The Serpent's Bite (17 page)

“Then you must prove it.”

“I love you, my sister. I love you.”

“Show me then.”

“I will. I will. I promise. Oh God, I promise.”

At that her movement had commenced.

“They'll never find out, Scottie,” she assured him. “We'll get the money and it will be over. Besides, I'm the one at risk, and you need to help me. It's something we have to do together. It will be our secret. Another solemn secret. I'm the one to go through the pain. If you really love me, you will. ”

“Of course, I love you. I will love you forever.”

As she knew he would from the beginning, he went along.

They picked two pear-shaped diamonds from the least-used tray and fenced them with a jeweler in New Jersey, who bought them for far less than their worth. It gave them enough for the abortion. The physical experience of the procedure was so traumatic, it left her with what she later would realize was a kind of fractured libido.

The event ended their physical affair, but it did not put an end to his obsessive “love” feeling for her.

“That part is over,” she told him, leaving it deliberately open-ended. “For now.”

Of course, he agreed, obviously fearful of the risks, although she sensed that what he felt would not disappear with maturity. Apparently, as she suspected, it never had gone away.

The experience left her with a diminished interest in the sex act, which never ever reached the sexual power of her relationship with her brother. She was well aware of how it had distorted her relationships with men, none of which were ever satisfying. Nor was any relationship with a man ever a priority. As her passion for her acting career grew more intense, she was able to put her energy into the obsession that forever would dominate her life.

As for her brother, although they never referred to it openly, she was convinced that his experience, like hers, had a profoundly negative effect on his relationship with women.

Nor did she dwell on it. Like her, he had to cope with his demons on his own. When the memory would pop up in her thoughts, she ruthlessly edited them and willed them to disappear from her consciousness.

T
hroughout the preparation for dinner, Scott observed the Mexican. What they had done was risky and stupid. He forced himself not to dwell on the whys and wherefores. Hundreds of hours with shrinks hadn't reached the root of his vulnerability. There are two things at work here, the shrinks would tell him: love and sex. But it was only the sex part that they could explain. Not the love part. It was beyond their analysis, beyond their definitions, beyond their conclusions. And his.

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 difference?”

“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.”