Radiant beneath a flaming mid-September sunset, the verdant hills of western Massachusetts beckoned like some primordial homeland. And the communing twosome had yet to reach their destination — a must-see lake shore universally espoused. But there were only a couple of hours of fading sunlight remaining, and a trailhead closer to the water promised a more efficient outset the next day. Meanwhile, back in Lenox, a dinner at a fine restaurant awaited, reservation set weeks in advance.
“Hey, babe, we’d better be heading back.”
Henry Doppel’s fiancé knelt by the trunk of a massive oak a few meters off the trail. Henry stood mid-trail twenty meters further on, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the ball of his hand. His words generated no response. He smiled, stole closer.
Charlotte had her phone out, snapping pictures of wildflowers at the base of an imposing old oak. Henry observed for a while and smiled.
“Hey, babe,” he repeated softly. “It’s getting late, and don’t forget about dinner. Waddaya say?”
Charlotte turned her head and squinted.
God, she’s hot, though! What am I doing with this woman?
Charlotte was a year older than Henry but could easily have passed for ten years his junior. He would never have approached a woman of such vivacious beauty in a million years, but the propositioning had been all hers. That was eighteen months in the past, the day after Charlotte’s boss and Henry parted ways.
Henry’s solo accounting office was nearest Charlotte’s office in the lower Hudson valley, and her boss, a solo practitioner personal injury attorney, needed some numbers crunched in a depo. Ultimately, said boss paid Henry a token amount, the case got settled, and Henry said goodbye to the counselor and his lovely secretary. Charlotte called him up the next day. Why? Henry had no clue — he was not deluded regarding his own threadbare attributes. So, Henry’s perplexity over her motives was a bother from the first. But he’d be damned if he’d ever turn down a fox like Charlotte! Naturally, he’d see how it played out.
Well, Henry drew an inside straight. The pair were mutually smitten. Henry’s every utterance proved an enchantment — as far as he could tell from the gorgeous, bottomless brown peepers staring at him across various tables around town. Conversely, Charlotte’s tale of financial ruin and heartbreak, shared in instant confidence, utterly bewitched drab, dour Henry. And their carnal attunement was considerable, Charlotte’s praise thrilling Henry more than his own fulfillment, which was phenomenal.
And what was Charlotte’s story that so captivated Henry? Two years before they met, Charlotte had been married and then abandoned by a financier twenty years her senior, who’d disappeared after transferring his firm’s funds to a Latin American bank. That had left Charlotte in a condo which was then promptly seized by the Feds. It was then she headed north to take her legal assistant job, placing her in Henry’s picturesque town an hour and a half north of New York City. As a consequence of this miserable recent history, Charlotte faced bank and tax troubles with which Henry was only too happy to help.
“Where does this bill come from, anyway?” asked Henry. “You have no money!”
“Right? They’re crooks, Henry! Can you fix it?”
“You’d need a tax lawyer, I think. Unless…”
“Oh, Henry! Can’t you just make it go away?”
Serious legerdemain would be required. But Henry was up for it. He was in love.
“Pro Bono!” he laughed.
Henry recategorized Charlotte’s prior income related to her ex. He excised references to the former husband from her tax forms. Her former address went up in smoke. As letters of inquiry from the banks and the Feds rolled in, Henry dispatched professional responses that materially severed Charlotte from her old consort. Charlotte’s financial and legal headaches evaporated.
Charlotte radiated gratitude. Still, accounting services are not a rare commodity, and generally don’t demand romantic interplay. And in the case of Henry and Charlotte, one would never have imagined such an apparently odd couple would last a month — initial infatuation or no. But Charlotte teased out Henry’s latent interest in birds — which scratched his itch for labeling and categorizing — and proclaimed that she loved birds, too! And Charlotte raved as well over the old-timey jazz Henry fired up on Spotify.
Henry was old enough to settle down, he figured. Charlotte vowed it was time to try again. Henry proposed. Charlotte assented.
Henry was agog! Lucky boy!
