fucking wolves again. Or a grizzly.”

  They drank more wine until Tomas served their dinner. Handing him his metal plate, Scott was suddenly aware of his eye contact, and the quick flash of a thin knowing smile. Oddly, he expected a wink, which thankfully never came.

  “So, Dad,” Courtney began cautiously, as if she were merely making idle conversation. “Tell me about this lady you’re involved with.”

  “You mean Muriel,” her father answered.

  “It’s comforting to know you have someone,” Courtney said.

  “She’s a wonderful woman.”

  “Is she?” Courtney asked.

  “Very much so. And sincere.”

  “Did you say you were contemplating a more binding relationship?”

  “We’ve discussed it.”

  “Despite the age differenc
e?”

  “It is a consideration.”

  “And all its implications?” Courtney asked. Scott remained silent, wondering if she was getting too close to the bone.

  “Yes, we have.”

  He noted his father’s reluctance. He seemed to be holding back.

  “Are you sure she’s right for you, Dad?” Courtney asked, probing carefully.

  “Yes. I believe so.” He nodded as if it needed such a gesture of reassurance. “She’s very wise, very practical, very sensible. I told you that she could never take your mother’s place. She knows that. She wants us to be one happy family, all of us. Her children and mine.” He paused and smiled. “As a matter of fact, this trek is mostly her idea.”

  “Her idea! That’s curious, Dad,” Courtney said. “Why would it be her idea? She wasn’t here before.”

  “As I said, she wants us to be one happy family. Let’s face it, we’ve had some difficulties. No, no, let’s not go there. I promised myself. Muriel thought it would be a good thing if we went someplace, you know, the three of us alone, where we could sort of reconnect, know each other again. Resolve all matters between us. What better place than here? We were a real family here.”

  “Smart woman,” Scott said, with obvious sincerity. He noted that Courtney had cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. The gesture struck him as ominous.

  “You mean you’ve confided in her?” she asked, unable to hide her discomfort.

  “Of course.”

  “A stranger?”

  “Not to me, Courtney. She has confided in me as well. We think that’s appropriate. We need to know what baggage each is carrying. We have a wonderful open relationship.”

  “How nice,” Courtney said, barely audible. The remark did not hide the edge of sarcasm.

  Scott became agitated at her attitude.

  “She sounds great, Dad,” he intervened quickly. “I mean her suggestion to resolve differences.”

  “What about her children, Dad?” Courtney persisted. “Are there differences with them as well that have to be resolved?”

  Temple offered a genial smile, obviously ignoring any signs of “attitude” in his daughter.

  “Believe it or not, they don’t seem to have any issues between them or with Muriel. She was a working single mother. A widow. She raised them by herself. Seems to have done a very good job. They are extremely devoted to her.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Courtney said, with some annoyance. “Are they devoted to you as well?”

  “They want their mother to be happy. And they do approve of our relationship.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Courtney muttered under her breath. Her sarcasm was making Scott nervous.

  “I suppose she plans to keep her job with your accounting firm?” Courtney asked.

  “Depends.” He paused, his eyes shifting between his children. He seemed suddenly hesitant. “I told her she was welcome to come in with me.”

  “Like Mom?” Courtney said.

  Scott gave his sister yet another admonishing look. Cool it, sis, he tried to tell her with his eyes.

  “I told you nothing could ever replace Mom. Muriel would work with me, help me.” He looked again at his children in turn. “Look guys, how many times have I offered each of you to come in with me? That offer still stands. Frankly I am baffled by your refusal, both of you. I have a going business that is interesting and profitable. You can make an extraordinary living. I guess I haven’t been persuasive enough.”

  “We don’t want to, Dad,” Courtney said. “Don’t you understand that? We have our own lives, our own destinies.” She turned to Scott. “Isn’t that right, Scott?”

  Scott nodded. His own motives had little to do with personal destiny.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Courtney explained. “I wish I had the passion for it. I’m an actor. It’s my calling. I hate the jewelry business. All that butt kissing. Besides, we’ve been through that so many times. I’m sorry about that, but I just don’t want it.”

  “And you, Scott?” Temple said, turning to his son. “Still no interest?” He paused. “Considering.”

  Scott knew his father’s shorthand. It meant “considering your many failures.” He did not reply.

  “So this woman would be your partner?” Courtney pressed.

  “Muriel, darling. Her name is Muriel.”

  Scott noted his father’s effort at patience and tolerance.

  “Yes. Muriel. I had forgotten for the moment,” Courtney acknowledged.

  “We haven’t discussed that part,” their father said. “She would have to leave her job, of course. But she seems eager to help. And she does know the business aspect and the numbers.”

  “Of course. The numbers,” Courtney muttered.

  “Be nice to have someone who knows so much about the business,” Scott said, determined to keep the tension down.

