Chapter 29

It was sometimes a little difficult to follow the marked paths. They were heavily obscured by fallen leaves, and a couple of times I found myself going along what I thought was the trail only to have it peter out on me and have to turn back. Apparently wild animals had blazed some of their own highways, and it wasn't always easy to tell the difference.

Still, I found my way to the overlook I'd spotted on the lodge's map, where Susan and I enjoyed the view of a couple of streams meandering hundreds of feet below while I noshed down lunch. Then we went on as the path wandered around further and finally returned us to the lodge.

I wasn't far away, could actually catch glimpses of the main building ahead, when I started to hear something coming from a short distance away. It sounded for all the world like a woman crying—not hysterically or panicky or anything, just steady sobs. It didn't seem right just to walk on by, and I followed the sound a few yards to one side until I suddenly saw where it was coming from.

There was a small rest area to one side, and a woman was sitting on the bench looking out at nothing I could particularly spot with tears rolling down her cheeks. It was Celeste from last night. Awkwardly I realized that I was intruding on her private grief over something and started to retreat as quietly as I could.

"You needn't sneak away, I hear you there, you know," she said, not turning her head.

I coughed, now doubly embarrassed. "I apologize," I told her. "It was just that I heard something, and, well..."

"No, I should apologize," she said. "I suppose I was a little noisy. But I'm quite all right, thanks for your concern." Suddenly another sob escaped her. "No, I'm not all right, but there's nothing anybody can do about it," she acknowledged.

I was ready to take her at her word and withdraw, but Susan stopped me. "For Heaven's sake, Larry, don't just walk off. The poor woman needs to talk."

"Well," I said hesitantly. "I can listen if you like. I mean, if you want to, uh..." I floundered to a halt.

She turned now to look at me. "You're the nice young man from dinner. Harry, wasn't it?"

"Larry," I corrected her, "but close enough."

"Yes. I'm sorry. I wasn't myself last night, you know. I haven't been myself in several days." For a moment she looked ready to break down again, but she shook her head sharply. "Anyhow, I should have remembered your name right."

"I'm sorry, did you lose someone close to you?" I guessed.

"No," she said. "Or yes, in a way. Maybe. I'm not sure, really, you know? That's why I'm here, trying to figure it out. But I'm not getting anywhere."

"Umm ... would talking it out to somebody else help?" I asked. I'd encountered this one before, at work, programmers who'd got stuck on difficult bits of coding; sometimes if we talked about it they'd come up with a breakthrough. It wasn't anything I contributed, or even who they talked to, it was simply a function of putting it into words.

"It wouldn't be fair to burden you with my problems," she protested. But I could see it was a pretty half-hearted protest; Susan was right, she really did need to tell somebody.

"It's not a burden at all," I said, walking over to sit on the bench beside her. "I certainly don't mean to pry into your private affairs, but if it'd help you to talk it out I'm a good listener."

"Well, you're a man," she mused. "A lot younger, but still ... Do you ever look at, er, you know, some of the naughty places on the computer?"

That certainly wasn't what I'd expected. For a moment I just gawked at her. But Susan told sharply to answer her, so I did. "Sometimes," I admitted cautiously.

"You do? But I mean the really nasty ones, the, you know, the perverted ones. The ones that show, you know, unnatural acts."

I wondered how deep this was going. What did this lady consider unnatural? "So ask, already," Susan prompted impatiently.

"Can you be a little more specific?" I pressed. When she hesitated I went on. "Children? Animals? Serious pain, torture, bloodletting?"

"My goodness!" She looked shocked. "Nothing like that! I mean ... oh, this is so embarrassing, I can't believe I'm telling you this ... I mean oral sex." The last sort of burst out of her, her entire countenance alive with distaste for the very words.

It was all I could do not to explode with laughter. "'Oral sex?'" I echoed.

After that the floodgates opened and the whole story poured out. A few nights ago it seemed that she'd walked in on her husband surfing a site that seemed to specialize in that. It wasn't just pictures and videos, though she said they were bad enough; "he was talking, on the computer you know, talking to people about it, too. Talking to women! And they were pretending, well, you know, pretending they were actually doing it. Right there in our home!"

So she'd gone storming off and found her way to the lodge to sort it out. Should she leave him? Should she forgive him? Even if she did, what about those "unnatural urges" he seemed to be having? How could she deal with that?

I was really having a hell of a time keeping a straight face.

"Celeste, haven't you ever, uh—"