Now, since that glorious day, it hadn’t been all red roses and sunny beaches. For example, was Henry frustrated that he couldn’t pin down his lady love on a wedding date? Certainly — in Henry’s mind, plans set sooner translated to more preferences met. And wasn’t he miffed, repeatedly, when his intended shared a flirtatious phone call or embraced some male “old friend” on the street? Of course — where did all these ‘buddies’ come from during Charlotte’s brief sojourn in town, anyway? And how about the nosedive in hanky-panky mere weeks after their engagement? Irksome? You bet! But…
Eh. Every relationship has its ups and downs. Wait it out, Henry, old boy.
And no gainsaying, Henry had a beautiful woman on his arm! He wrote off any uneasiness to his own messed up self. Charlotte was a miracle for the likes of him — not to be bungled!
Never forget — Charlotte’s the normal one in this arrangement.
#
Charlotte stood by the tree and scrolled her pics for Henry’s benefit. He grinned again and nodded.
“You gotta post them, sweetums,” he said.
Charlotte didn’t respond directly. She just stood up, dusted herself off, and smiled. Henry checked the time on his phone.
“We’re good, but we should leave now. It’ll take us twenty minutes to get to the Jeep, then forty-five minutes to the B&B, then you gotta figure another hour, or hour and a half to clean up… So, that could leave us as little as thirty minutes to find the restaurant. Lenox is at least twenty minutes from our place.”
“Relax,” Charlotte scoffed. “Even after a beautiful day like today, you’re still so wound up! We’ll get there when we get there.”
“Well, if we miss the rez…”
“Then we’ll eat somewhere else.”
“Okay.”
Henry stifled his agitation — but only to the degree his nature permitted, which wasn’t much. Had time suddenly become an infinite resource? Not in Henry’s book! Not wanting to aggravate Charlotte further, he channeled his pique into his feet rather than into more verbiage. In minutes, Henry found himself far ahead of his girlfriend, who had tarried again by the side of the trail.
What’s she stopping for at this point? Isn’t it too dark to see anything by this point?
Shadows had spread, though they were nowhere near twilight on a cloudless day.
Over the next few minutes, Henry occasionally forced himself to pause, allowing Charlotte to catch up. Each time she did, he’d endeavor to conceal his impatience. It didn’t work. Finally, Charlotte had enough.
“I told you to relax,” Charlotte said, irritation palpable.
“I am relaxed. Take all the time you want,” replied Henry, unconsciously checking his watch for a second before dropping his arms once again.
Charlotte sighed and brushed past him. Seconds later, Henry returned the favor.
Finally, early twilight did at last descend. Henry lost sight of his wife-to-be — not because of fading sunlight, but because he’d gotten too far ahead. The temperature ticked downward.
Geez, we should have been back to the Bed & Breakfast by now! Probably still another fifteen minutes to the Jeep. She’s unbelievable!
A distant figure materialized, approaching from the direction of the trailhead.
Henry’s instinct in the past, often tested by Charlotte’s unhurried pace, had always been to walk beside her whenever they crossed paths with strangers during their woodland strolls. And this time, she was once again far behind him, her binoculars glued to her face, lured by some new arboreal distraction.
His instinct once again foiled, Henry couldn’t very well turn and accompany the intruder back toward Charlotte. That would be weird. So, vexed, and by nature attuned to threat, Henry simply registered the fellow’s defining features as he passed, as best he could. Pinning the dude with tough-guy thoughts. At that moment, Charlotte trailed Henry by over thirty meters.
Setting out pretty late in the day, aren’t you, Bub?
The twilight hiker, to Henry’s eye, fit the profile of a nature tramper. An older fellow, he sported his thin, graying hair in a ponytail under a floppy, wide-brimmed hat. He tucked his long pants into high socks and sported a fully equipped backpack. An assortment of tools hung from belt and zipper. Altogether though, innocuous — a hiker on a hiking trail. So much for the heroic ideation. Like a gazelle eying a wildebeest on the savanna, Henry sized him up in a heartbeat, promptly ignored him, and turned again to the task at hand.
