The Method Read online

  Trevor held the smoke in for a moment. Exhaling, he said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Ha!” Frank said. It wasn’t a laugh, merely an acknowledgment that a joke had been made. Never that laugh like he used to, like she’d loved. “Seriously, though.”

  Despite the buildup he'd provided, Trevor seemed hesitant to tell them. Working his jaw like a man chewing on a secret, he raised his sunglasses to conceal a sudden look of anxiety, or fright. “You know what? Forget I said anything. It's not all that important.”

  It seemed unlike Trevor to overshare and then take it back, as if he worried about what she and Frank might think of him. That haunted look in his eyes concerned Linda, especially when she knew the weed should have mellowed him out.

  “Go on and tell ‘em, hon!” Dillon called down. They all looked up to see her on her hands and knees at the top of the climb. Her slim, muscular body silhouetted by the sun, she waved down cheerily.

  “You guys sure you want to know?”

  “It's The Method!” Dillon shouted. “Now come on, you gumbies! Catch up!” she said before laughing and disappearing behind the rock.

  “‘Gumbies,’” Trevor sputtered, exhaling a lungful of smoke. “Ch’yeah, right.”

  “What’s The Method?” Frank asked. More than just a little curious, Linda noted. “Is that like meditation? Yoga, or something?”

  Trevor shook his head and frowned. “Nah. It’s, uh . . . it’s more like unconventional therapy. Cutting edge stuff.” He uttered a seemingly anxious chuckle, and his expression darkened. “Wait, you two aren’t . . . ?”

  “No,” both Frank and Linda said, all too quickly.

  “We’re good,” Frank added. “I’m just curious.”

  “He’s just curious,” Linda agreed, not about to open up about their relationship troubles on the side of a rock with Trevor, Dillon, and baby Clay.

  “Good. You two were always my rock. If you guys broke up . . . shit, there’s no hope for any of us, is there, Dee?”

  “Nope!” Dillon shouted down from the edge.

  Linda had never thought something Trevor would say could move her close to tears, but here she was, fighting them back. She felt Frank looking at her and knew that if he caught her eye, she wouldn’t be able to stop them from falling.

  “Friends of ours, though,” Frank said. “Couple friends. They’re having trouble. Can’t seem to stop fighting. Almost like they enjoy it, but they’re pretty sure neither of them does. Like it’s a full-contact sport.”

  Trevor nodded thoughtfully, holding the smoke in his lungs. “Well, I’ll give you the info. You can pass it along to them.” He looked from Frank to Linda and raised his eyebrows. “Coolio?”

  Linda managed a look in Frank’s general direction. He nodded.

  “Coolio,” she said.

  Linda came back from squatting in the bushes to where the rest of them sat on the top of the rock, eating the food they’d packed, looking out over a huge expanse of brilliant green treetops of the Enchantments. She’d had to pee a lot more frequently since the surgery. Her frequent urination since the Year From Hell was one of the reasons Frank had thought coming out here wasn’t such a good idea.

  Dillon passed a tall boy from the cooler to Trevor. He finished his mouthful of sausage, blew foam off the rim, and drank greedily before handing it back. Dillon took a sip too, mindful of baby Clay’s fuzzy little head as he breastfed, and burped.

  Everyone chuckled. The atmosphere was amiable, the strange moment they'd had on the cliff face apparently behind them. Linda sat on a rock a little ways behind him, still distant. Frank smiled back at her, and she gave him a halfhearted smile in return. He wondered if she was still angry. When he'd first met Linda he'd been instantly attracted to her, but it had been her playful, spitfire attitude that had won him over. It seemed like since her recovery that attitude was a constant, and Lin was quick to anger all the time. He felt like she was always setting little situational and conversational booby traps for him, and he would only discover them once they'd already sprung on him.

  Frank noticed the gash on Trevor’s forearm under a tattoo of a rose dripping blood. “That’s a nasty cut. All those bruises. What happened to you two?”

  Trevor gave Dillon a startled look. He swallowed a mouthful of food. “Motorcycle accident.”

