"No, Dad, I am not putting him on the phone so you can threaten him. Aaron is a nice guy, and he's been nothing but kind to me," Rachael pulled her ear away as the volume of squawking coming out of her phone increased.
She looked at me and shrugged while waiting out her father's tirade.
"Google the weather for Gaylord, Michigan, Dad, then tell me what we should have done," she added in a voice that challenged her father, "Mom knows his name and he's enrolled at NMU."
She looked up at me and rolled her eyes as the bombast rushed on.
"Yes, I will tell him that, but no, I will not do that to him."
She set the phone down and shook her head.
"My father is a little more protective of me than he needs to be. He wants me to tell you that he's a retired Marine Corps drill sergeant who's skilled in all forms of hand to hand combat and small arms fire," she shook her head, "he also instructed me in how to disable you until the police arrive if you get 'frisky'."
This began simply. We connected through a ride share program on the Northern Michigan University student website. Her home was in Plymouth, MI while mine was a little further down I-275 in Trenton. Our trip home for Christmas had gone well enough. We agreed to split the cost of gas, and I had pleasant companionship for my eight hour drive down state.
Why did I choose a college eight hours from my home at the frigid edge of Lake Superior? At first glance it might seem that I like all four of Michigan's seasons which are almost winter, winter, still winter and road construction, but I did have some compelling reasons. The first reason is because I see ghosts. They're everywhere and they like talking to me. For some reason, perhaps because most people remember their college days fondly, ghosts are thick around older colleges. The University of Michigan and Michigan State University teemed with them when I visited. NMU did not. Perhaps it's too far away from where people build their lives and die. Who knows? The second reason was they offered me a scholarship. The third reason is because it is so beautiful up here on the wild shores of Lake Superior. You haven't lived until you've seen a snow squall looking like a solid wall sweep in off the lake, or experienced the crush and roar of ice out in the spring, or the sheer power of a brisk north wind pushing a wall ten foot high of broken ice up onto the beach.
Rachael, my lovely companion, turned out to be a vivacious woman who wore her red hair in a pony tail pulled through the back of her Detroit Tigers baseball cap. She was on the tall and slender side with expressive hands that waved about as she talked. I was captivated by her long before we reached the Mackinac bridge on our first trip south. I couldn't for the life of me shake the idea that I had seen her before, but on a campus like NMU the student body was small enough that I could have seen her numerous times without it registering in my consciousness.
She seemed wiser than me in some ways seeing more than I did or at least understanding more of what she saw. Guys can feel threatened by that, but I found her fascinating. Besides, my Dad advised me long ago to marry a woman smarter than I was. It made for smarter kids less inclined to forget you in your old age.
Despite my aversion for sorority girls who I was invisible to because I lacked rich parents or a fraternity affiliation, I liked her. Although I didn't understand why a woman that beautiful would be attracted to me. Forty-nine percent of me wondered why a woman so out of my league would show me any attention at all, but fifty-one percent of me basking in the warm glow of her personality didn't care.
When she asked if I had a girl friend, I explained that I was an accounting nerd with little time or money for socializing. When I asked her about any boyfriends she explained that she was far too lanky and plain to attract one. She looked like a keeper to me and I told her so. She smiled and touched me a lot more after that. We had a long discussion about what we found attractive in the opposite sex among other things and it was a quick trip down state as a result.
When I dropped her off in Plymouth on our Christmas trip, I would have gladly accepted a kiss from her, but got a peck on my cheek instead. She blossomed like a flower on our trip back turning into a radiantly beautiful woman. I wasn't sure if my attitude had changed or if she had changed. She looked prettier to me, but that could have been make up. Perhaps we both had changed. All I know is that her kiss thrilled me when I dropped her off at her dorm.
We ran into each other on a campus where the health sciences building was far from the business classrooms. Rachael didn't think it was strange at all claiming kindred spirits are drawn to each other. First we studied together then we began eating lunch together and I realized halfway through a chopped egg sandwich on a winter afternoon that she made me happy and loneliness was no longer my constant companion.
In February at winter break, we climbed into my trusty Jetta once again driving south from the snow drifted shores of Lake Superior into the late winter of southern Michigan. One week later on February 13
th
we headed north again.
Our trip back to NMU was supposed to be in a window of clear weather before a storm slammed into the upper Midwest. Wet snow began pelting us through 30 degree air as we crossed the Zilwaukee bridge over the Saginaw river. By Bay City, we were creeping along I-75 in white out conditions at twenty-five miles per hour on an icy expressway rubbernecking at the spun out cars and trucks along with everyone else.
Things looked dismal as darkness set in and we weren't even near the bridge across the straits to upper Michigan.
"Did you hear that, Scott?" Rachael asked pointing at the radio, "the state police have shut down I-75 at the Mackinac bridge."
"We're screwed. We're not making NMU today," I rubbed my forehead, "this happened two years ago. I ended up sleeping on a cot in the high school gym for two nights in Mackinaw City. The people were nice and fed us, but it was an uncomfortable two days. Gaylord is about ten miles up the road, see if you can find us lodging there. The closer we get to the bridge, the less lodging we'll find."