Screw it. It’s getting cold. She knows the way back.
With his fleeting alarm over the stranger dispensed with, Henry was done dallying. They were under twenty minutes from the lot — finito!
Charlotte’s a big girl. No reason I can’t wait for her in the Jeep! She can join me whenever she finishes ogling whatever’s so freaking important in the freezing cold. How can she even see?
A minute later, though, worrying he had gone too far, the fickle Mr. Doppel stopped in his tracks. Finding a decent sized tree to lean against, Henry cast his troubled eyes back to check if Charlotte was on her way yet. Glanced at his watch. Drew a deep breath. Shivered.
We’re cutting it close. I bet we end up with only half an hour back at the room to wash up. Let’s go, Charlotte!
Henry labored to distract himself with the surrounding wonder of the forest. After all, he hadn’t ever been a reluctant co-traveller. If anything, he had been the more enthusiastic hiker of the two, ever since Charlotte first coaxed him along on a sanctuary ramble. Henry had even undertaken the lion’s share of planning for this mini vacation, which revolved entirely around hiking and birdwatching. Henry gazed up into the canopy and inhaled the earthy aromas, striving to cleanse his mind with the serenity of the natural world. Tufted titmice, cicadas, and a distant jet overhead constituted the entire aural landscape. For a few wistful seconds, he wished he had set their dinner reservations later in the evening.
She always takes longer than I think she will. Why didn’t I factor it in? Could’ve set it up better, left her enough time. This is on me, as usual.
Henry gazed back up the dirt path. It was hopeless. There was a schedule to keep!
“Babe? Charlotte?”
Henry narrowed his eyes and sifted through the twilight shadows up the trail.
Tell me you’ve found a tanager, Charlotte. Or an Indigo Bunting. Something worthwhile, not just some dumb wildflowers.
Groaning, Henry plodded rearward to collect his fiancé. As he did so, his already minuscule generosity of spirit leeched away.
We won’t even have time for showers, the way we’re going. And if I say so much as a word, she’ll torpedo dinner altogether.
He passed a gargantuan oak. And froze.
“Wait a second,” he said to nobody.
Spun around. Stared.
Henry recognized the spot. He drew up close and recalled the patch of wildflowers at the tree’s base. He and his paramour had reconnoitered right there not twenty minutes earlier. Could Charlotte have turned around and headed back into the forest without telling him?
Nah — no way! Even Charlotte wouldn’t pull a stunt like that!
Which way to go? Panic rising, Henry twirled like an uncertain weathervane. Might he have stormed right past Charlotte just now, as she knelt at the side of the trail? Absolutely! He momentarily allayed his fears that way, blaming, yet again, his own long-confessed obliviousness. For a few minutes, he was calm enough to conduct a meticulous search not only for Charlotte, but for any clues. He started by reconnoitering a hundred meters in both directions.
Nothing.
Again, this time a hundred and fifty.
Nada.
“Shit-shit-shit!! Charlotte! Come on! I mean, come on! This cannot be happening!”
Henry’s face glistened with sweat despite the nippiness. He repeated the hundred and fifty meter search, this time scouring beyond the edge of the path, on both sides — every branch, every pebble.
A depression in the brush? Yes! Dispersed vegetation across a few inches off the trail, some darkened earth…
My God. How did I miss it? It’s obvious! The hiker! What’s wrong with me?!
Shivers. Fog. Vertigo. Numbness. A whirlwind of disorientation. Should he dive back into the forest? No time to lose! Or was it better to run ahead and collar others in the parking lot, assemble a posse? Or should he just dial 911?
Easy call. Henry was, if anything, a by-the-book kind of guy.
The signal was weak, and he had to sprint a quarter mile toward the trailhead before he could get through.
“Hello? Nine-one-one? I need to report a missing person!”
He explained his predicament in a shaky voice. The 911 operator assured him help was on the way and instructed him to wait right where he was. Studiously obeying, Henry dared not stray to seek any other help. He simply shuffled his feet right where he was, in the middle of the dimming trail.