  Dillon smiled thinly. “You should see the bruise on my thigh. Cracked a few ribs too.”

  “You should be more careful now that you’ve got Clay to think about,” Linda said. “I'm surprised you brought him along, actually.”

  Frank agreed but never would have said questioned someone's parenting aloud.

  “Dee won't let him out of her sight,” Trevor said, smiling at his wife and child. “Not since . . ." Again his expression darkened. “. . . not since the accident.”

  “Trev,” Dillon said, as if to draw him out of his mood.

  “That’s why we tried The Method,” Trevor said. “For my little Clayman.” He took the baby’s chubby foot between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a little jiggle. “And it worked. One hundred and ten percent.”

  “Unconventional therapy,” Frank said.

  Trevor smiled, all teeth. “Exactly.”

  “How does it work?”

  “It’s a weekend thing,” Dillon said. “A private lodge in the woods. They only take two couples at a time so they can give you personal treatment.”

  Baby Clay clawed at her breast with a tiny hand, and she smiled down at him. In an unintended glimpse, Frank noticed three oblong bruises below her clavicle that looked almost like fingermarks.

  “But what is it, exactly?” Linda wondered. “It’s not religious, is it?”

  Trevor and Dillon shared a knowing smile. “It’s definitely not religious,” he said.

  “But by the end of the weekend,” Dillon added, “it’s like a spiritual awakening, you guys. It’s . . .” She nodded ecstatically. “. . . pretty intense.”

  “Shit, you two know how clouded I used to be.” Trevor chewed while he spoke. “How . . . just fucking out of touch I was. After that weekend, after we met the doctor . . .” Again they shared a knowing look. “I see what matters with focal-point clarity. We see it. Everything makes sense now.” He chuckled, looking at everyone. “It probably sounds crazy to you guys.”

  “All that matters is that it makes sense to you,” Linda said, smiling back at Frank.

  He nodded, although he wasn’t sure he agreed, for some reason feeling like he was being sold on a time-share. After no contact for several years—neither Trevor nor Dillon had wished Lin as little as a "get well" when she'd been in the hospital—Dillon had emailed out of the blue asking if they'd be interested in a weekend climbing expedition. Frank had agreed reluctantly, as it seemed Linda had wanted to prove herself physically fit again. Linda's active lifestyle had been one of the first things that had attracted him about her. But hearing these two go on about this "method," it sounded like Trevor and Dillon might have gotten themselves into a cult.

  “It’s not a cult, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Trevor said.

  “I wasn’t thinking that,” Frank lied.

  “It’s just . . . it’s a very intense experience, isn’t it, Dee?”

  Baby Clay laughed at her breast. “Clay seems to think so!” she said, and they all laughed with her.

  “Is it expensive?” Linda asked.

  Gotta be cheaper than a divorce, Frank thought. And less nasty.

  “Well, it ain’t cheap,” Trevor answered. “But how can you put a price on love, right?”

  Dillon leaned into his shoulder. “Such a big softie.”

  Trevor kissed the top of her head. “That’s not what you said last night, babe.” He laughed and everyone joined him, even Frank, who didn’t find it particularly funny.

  “But seriously, it’s the best decision we ever made, right, Dee?”

  She smiled up at him from under his chin, and baby Clay gurgled at her breast. />
  Trevor drew an arm around them, his perfect family.

  Frank had never thought he’d see the day, but he had to admit it did seem like their relationship had gone through a massive transformation, cult or not. It had matured. Whether that was more down to the arrival of their new family member or a single weekend’s getaway at therapy camp, he couldn’t say.

  But if Linda was willing to try it, he supposed this “method” thing couldn’t hurt.

  3 — Authority

  Silence drew out between Frank and Linda as he drove the wide mountain road, looking for the turnoff. Linda wondered if it was as uncomfortable for him as it was for her, but she wasn’t about to ask. Instead, she pretended to study directions on her cell phone.

