Copyright © 2010 Jan Darrow. All rights reserved. 

It was Friday afternoon and my office was deserted. Nobody was buying real estate. I was on the internet reading the latest unemployment figures on MSNBC. The amount of foreclosures was staggering. As I shut my computer down I thought about the money I had made. I thought about the money I was going to lose. I decided to go for a drive; head north. I wanted to get out of town. It was after three when I got into my car. I stopped only once to buy a pack of cigarettes.

The November wind was blowing the last scraps of dried brown leaves across the road; the driving felt good. I made my way to US 23 and hugged Lake Huron’s shoreline. The city was behind me, and I didn’t look back. Maybe I wouldn’t come back for a day or two – there wasn’t anything in town to keep me. What started as a drizzle was turning to snow. There weren’t many people on the road and the driving relaxed me. I lit another cigarette and listened to some music. When I got to Tawas, I stopped and had dinner at Nicky’s, a 1960s type restaurant on the beach.

It was dark and lightly snowing after dinner; I decided to have a couple of drinks at the bar. The barmaid was deep in conversation with two younger guys that sat three seats down. They were up from Atlanta on their way to Mackinaw City to close down part of the Hilton for the winter. I was tuning out their conversation and lost myself in my rum and coke when an older man sat on the stool next to me. His eyes were dull, and you could see his scalp as his skimpy white hair didn’t cover much. He was looking straight into the mirror behind the rows of liquor bottles as he pulled out a cigarette.

He took a sideways glance at me and said, "Might as well smoke up while we can. Bastards are going to take that away from us soon enough."

"Probably for the best," I laughed. "Maybe I’ll quit then."

"You from around here?" he said inhaling deeply.

"No, downstate."

"Business?"

"No, just needed to get away. You live around here?" I said realizing the man was alone.

"Grew up here; went to school with Nick," he said looking at the neon sign above the bar. "He’s dead – about twenty years now."

We talked for awhile and I could tell he wasn’t much into national news. I asked him if he knew of a decent hotel close by and a smile came over his face.

"Good one just north. Up the beach a couple of miles," he said. "The Wabun."

The bartender brought me another drink and I sucked it down. When I got up to leave the old man was already standing at the door.

"Need a ride home?" I asked, feeling a little drunk.

We walked out the door. The snow was really flying.

"No, I just live down the way," the old man said, his raincoat blowing in the harsh wind.

By the time I opened my car door and looked up he was gone. I felt a little unsteady from the rum and sat for a minute with my door open. The cold air felt good on my face. I lit a cigarette. Finally, I pulled out of the small parking lot and headed north. Snow was really coming down and the driving was difficult. The rum didn’t help.

It didn’t take long and I was out of town. There weren’t many lights, and the road twisted again. The snow lightened up a little. The beach ran along the black pavement and I could see the white caps as the water hit the squalls.

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, I was off the road and into the sand. Flashing across my headlights was a woman wrapped in a long black coat on the beach. I was startled, and I jerked my steering wheel to the left just in time and got back on to the road. Shit! I slammed on my brakes and turned off the stereo. My hands were shaking.

The look on the woman’s face stayed with me. I backed up and scanned the beach. Snow was flying pretty good. There was no one. I backed up a little more and looked again. Still no one. I felt dizzy and tired. My heart was still pounding. I got back on to the road and found The Wabun.

A fair haired man of about thirty stood at the desk and checked me in. A warm fire was burning in a large stone fireplace. My head was spinning. When I finally got into my room, I lay down on the bed and drifted away.

It was a sound of screeching tires on wet pavement that woke me.

Morning light was coming through the windows. I got up and cracked open my door. The weather had changed. The wind stopped and the temperature was up. The snow was gone.

The room was cozy and clean; a step back in time, maybe 1940. I got dressed and walked outside. Fog was rolling in from the lake and getting thick. As I entered the lobby, a fire was still burning in the hearth. I walked over to it and put out my hands. Although it had warmed up outside, the air was damp and the fire felt good.

The dining room was painted a retro shade of green and was filled with tables covered in white linens, and the smell of bacon. It had floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the lake. It was a nice place and empty except for a young couple sitting by the door. The fog outside now was so dense that I could hardly see the water. I strained my eyes. I waited for a little while, but not having seen a waitress, I walked back outside and around to the beach. I was surprised to see the woman from the night before standing in the sand. Her long dark hair was pulled back and she stood with her coat pulled up around her neck.

"You scared the hell out of me last night," I said walking up to her.

She seemed deep in thought, like she was trying to make a decision.

"You were walking on the beach last night. I’m sure it was you," I said. "The car lights, you must have seen them. I stopped, but you were gone."