This is taking eons!
When should he call again? Henry was hoisting his phone toward a gap in the canopy and peering at the signal icon when the troops arrived.
It was a massive contingent. The lot by the roadway was almost a mile away, so the noise of the rescue vehicles arriving had never reached him. Instead, he first heard the tumult of the cops, EMTs, and firefighters barreling toward him seconds before the dust raised by their footfalls rolled in. As it approached, the swollen assembly served only to intensify Henry’s agitation until a cop popped out of the chaotic crowd.
“You Henry Doppell?”
“That’s right.”
“You reported a missing person.”
“An abduction, officer! Charlotte Springer is her name. She was right behind me, and this guy, this old guy with…”
“Hold on. Where did this happen? Nearby?”
Henry led the cop and the rest to the side of the path. He pointed at the disturbance of brush and soil.
“I think it happened here. Like I said, she was right behind me, and this guy walked by me in the other direction. Then, when I looked back, she was gone!”
“Okay. Let’s start at the top. What does Ms. Springer look like?”
The cop produced a notepad. But once the subject progressed beyond Charlotte’s physical appearance, Henry’s narrative flew apart, like a loose ball of string flung down a flight of stairs.
“Before we go any further, can I tell you about the guy? Before I forget? Okay. Listen. This sonuvabitch was six foot — easy — and had a ridiculous, overloaded backpack. This backpack, I gotta tell ya, well, anyway…This dude is up that trail,” here Henry pointed a shaky finger, “right now!” Henry paused, frowned. “Or, I mean, he could have gone around the other way to that whatchamacallit, that marsh around to the north. But if he took her, who knows where he went, right? What was the question? He had a long nose. Does that help? Actually, I shouldn’t say that. I take it back. I’m not sure about the nose. There were a lot of shadows. Aren’t you gonna take samples, by the way? Isn’t that blood? It could be, couldn’t it? Oh, and before I forget, Charlotte’s got two brothers, one in Maine and the other, I dunno, is in Oregon now. I think? Maybe? He’s a wild man, anyway. I just mention that, you know, for your records. Anyway…”
On and on Henry went, long after the cop had shut his notebook. Those in the rescue party exchanged knowing glances.
A woman squeezed through the gaggle of first responders and stood with arms crossed, casting a quizzical expression at Henry but not saying a word.
Henry went on.
“Yeah, I’m used to walking on ahead. Charlotte tends to dawdle! It could be on a hike or just shopping — whatever. Even if there’s someplace to, you know, really be. If something catches her eye, forget it. I’ll look around and, like, ‘where’d she go?’ Ha, ha. But I’m telling you, this guy. This guy. He had all the gear. You know what I’m saying? This is an itty-bitty hiking path, when you get down to it, and what does he need it all that crap for? The entire circuit here is five hours, tops! And look, he’s got a canteen, he’s got a backpack, he’s got ropes, he’s got a freaking knife! And the pockets on this character! Who knows what all those are for?!”
As Henry spilled out the last few words, his excited eyes finally fell on the raven-haired beauty standing beside the policeman. She regarded Henry blankly. He stopped talking and gulped.
“Um. Sorry, folks.”
One of the EMTs scoffed noisily and spun away in scorn. The cop followed the direction of Henry’s gaze, and his demeanor conveyed that he had put two and two together. He stared unblinkingly at Henry, and his glare demanded a response. Henry winced and tried to grin.
“Yeah. So, I don’t know how I missed her, but yeah. This is Charlotte Springer. Hi, Charlotte.”
“Okay, everyone,” said the cop, addressing the disassembling troops. “We can all go home. Mr. Doppell says he’s sorry.”
“Idiot.”
“What a jerk. Geez.”
In minutes, the rescue team had departed, leaving Henry and Charlotte to themselves. A breeze arrived with the looming dusk, and Henry shivered, shoving his hands in his pockets. Charlotte, arms still crossed, stood like a beautiful, timeless statue. Finally, Henry broke the silence.
