The Birch

I came without warning.

When I left the house earlier, I had closed the door carefully and firmly behind me. On approaching the end of the road, the point of choice, I could either turn right to the interstate and the outer world — the safety of my parents — or left onto a meandering country road. It led over a mountain strewn with clapboard houses and long stretches of woodlands, where deer browsed and an occasional bear could be seen scratching his belly on a telephone pole.

The car drove itself, knowing its destination. As it descended the steep road to the river, I could feel my body relaxing. The air in the car seemed lighter.

The red truck was parked in front of the cabin. The generator was running with a steady hum. The cabin door was closed, and all seemed quiet within. I wondered if he was showering, as the generator provided the power for the water system. The river rushed over the sandstone boulders, murmuring over the generator's purr. I waited outside. Surely he had heard my vehicle and would come out. I walked to the side of the river and sat on a flat rock. Time passed. The generator hummed. No sound came from the cabin.

I gingerly walked toward the cabin. In the past, I had stayed out of the cabin when he was there. If we talked, we sat across from each other at the picnic table, or I stood while he sat in his yard chair with a book across his lap. We talked of books, reading, writing, or his life in the cabin. I never spoke about my life at home and never about my husband. On these visits, my son came along to swim in the river, an escape from the summer doldrums and heat.

I realized later that I had never looked directly at Shaun, the cabin-dweller. I did not know his features. My eyes avoided his face and eyes. His voice was soothing, calming. He was interested in my projects and offered to read my story. I shared my books with him. He listened attentively and gave me acknowledgment.

When summer ended, my son returned to the school routine. I yearned to go to the river but lacked the ostensible reason for going: taking my son for a swim. In my mind, I practiced the words I felt needed to be said.

The first time I came alone, I dressed carefully in an embroidered peasant blouse and faded jeans. Shaun greeted me at the gate. I spoke my oft-rehearsed words: how I needed to see him, to come down here, to be by the river. How I wanted him to be my friend for life. How I wouldn't do anything to interfere with the friendship. Would it be okay if I visited once a week or so in the afternoon?

I could come twice a week if I wanted, he said. Whatever time I wanted to come.

As he talked, a bee flew into the sleeve of my blouse. I focused on remaining proper while trying to get the bee out. I kept smiling and then explaining my dilemma, I reached inside my sleeve, shaking the thin cotton fabric to release the bee. His eyes shone, but he stayed on his side of the picnic table. I said, "There was a bee. I wasn't lying."

He said, "I never thought you were."

He later told me that my blouse was beautiful and that he yearned to take it off me, that despite my attempts to be careful, he had seen my breast as I wiggled the blouse to free the bee. He was disappointed that I had on a sheer, skin-tone brassiere.

After chasing the bee from my blouse, I gave him a token gift of a notebook and a pen. "Pick a color," I said. "Red or purple?"

"Purple" was his reply. I left a pen with purple ink and encouraged him to write his stories. I gave him a quick hug and walked to my Jeep to go back over the mountain.

On my next trip, we sat on the patio, and I left a mason jar of homemade vegetable soup and a piece of banana bread. "Do you do vegetable soup?" I asked.

"That is an odd question," he replied. "Yes, I have been known to." Little did I know that I would be the one to heat u the leftover soup for a noontime meal.

"If you would ever like to go on a road trip, an adventure, I would like to go with you," he said, explaining that he had not seen other parts of the state.

I muttered that yes, if I went, I would invite him. In my mind, I could not figure how that might happen. How was I to know the outcome of that conversation?

On that second visit, he left me alone to sit on a rock in the middle of the river. I waded in the cool water, and the bottoms of my jeans became wet. As I walked to my car, he came down from the hillside where he had been weedeating, and stood close to me. This hug was different. The earlier hug had been tentative, safe. This time our entire bodies touched, and he rocked me from side to side. My body would remember that hug, and I continued to tingle as I drove back over the mountain to my house.

Now I had left my home for good to drive to the cabin. I opened the wooden door slightly, calling his name. He answered, calling my name. "What are you doing here so early?" I asked if he would go on the road trip with me, adding the catch that my Jeep was shaky.

He never hesitated. "Sure, why not? Just give me time to take a shower and we'll go. Where do you want to go?"

Blackwater Falls was on the other side of West Virginia and my favorite state park. I stated that I had just left my house and husband for good. I asked if I could rest on his couch while he showered, as I had not slept well the night before.

I pulled the afghan over my head while the emotions of the day and night coursed through me. For some reason, the day before I had brought in groceries, done my son's and husband's laundry, carefully folded their underwear, and cooked a nice meal. Then, after a night on the couch, I had opened my duffel bag from within my closet and stuffed random belongings into it. As I packed the car, I had told my husband that I needed space to think and was not sure where I was going.

"I've had enough of your bullshit" were his parting words.

As I lay on the couch in the cabin, I heard Shaun in his room, gathering supplies. "Pack an overnight bag," I called out. "If we are going that far, we will have to spend the night."

"I am" was all he said.

I drank a half cup of his sweetened, strong, black coffee, and soon we were getting into my Jeep. I asked if he would drive, as I was weary.

The Jeep hiccupped along the interstate, shifting between third and fourth gear. I laughed each time. "Should we try to make it to Blackwater? What do you think?"

"I don't know," he said. "We will have to see."

Once again, I was rehearsing words I felt I needed to say to him, words that had to be said before we left the gas station and convenience store.

A police car pulled up beside us. We were unsure of the directions to the park, so I volunteered to ask the policeman. Shaun had a map spread out across the passenger seat. The policeman walked to the car, gave us careful directions, and told us about the nice accommodations at the park. After he went back to his cruiser, I pulled dollar bills out...