  “So she will be a partner?” Courtney asked.

  “If we marry, we’re automatic partners, aren’t we?”

  “You’d better be sure about this, Dad,” Courtney said. “I’ve heard lots of horror stories.”

  “Actually I am sure. Why would I consent otherwise?”

  Scott could see that he was beginning to get somewhat uncomfortable under her interrogation.

  “Father knows best,” Scott interjected, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

  Thankfully, Harry joined them, and they aborted any further conversation on the subject of Muriel. Their father seemed relieved.

  Tomas collected their plates and poured coffee into metal cups.

  “Nishe night,” Harry said, his slurred speech and the usual alcoholic mist that surrounded him a telling barometer of his condition.

  Tomas handed him a full plate, and he made a pretense of eating, but it was obvious that solid food was not his principal interest.

  “Not hungry,” Harry said, emptying his plate in the fire. Tomas shrugged and took the empty plate from him. Scott noted an unmistakable sneer of disgust in the Mexican’s face. No love lost there, he thought. Neither man enlisted his sympathy, although, he feared the Mexican far more than he tolerated the outfitter.

  Like many drunks, Harry seemed to believe that he was in control, and he again announced in a rambling slurred way that tomorrow they would go to Bridger Lake and have lunch on its banks. Worse, he did not realize that he was being repetitive. They looked at each other with some confusion. This man was obviously not operating on all cylinders.

  Speaking slowly as if to disguise his state, Harry repeated his description of the area. They listened with forced tolerance, exchanging nervous glances. After his brief and badly articulated description, Harry rose and staggered back to his tent.

  “Good God,” Scott murmured.

  “He’s a menace,” Courtney said.

  “Is he like that often?” their father asked Tomas.

  “Sometime,” Tomas replied, without expression, addressing the cooking fire.

  “He wasn’t that way the last time,” his father said. “If I had known …” His words trailed off.

  “Does shake one’s confidence,” Courtney muttered. “People change.”

  “Maybe we should talk to him,” Scott said. “Let’s face it, we’re his dependents out here.”

  “Not a very secure feeling, is it, Tomas?” their father said.

  “He okay,” Tomas said, obviously determined to shield his employer, showing his dependency. “He know if rangers come, he be in big trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Temple asked.

  The Mexican turned away, perhaps thinking that he had talked too much. But Temple continued to prod him.

  “What exactly do you mean, Tomas?” he pressed.

  Tomas turned again and lowered his voice. Despite his mostly expressionless face, his cunning and intelligence showed in his eyes. While his command of English seemed adequate, his understanding of the language seemed acute. He’s not fooling me, Scott thought.

  “Lose license to guide. People gi
ve bad report, he got trouble.” He cast a surprisingly revealing contemptuous look in the direction of Harry’s tent.

  “Why would he take the chance of losing his livelihood?” Temple pressed. “It sounds stupid.”

  Tomas nodded and shrugged, feigning ignorance, but their father still wouldn’t let the matter drop. Scott worried about his persistence for other reasons.

  “Do they pull inspections? You know, a surprise visit? They see him in this condition, they’ve got to blow the whistle. Surely, they must look around. Not a very good image for the park service. He must have a pretty hefty supply of booze.”

  Tomas did not answer, but there was a sense that he was holding something back.

  “Leave it alone, Dad,” Scott said.

  “And the booze. Smells sweetish, like bourbon.” Temple pressed, ignoring Scott’s appeal. “And the weight. He did make a big deal about weight. How many bottles could he possibly bring in?”

  Posed as a question, Tomas exchanged glances with their father. His only reply was a shrug as he continued to fuss at the cooking fire.

  Scott listened to this conversation with increasing impatience.

  “What’s the point, Dad?” Scott muttered, looking at Courtney.

  “It’s a legitimate concern.” Temple muttered.

  “He be fine,” Tomas blurted suddenly with some show of impatience, looking up. “Be okay. You no worry.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Scott said, looking at his father.

  “But what happens,” Temple said, his concern accelerating, “if he can’t do his job?”

  “Dad!” Scott said sharply. “What do you want from him?”

  “Listen to Scott, Dad,” Courtney seconded.

  Tomas glanced at Scott then at Courtney, a thin smile forming on his lips. He seemed to be mocking them.

  “Suppose he gets, you know, really smashed?” Temple posed, ignoring his children’s rebuke. “Unable to function?”

  “Tole you. He be okay,” Tomas said, getting more and more defensive under Temple’s interrogation.

  Courtney spoke up. She seemed genuinely frightened.

  “There’s always a first time. Addictive people think they can handle anything. Unfortunately, they crash. It could happen out here. Not a very comforting possibility. What the hell happens if he can’t function? Do you take over, Tomas? Hell, I hope you know the way around here.”