“I thought…I didn’t see how you could have…I looked up and down! I was worried, Charlotte! I was so worried!”
Charlotte shook her head. Her expression conveyed more perplexity than anger.
Say something! I know I’m an idiot. I’m sorry! What do you want from me?
Charlotte sighed.
“Why wouldn’t you walk back to the car at least,” she asked, “before calling the damn police? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Charlotte shook her head some more, turned away, and padded back to the car. Henry followed a few paces back, keeping his distance. When they reached the Jeep, he waited for Charlotte to start the engine before sliding into the passenger seat. They drove back to their lodging in silence.
Even after the hullabaloo on the trail, they weren’t particularly rushed for time. Henry still couldn’t help stealing glances at the clock, though, as they cleaned up and got dressed. They arrived at Clancy’s 75 Club in Pittsfield five minutes early and, thanks to their reservation, were seated right away, despite the crowd. Charlotte, in a fashionable, semi-casual blouse and skirt, was, as always, effortlessly stunning. Typically rumpled Henry regarded himself as dressed up because he wore a collared shirt. They accepted a table in a corner in back.
The highfalutin menu was predictably expensive. Henry unthinkingly turned up his nose at the prices.
“What’s the matter now, Henry?”
“Nothing. What?”
Charlotte scoffed.
Uh, oh.
“Just the prices. You know.”
“We’re on vacation. Skip dessert, if you like.”
Charlotte folded her menu and began scrolling her phone. Henry laid down his own bill of fare and scanned the restaurant. The place earned impeccable ratings online and, despite the interregnum between summer and peak fall foliage, on a Friday night at least, they were packed. Guests all appeared to be from out of town, a few not having bothered to change out of their hiking or birding or ‘forest bathing’ attire. Still, many others were dressed to the nines — including one fellow in particular, seated alone in a window seat.
What? No. No way.
The waiter appeared.
“Anything to drink?”
Charlotte ordered scotch on ice.
“Sir?”
“Huh? Oh. Soda water, please.”
When the waiter had gone, Charlotte asked Henry what was bugging him.
“Nothing. Just, I think I recognize the damn hiker from the trail — he’s sitting up front. Same guy just before, you know, I called the cops. Remember?”
“Sure. So what?”
“No what, Charlotte. Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”
Charlotte fidgeted, frowned, and ultimately returned her attention to her phone. As soon as her eyes dropped, Henry returned his gaze to the hiker and studied him forensically.
The man was in his upper fifties, possibly early sixties. His getup was lavish — herringbone, single-breasted, dark burgundy jacket, pitch black tie and black shirt, suit pants, and inky, patent leather shoes. In place of the ponytail was a man bun — singularly incongruous, to Henry’s way of thinking, for a man that age in that setting. The fellow exuded an air of fitness and confidence — summoning the waiter with haughty aplomb, ordering, fiddling with his phone. Then he stared out the window. Henry’s threat meter flashed red.
Ah. Your natural plumage. I see you, motherfucker.
The waiter returned to take their orders. Charlotte requested a veggie option. Henry ordered steak.
“Rare, Henry? Since when?”
“Since today. I can try new things.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and excused herself and repaired to the ladies’ room.
Soon thereafter, the bloke in the suit pushed away from his table and headed for the restrooms as well. Various lunatic scenarios played in Henry’s head. He tried to bat them aside.
Coincidence. When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.
And sure enough, Charlotte returned to the table with no untoward delay. She immediately brought out her phone again and started tapping away. The ‘hiker’ dude strolled back to his solo table a few seconds later.
Henry couldn’t find a way, without inviting a disdainful rejoinder, of asking his partner whether she had noticed the hiker in all his finery squeezing past her by the restrooms. In truth, there was nothing about Charlotte’s appearance to suggest even an abridged licentious encounter.
Calm down, Henry. You’re already in a heap of trouble. Don’t push it.
Henry and Charlotte ate their meals in uneasy silence. Waiting for the check, Henry cleared his throat.
“Charlotte, I’m sorry I kinda ruined the hike today. Okay?”