  In the week following their climb with Trevor and Dillon, when Frank had blurted out that he wanted to try this “method” and she’d agreed to it, they hadn’t argued much. Home life had been civil for the most part. Part of her suspected Frank’s reason for suggesting the trip was so he couldn’t be seen as the bad guy when their marriage did eventually—inevitably—disintegrate.

  He was trying though, and she couldn’t fault him for it. If she didn’t at least meet him halfway, she’d ultimately be responsible for the death of their marriage, or be burdened by the weight of that guilt, even if she wasn’t.

  She’d decided not to ruin his gesture by questioning his motives. She let him book the trip, let him put the hefty down payment on their joint credit account and provide Lone Loon Lodge with the make, model and plate number of their hatchback and the names of their next of kin in case of emergency. They’d both undergone physicals and had their physicians fax the results to Lone Loon Lodge, c/o Dr. Kaspar.

  The little blue arrow on her GPS blinked for them to take a right at the next turn, and she instructed Frank to do so.

  “Thanks.” He turned to her briefly. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How ‘bout some music, huh?”

  He thumbed on the radio. Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” came on in the middle of the chorus, “never break the chain . . .”

  “Please, God, no,” Linda said, rolling her eyes in despair.

  “I like that song.” He shrugged and changed the station.

  A pleasant melody for strings filled the silence. She recognized it but couldn’t name either song or composer. She allowed the music to wash over her, soothing her nerves. What was there to be nervous about?

  Nine years, that’s what, she thought. This weekend will make us or break us, and honestly, I’m not even sure which I’d prefer.

  If the thought hadn’t already spoiled her moment of peace, the police car up ahead with bubble lights flashing did the trick.

  Both Frank and Linda glanced at the speedometer.

  “What’s the speed limit here?” he said.

  “Fifty-five, last I saw.”

  “Me too.” He maintained his speed. They passed the cop at two below the limit.

  Frank let out a sigh of relief, cut short when the siren blipped behind them. He bristled, frowning at the rearview mirror. “Shit. What does he want?”

  “Better pull over.”

  “What, you think I’m gonna lead him on a high-speed chase?” He flicked on the blinker with a shaky hand and slowed the car.

  “Stay calm, okay? It’s probably something minor.”

  Frank gave her a dubious look. “Lin, can you do me a favor?”

  “What?” She didn’t mean for it to sound aggressive, but it did.

  “I’ve got weed in my pocket.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Frank! I thought you were gonna take this weekend seriously!”

  “I am taking it seriously. It’s a just in case. Can you just . . . can you just hide it or get rid of it?”

  Linda shook her head in aggravation as Frank began to pull over into the soft shoulder. The hatchback came to a stop, and she gave a faux-casual look out the back window, digging into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “That’s not it,” he teased.

  “Do really think now is the time to make jokes like that? Where did you even get this stuff, anyway?”

  “Trevor hit me up. He said it’s good for pain.”

  “What pain?”

  “My knees were shitty after the climb.” He grinned and zipped down the window. “It’s a joint for my joints.”

  “Jesus,” she said again, watching the officer leave his patrol car and approach. He was huge in his khaki sheriff’s department uniform, even in the side mirror. She slipped the bag of weed out of Frank’s pocket and tucked it under the seat, just hoping Frank wouldn’t say something stupid and give the cop cause to search the car.

  “Morning, Officer.” Frank gave the trooper an overly cheery wave. He’d always acted weird with police, more so when he had something to hide. The quirk wouldn’t have been so odd if his dad wasn’t a retired officer.

  “Sir, please keep your hands on the wheel.”

  The cop leaned down toward the car. Frank jerked his head back at the size of him in the window.

  “Is there a problem?” Linda leaned down to get a look at the man. “We were driving the speed limit.”

  “No problem, ma’am,” the cop said. With his mustache and hair slicked to the side, he reminded Linda of Frank’s dad. “Unless you’re looking for trouble.”

  “Why would we be looking for trouble, Officer?” Frank asked.

  The cop tapped the shield on his lapel. “Sheriff, not Officer.”

  “Sorry . . .”

  “Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again.”