Rachel began pounding away on her phone. After a few minutes, she looked up.
"Wow, all the motels are filled."
My heart sank. Spending a night in a noisy gym was bad enough, spending a teeth-chattering night in a freezing car would be worse.
A few minutes later as I merged into one lane with a hundred other tired, cranky drivers to get around a bus that had spun out and hit a semi south of Gaylord, Rachael looked up at me illuminated in the soft glow of the instrument panel.
"We're saved. I got creative and found us lodging."
I listened as she made the call and read her credit card number.
"Take the next exit," she ordered.
I heard relief in her voice, but I remained tense as darkness surrounded us and all I saw was snow encrusting the windshield wipers and too much snow atop black ice on the pavement.
As we inched our way up the ramp, Rachael gave me directions from her phone.
"When we get to the light, turn right."
"All the cars are turning left," I offered.
"There's a ski lodge a mile down the road. They still have vacancies."
After thirty harrowing minutes of driving a mile in the dark sandwiched in between huge semis that slid sideways whenever they tapped their brakes, we pulled onto the grounds of the Elk Valley Ski Resort. The well lit ski lodge appeared like a light house beacon guiding us into port.
"This looks like an upscale place; can we afford to stay here?" I asked slumping in the seat exhausted from eight white knuckled hours of driving.
"I've checked for twenty miles around and this is the only place with rooms left," she looked out the window, "don't worry about the cost; my parents will cover it."
We parked and waded through shin deep snow to the front door.
"I have a reservation," Rachael said tossing her ID onto the counter.
The ghost hovering by the coffee station waved at me.
"I've been waiting hours for you," the ghost shouted making me flinch.
I know the vast majority people can neither see nor hear them, but sometimes when they raise a ruckus it amazes me that they go unnoticed especially since they are naked. They are stark, raving nekkid everywhere all of the time, and I am so tired of seeing them. Most folks die in their sixties and seventies which means their bodies look like a sack of potatoes. Sagging breasts, enormous bellies and thunder buns are not a pleasant sight. This one had a trim work hardened body.
"You're in the last room we have to rent," the young guy said looking up from his computer to check Rachael out.
"One room?" I mouthed at Rachael.
She held up a finger to signal that we would talk later. I read the envy on this guy's face. To him it looked like I was about to spend a night of passion with a beautiful woman, and I was. Even if I got no sex out of it, I could walk proud knowing the assumptions other men would make. I fell back on the solid business principle of 'fake it till you make it'.
With key in hand, the three of us, Rachael, myself, and the ghost walked past a couple shaking snow off their clothes at the door. Without a reservation they were not going to be happy with the news.
"We still need food," I mentioned after she had gotten off the phone with her father.
"Why don't we order a pizza?"
"I tried, they're not delivering tonight."
"I'm hungry," Rachael rubbed her stomach, "that salad at lunch isn't going to hold me for the night."
"We could eat in the snack bar. It could be a little pricey. Want to chance it?" I asked.
Rachael and I, with my ghost companion in tow, walked back down to the lobby then turned to the rear of the building where huge windows overlooked a brightly lit mogul hill and a couple of ski lifts. On one side of the huge room a massive stone fireplace kept the lounge area toasty for the ski bunnies who would normally be there. The ghost wandered off in that direction but kept a close eye on us. On the opposite wall was the snack bar where the grill man and the cashier looked unhappy that they had business this close to closing time.
We grabbed a booth. The place was clean, modern, and way too bright for my taste, but it beat not eating by a light year.
"That chili sounds pretty good," Rachel said looking at her menu.
"I would like to point out that we are sharing a room this evening," I replied with a straight face.
She reached out and slapped my arm.
"I'm going to order it as revenge for what you put me through in the car today, Mister Silent but Deadly. You made my eyes water a couple of times."
"I hoped that I had gotten away with it," I offered suppressing a grin.
"Well, you didn't, and now you'll suffer the wrath of Rachael."
When the waitress came, we both ordered chili.
"I feel like I've released terrible retribution upon myself," she replied with a frown.
"A single bowl won't get me going. If you feed me chili and hard boiled eggs for a couple of days though, look out."
I sipped my pop.
"Seriously, what are we going to do tonight? I'd volunteer to sleep on the floor, but it's drafty and there's no telling what has been ground into that carpeting."
"We're going to sleep together in the bed, silly. As drafty as that room is, I'm going to need you to keep me warm anyway," she hesitated, "my only problem is sleepwear. I didn't bring anything with me since it was supposed to take only eight hours at the most to get back to campus. I can sleep in my panties, but wearing an underwire bra all night would be torture."
"I'll lend you an undershirt. I brought along a change of underwear in case we did get stuck on the road."
"Thank you, that would work."
I finished my bowl first and excused myself to go to the rest room. My ghost who had been hovering in the lounge area followed me in.
When I finished at the urinal and turned to wash my hands he was nose to nose with me.
"You're a pathfinder," he stated.
"I'm a what?"