Charlotte gazed blankly at her beau.
“It’s fine, Henry. Forget it.”
Henry kept talking.
“I think I’m getting more and more agitated about our not having set a wedding date,” he said. “It’s a box unchecked, Charlotte! A humongous black box that presses my buttons! So, mea culpa. But you see the issue.”
“Mea culpa?”
“Absolutely. Totally. And I think, you know, you can help me out here. It’s a simple thing, Charlotte.”
“Ah. An intervention.”
“Yes! So, can we set a date?”
“This second?”
Charlotte ostentatiously swiped her phone, facial expression hard as nails.
I did it again.
“No, no! Later, Charlotte. I was just hoping we could agree…”
“No, Henry. Let’s do it now. We have phones, don’t we? Shall we run off to a judge tomorrow? Ha, ha. Just kidding — Henry Doppel elope? That would be one for posterity, wouldn’t it? No, not your style. After all, we have to leave time to plan, don’t we? So, year after next. Pick a month.”
Henry fumbled with his own phone, but Charlotte wouldn’t wait.
“Let’s say April 26. Twenty-twenty-six. That’s a Sunday. Yeah? Does that suit you, Henry?”
“Come on, Charlotte. Don’t be like this.”
“Be like what?”
The waiter brought the check. As Henry scanned the numbers in his usual painstaking way, Charlotte groaned. She closed her eyes for a second, blinked them open, grabbed her jacket, and strode out. By the time Henry finished paying, she was long gone. He texted her without response. Casting a dirty look at the back of the hiker’s head on his way out, Henry stormed out — inviting stares from the restaurant staff — and then back to the motel. But Charlotte had disappeared.
When do I call the cops? What if I get the same guy as before?
But that didn’t become necessary. A response from Charlotte finally appeared on Henry’s phone.
I’m fine, Henry. Headed home.
Are you kidding? Your stuff is still here!
Be a good boy and pack it for me. Drop it at my apartment.
Drop it? Won’t I see you?
I don’t know.
What about tonight? Where will you sleep?
I’m taking an Uber all the way home. Get some rest, Henry. Enjoy your holiday.
Charlotte was obviously done, though Henry kept texting for a while before giving up. He headed home himself the next morning, arriving in town just after noon. Stopping by Charlotte’s apartment before his own, he discovered she had already changed the lock. Forlorn, Henry trudged back down the stairs with Charlotte’s bag. Her landlord grabbed him on his way out.
“Charlotte told me you’d come around,” said the surly proprietor. “You can leave her stuff with me.”
“Did she say when she’d be home? I’d like to speak to her.”
“Actually, she said she’d be gone a while. Paid up her rent three months.”
Alarmed and mystified, Henry handed Charlotte’s bags to the fellow and then ran by Charlotte’s legal office. She was nowhere to be found. And confounding Henry further, her boss and coworkers wouldn’t even speak to him. Despondent and guilt-ridden, he figured Charlotte’s truthful recounting of their Berkshires misadventure had turned her friends against him.
Henry took an extra week off from work. Slowly but surely, he shrugged off his melancholy and slid back into his old routine — eight to six at the office, evenings in front of the tube, Sunday brunch at the diner, and an occasional flurry of dating-app rendezvous.
And beneath all that, a disjointed train of thought occasionally surfacing, but never coalescing. An unsolvable, abiding puzzle.
What happened? Am I so much more compulsive than a billion other guys in the world? Any worse at the end of our affair than at the beginning? Makes no damn sense.
Years later, Henry hooked up with one of Charlotte’s former co-workers, who conveyed the rumor that Charlotte had “made out alright for herself, living abroad.” Better than ‘alright,’ in fact. Latin America, apparently. Henry settled down in his provincial burgh, fathered three kids, and never stopped wondering about the man in the burgundy suit. //
About the Author
Evan Kaiser is a retired physician who practiced primary care medicine in southeastern New England for over twenty-five years. He currently lives with his wife in the Providence, RI area and enjoys painting, reading, cooking, and birding.
About the Author