  The sun glimmered off his sunglasses. It troubled her, not being able to see where he was looking. Could he see the weed sticking out from under the seat?

  “You passed by my patrol car back there and didn’t slow down. Do you realize that’s against the law?”

  “I . . .” Frank looked confused. “But you were just parked there.”

  “When an emergency vehicle is parked with its lights flashing,” the sheriff’s voice rose in aggravation, “it’s the law to slow down. Now since this is only a two-lane highway, I can’t expect . . .”

  “Off . . .” He caught himself. “Sheriff, with all due respect, that’s a bullshit law.”

  Linda shot a look at the back of her husband’s head. She’d always known about his problems with authority, with male authority figures in particular, but she hadn’t expected him to be so reckless about it.

  “Frank,” she pleaded.

  “Excuse me?” the sheriff said.

  Frank turned to her with anger in his eyes, and something else she couldn’t quite place. He looked like a little boy who’d been picked on, unable to take any more abuse. “No, Linda, it’s a bullshit law. He didn’t have anyone pulled over, there was no emergency, as far as I could see . . .”

  Over Frank’s shoulder, she saw the sheriff’s jaw tighten and his chest expand as his thick fingers gripped the windowsill. He made himself larger, more imposing. He was losing his patience, readying to strike back.

  “Sir, step out of the car please.”

  “Officer, this is . . .”

  “Sheriff.” The cop rested a hand on the .9mm Glock in his belt holster. “And I am not gonna ask you again.”

  Frank rolled his eyes at his own reflection in the rearview and opened the door.

  The cop stepped aside to give him room, boots clomping. Frank threw a wary glance at Linda as he climbed out. From then on, she could only see their torsos.

  “Put your hands on the car, please.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Frank said. His hands thumped down on the roof, and the cop began to pat him down. “I didn’t do anything. I know my rights. My father’s a retired cop.”

  “Sir, I would advise you to stop talking.”

  As the sheriff’s hands neared Frank’s crotch, Frank danced away from him, pressing his groin against the window. “Ow! What the hell?”

  The cop’s hand returned to his sidearm. “Don’t move.”

  Linda wil
led Frank to listen. To his credit, he immediately put his hands back on the car. “You just jabbed me with something.”

  “I didn’t jab you with anything.”

  “I felt it, man,” Frank said. “I’m not making it up.”

  “Sir, I’m frisking you. It’s called frisking. Now don’t move again, or I’ll be forced to take you into custody.”

  “All right,” Frank said. “Okay.”

  The sheriff pushed Frank’s legs apart with a knee and resumed patting him down. “Sir, what is this?”

  “I can’t tell what you’re touching.”

  The cop reached into Frank’s front pocket, where he’d kept the weed. Linda hoped the baggie hadn’t opened and the cop wasn’t feeling bits of dried leaf with the tips of his fingers at the bottom of the pocket.

  The sheriff removed his hand, holding up Frank’s pocketknife.

  “What have we got here? A concealed weapon?”

  “That doesn’t meet the requirements . . .”

  “Shut up!”

  He pulled out the knife blade with a long thumbnail, its edge glinting in the sun as he examined it. Linda heard him snap it closed. “All right, looks like you’re clean.” He sounded disappointed. Stepping back, he handed Frank the knife. “You’re free to go.”

  Frank took it and opened the door. He got in with a sulk, slipped the knife into his pocket, and placed his hands on the wheel at ten and two.

  The sheriff leaned down with a grim smile. “Next time you see an emergency vehicle with its lights flashing, what are you gonna do?”

  “Pull over,” Frank said through gritted teeth.

  The cop leaned in further, cocking an ear. “What’s that? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Pull over, sir,” Frank spat.

  “It’s not just the right thing to do, it’s also the law.” The cop patted the roof, causing Frank to startle. “You have a nice day now.”

  “You too, sir,” Linda called out as the cop rose and stepped back from the car.

  Frank said nothing, looking dead ahead as he zipped up the window.

  Linda waited for the sheriff to return to his patrol car and whispered, “What the fuck was that, Frank?”