Richard Laymon: Tread Softly

A whole week in the mountains with Scott. Kids or no kids, it would be wonderful. They would find time to be alone, if only at night. It'd be cold, and they'd snuggle together with the wind whapping the tent walls.

The blare of the doorbell shocked her awake. She shoved herself off the sofa and hurried to the door. She pulled it open.

Scott, standing under the porch light, smiled at her through the screen.

"Take your Watchtower and shove it," she said, and shut the door. When she opened it again, his face was pressed to the screen.

"I want your body," he whispered.

For an instant, face mashed out of shape, he looked like a stranger. Karen felt a tingle of fright. Then he stepped back and was Scott again, handsome and smiling. "Ready for action?" he asked.

"Yep." As she pushed open the screen door, she leaned out and glimpsed his car in the driveway. The headlights were on. The car's interior was dark. "The kids there?" she asked.

"Just barely. It was murder getting Julie out of bed. Benny was raring to go. I'm not sure he even slept last night. Then he decided he couldn't live without his binoculars and we couldn't find the damn things."

"Did you?"

"We did. But it screwed up our departure time."

"You're forgiven."

"Thanks," he said. He took Karen into his arms. He smelled of coffee and after-shave. With his mouth pushing gently against hers, she felt so comfortable that she thought she might doze off. Until his hands went under her shirt. She was wide awake as they moved up her back and under her armpits and closed gently over her breasts. They circled. They caressed. Her nipples stiffened under their touch.

"Think I'll send the kids home," he muttered.

"Mmm. I've missed you."

He kissed her again, hugging her tightly. "We'd better get it in motion. You all packed and ready?"

"All set."

She bent to pick up her backpack. "Allow me," Scott said. As he lifted it, Karen hurried to the coffee table. She grabbed her handbag and floppy felt hat, and followed him out the door.

The morning air wrapped around her bare arms and legs, seeped like chilly water through her shirt. Shivering, she waved at the dim face peering out through the backseat window. In the blue-gray light, she couldn't tell whether it belonged to Julie or Benny.

"You can get in," Scott said.

She shrugged, preferring to wait rather than enter the car without him. They went to the trunk. She stood with her shoulders hunched, arms folded across her chest, legs pressed together, jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.

Scott smiled back at her as he unlocked the trunk. "The heater's on."

"The fresh air feels good."

He laughed, and placed her backpack on top of the others. Then he swung the lid shut. "Forget anything?"

"Probably."

He leaned back against the trunk, looking relaxed and warm. Of course, he was wearing long pants and a flannel shirt. "Sunglasses?" he asked.

"Got 'em."

"Jacket?"

"In my pack. Wish I had it on."

"Let's go."

Karen headed for the passenger door, taking her time, waiting until Scott was in the driver's seat before she opened the door. She ducked inside and smiled over the back of her seat. "Morning," she said.

"Hiya, hiya," Benny said, winking one eye in time with the words. He raised a closed hand to his mouth as if holding a microphone. "And a good good morning to you and thanks for tuning in. Have we got a show for you!"

"Can it, Bonzo," Julie said. She gave Karen a quick, tight-lipped smile and turned her face toward the window.

Karen sat down. She pulled her door shut. The heater blew against her legs. She sighed and settled back, enjoying the warmth as Scott backed out of the driveway.

"All right if I drive?" Nick asked.

His father shoved the station wagon's tailgate into place. "Can you keep it under sixty?" "If you don't care when we get there."

"Well, our ETA's two-thirty. I think we can make it without breaking any speed records. You start getting tired, though, let me know."

"Right."

They climbed into the car. Nick started the engine.

His father twisted around. "Any last-minute pit stops?"

"Gross," Heather said from the backseat.

"Vile," said Rose.

"I think we're all set," Mom told him.

"Sunglasses? Hats? Tampax?"

"Dad! " the twins blurted in unison.

"Arnold!"

"High altitudes," he said, keeping a straight face. "Bleeding occurs."

''Nosebleeds," Rose said.

Heather giggled.

"Whatever," Dad said. "Can't be too careful. 'Be Prepared,' right, Nick?"

"I've got mine."

His father burst out laughing, and slapped his knee.

"I hope you fellows get it out of your systems before we meet the O'Tooles."

"Scott's no prude." He glanced at Nick. "San Diego Freeway. Runs right into 99 just the other side of the Grapevine."

Nick pulled away from the curb.

"Everybody buckled up?"

Near the corner, Nick flipped on the turn signal though no other cars were in sight. With his father beside him, he planned to drive by the book. He slowed almost to a stop before making the turn.

"What's his girlfriend's name?" Mom asked.

"Sharon? Karen. Karen something. He ran into her at a Sav-On."

"A checkout girl?"

"No, no, she was in line with him. I think he said she's a teacher."

"Oh, yuck," Rose said.

"What does she look like?"

"A real bow-wow. Floppy ears, hair on her face, a wet nose. Nice tail, though."

"What do you know about her?" Mom asked.

"Not much. You know Scott. Keeps his cards close to the vest."

"I hope she plays bridge. June was so fantastic."

"Don't start on her."

"Well, she was."

"I don't think we want to discuss that person in front of the girls."

"I don't know why you're so angry. She didn't run out on you."

"My best friend. Same difference. Now I think it would be wise to drop the subject. You have a green arrow," he told Nick.

Nick made the left-hand turn and headed down the freeway on-ramp, embarrassed that he'd let his mind drift away from the driving. In the past, he'd heard a few references to the O'Tooles' break-up, but never anything so close to an argument. He was intrigued. It was none of his business though. Driving was his business, and he'd better pay attention or his father would take over.

Nick liked to drive. He wished they were taking the Mustang instead of this clunker, but it would've been a tight squeeze with all of them plus five backpacks. Besides, Dad wouldn't want to leave it sitting out in the middle of nowhere for a week. Last year, up at Yosemite, someone had broken a window of the station wagon and had a party inside. They'd come back to find beer cans and a pair of torn, pink panties on the floor.

The break-in had frightened Nick, and he felt uneasy thinking about it now. It was bad enough that some creeps had fooled around in the car, but what if you ran into them on an isolated trail? What if they stumbled onto your camp?

Nothing like that had ever happened to them, but it could. Nick was glad that the O'Tooles were coming along this year. Like Dad, Scott O'Toole was a big man. If any trouble came up, they'd be able to handle it.

With a feeling of relief, he checked the side mirror, signaled, and slipped into the right-hand lane. He sped up the overpass. Before it curved over the Santa Monica Freeway, he eased off the accelerator. He picked up speed again on the way down, signaled a left, and drifted across three deserted lanes of the San Diego Freeway.

His father leaned across the seat to check the speedometer. The needle hovered between 55 and 60 miles per hour. With a nod of approval, he settled back. "You get tired, let me know."

Benny leaned forward. "Hey, Karen?" he said to the back of her head. She turned in her seat and looked around at him. Her face, so near to his, made him feel funny — excited and warm and a little embarrassed. He stared at her, forgetting what he'd planned to say.