"Oh, that was you," she said looking like she had come to a decision.

"Yes, are you alright?"

"Of course," she said as though the question was absurd.

She was tall with angular features. The depth of her dark eyes matched the color of her hair. I was suddenly glad that I had come. She started moving along the beach and I had to walk very fast just to keep up.

"Do you live around here?" I asked.

"Next cottage," she said barely looking my way.

We came to some stone steps. "Well, I’m glad you’re o.k." I said as she walked up the steps and onto a small patch of grass leading into the woods. She said nothing in return.

I stood for a moment on the beach wishing I could have said more, and then walked back to the hotel. Once again I warmed my hands in front of the fire in the lobby, and then made my way into the green dining room. There was now a lone woman sitting at a small table by a side window. She was smoking a cigarette. I was glad there weren’t any smoking restrictions. I sat down and lit up one of my own.

"Been here long?"

The low raspy voice startled me. "No, got here last night," I said turning to look at the woman. She had wild gray hair and pale blue eyes. "How about you?"

"Been here since Tuesday," she yawned.

Just then a tall man with black hair and sallow skin brought a tray with eggs, toast, sausage and coffee.

"Comes with the room sir," he said setting the dishes down in front of me.

The food smelled good and I was hungry. I took my time eating, and when I was finished, bits of sun sparkled on the water. But as the light became brighter, my head started to ache. I made my way back to my room. Jesus, it was Saturday. I still didn’t have any real hurry to get home.

It was the wind that finally woke me. I dragged myself out of bed and looked out the small window. The fog was gone, but darkness was pressing in.

I decided to take a last walk on the beach before the daylight was gone. I headed north. I had just rounded the corner of the inlet when the woman from the night before appeared.

"Hello," I said raising my hand.

"I thought I would find you here," she said.

We met at a small stream pouring into the lake from the hills and the woods beyond.

"Will you come with me? There’s something you need to see," she said hesitantly.

"O.K., name’s Ed," I said holding out my hand. She did not return the gesture.

"I’m Grace," she said pausing for a minute. "Are you an American Indian?"

I stopped walking.

"Well I’m French Canadian, but I think there is a little American Indian mix in there as well, why?"

She said nothing and we walked for awhile.

Finally, we came upon an enormous rock sitting partly in the water. It was covered in moss, and spread across the sand like a tiny island that had come ashore.

"Does this mean anything to you Eddie?" she said as if he had been a childhood friend.

Only my closest friends called me Eddie. "No," I said a little puzzled.

"This is a Council Rock. Many Indian tribes came to this spot to ask for guidance. This is a holy place."

"Are you an Indian?" I asked thinking she was going to give me some history.

"No," she said abruptly.

The wind coming off the lake was howling in my ears. It was a hollow sound. Empty.

She looked toward me with a sense of calm and said, "Can you follow me?"

What was it with this woman? My sense about her had changed and I almost laughed at her vague strange conversation. Did she miss her medication today? Was someone looking for her?

The sky was plum as we walked west toward the road. The smell of smoke from a nearby campfire drifted through the cedars and spruce. Darkness was coming fast. I imagined we would get to the road, and I would take her by the arm back to the hotel. Someone at the desk would know about her. Know her crazy background.

I saw a pair of headlights as we emerged from the pines. The road was in sight and curved along the beach. On the south side was a clump of maples and scrub bushes. Grace stopped.

"Do you see Eddie?" she said.

About forty feet off the road was a tow-truck. I could see the light on top and the flat bed. We walked closer.

"Do you see?" she asked again.

Two police cars were pulled to the side of the road. There were lights flashing, but no sirens. A silver Jaguar was smashed into a large tree and hidden from the road.

"Bad accident," I said.

"Yes, it is," said Grace.

"Looks like my car."

Grace turned and faced my direction. "Eddie, it is your car."

My heart gave a stop. "No, mine’s at the hotel."

"No Eddie, there is no hotel. They tore it down twenty years ago."

"What are you trying to say?" I whispered.

"You’re dead Eddie."

"I’m not DEAD!" I shouted, as I ran as fast as I could toward the car. They had just hoisted it up and put it onto the flatbed. The men were getting into the cab of the truck.

"Hey," I shouted, "Hey, that’s my car!"

They didn’t hear me. I leaped up on to the back of the flatbed as the truck started moving and jumped into my car through a broken window.

As the truck pulled onto the road, I could see Grace talking to the police officers. What crazy thing was she telling them?

"I’m not dead!" I shouted out the window.

We drove north on US 23. A little further ahead we stopped for deer in the road. As I looked out the broken window into the fading light, I saw a sign at the end of a driveway. It read:

                                                                GRACE
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