On The Island

Tuesday, December 19 Who are those people skiing behind her? Are they the ones who have attempted to kill her? Her thoughts were restless, swirling almost more than the snow around her was. Head down, she skied with all her might, pressing onward along the cross-country trail, higher up and farther back into the Wyoming mountains. With each ski stride, the snow seemed to get deeper. She glanced behind her, then doubled her efforts, digging the ski poles in deep with each pump of her arms. Her biceps burned. She knew the cabin must be close. It was time to start looking for the landmarks where she would need to leave the old Nordic trail. She had been relying on the diamond-shaped turquoise ski trail markers to stay on the main trail and felt extreme anxiety at the thought of veering off. What if she mixed up the landmarks and got lost? The thought terrified her. The wind suddenly picked up, driving the snow, sideways and creating a near-whiteout. She could barely make out the trees around her. She forced down her panic and huddled behind some trees, bent over, breathing through her balaclava. Right then, there was a sudden lull in the storm. She looked further up the hill. There they were – the two giant boulder landmarks she had been searching for. They stood like sentinels about four hundred yards above her on the hill. She knew with certainty that these were the right landmarks. Skiing with renewed energy, she headed for them. The wind picked up again, but she was unfazed. She lowered her head and skied ahead through the snow gusts. As she passed between the giant granite boulders, she looked over her shoulder. Already her ski tracks were completely wiped out by the blizzard. Well, at least there’s something good about this storm, she thought with a small momentary sense of relief. The small area of skin on her face not covered by hat, goggles and balaclava stung with tiny needles of ice. She skied faster. She crossed a snow-covered bridge and moved toward the cabin that she knew was nestled in the boulders and trees ahead and out of sight. She was on The Island. Three months ago Wednesday, September 20 Malory Flemmings stepped out of her apartment’s front door and promptly dropped her keys. As she bent down to pick them up, her neighbor’s cat, who looked like he was wearing a tuxedo with his black-and-white fur, trotted over and rubbed against her legs. She petted and handed him the treat she kept in her pocket. “It looks like we're going to have another perfect Southern California day, Tuxie,” she said to the cat. “It’s good to be back here. I just hope that I can keep up with this new job. Oh well, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’, right Tuxie-Cat?” Malory reveled in the fact that it was well before sunrise and the temperature outside her Fullerton, California, apartment was sixty-five degrees. She balanced her keys, travel coffee mug and leather briefcase, while she adjusted her purse and dress bag on her shoulder and headed for the elevator. It took her down one floor to the street-level parking garage. She had one of the sought after apartment units that stepped out to the swimming pool and hot tubs. The pool was only ten-or-so yards from her apartment, separated by only a low planter filled with semi-tropical plants such as Bird-Of-Paradise, ferns and colorful ice-plants. Malory couldn’t believe her luck when she had signed a year’s lease for this brand-new apartment complex that was as safe as it was posh. Getting the apartment was one thing, but even being able to complete the application was another phenomenon. The only reason she could even think about the possibility of living here was that she had been able to land the incredible job as an accountant at Ironsmith Investing Enterprises. Owned by C.E.O. and President Rex Ironsmith, I.I.E. was on the fast track to becoming a Fortune 500 company. As she gracefully slid her six-foot frame into her brand-new Audi, she was again filled with an overwhelming incredulity that she now had the means to afford the things that until just two weeks ago had been mere dreams and aspirations. At age of thirty-two she knew that she had been able to jump ahead by at least ten years in terms of her career goals. If Shaun could see her now, even he would have to admit he was impressed, she thought with a satisfied smile. As she waited for the iron gate to raise at the exit of the parking garage, Malory pulled down her car visor and gave herself a cursory check in the mirror. Her reflection showed hazel-green eyes in a heart-shaped face with long, curly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Time to pick up the car-pool mates and carpe diem.” Malory gave herself the same little pep talk she gave herself every morning. Beginning the day at 5:30 a.m. with a breakfast of cheesy eggs and plenty of coffee she felt physically prepared. She now prepared mentally to essentially begin her workday with co-workers that she car-pooled with. She was happy to have been teamed up with two co-workers from her in-house accounting division at I.I.E. In the two weeks she had been employed there, she had discovered that in addition to her salary being lucrative, the perks and benefits were beyond great. Not only did Malory need this career promotion to cover her new expenses, but she was also finding that this work environment and professional atmosphere was like a healing ointment for her hurting soul. +++ “Good morning L.A.!” The D.J. crowed to his audience. Malory and her car-pool mates, Ellen and Dave, smiled and chorused along with the D.J.’s tag line, “It’s a beautiful, sunny day in SoCal!” Malory glanced in the rear-view mirror and switched lanes. She turned the radio down as it began to play the Rhythm and Blues music that the three had discovered was a shared preference. “Malory, now that you’ve been with our firm for a couple of weeks, how do you feel you’re settling in?” Ellen asked. Ellen Johnson was a fifty-eight-year-old wife, mother of two adult children, grandmother of four, and was on the same in-house accounting team as Malory. She had been a C.P.A. for thirty years total, having taken a hiatus while her children were young. Of the three, she was the consummate professional. “Oh, I can’t tell you how much I love this job,” Malory said. “It’s so much more than a job. It’s a whole new lifestyle for me. I feel like it’s the perfect blending of every element in my life.” “That’s well put.” Dave Whitcomb spoke up from the back seat. “I think that’s probably how most of us at I.I.E. feel. I know that’s by design, too, as far as Mr. Ironsmith and his sidekick, Ted Renault, are concerned. They believe they get more work out of their employees this way.” Dave was forty-five and married, with two older elementary-aged boys. He had been a C.P.A. for eighteen years. “Well, I for one love their philosophy.” Ellen, who was riding shotgun, pulled the visor down and looked in the little mirror. “I love how I have so much more time with my family since the firm gives me networking credit for the activities that I’d be doing with them anyway.” “Don’t forget the rewards for networking credits,” Dave interjected. “Malory, I'm sure you were informed that for every two-hundred volunteer hours we get cash bonuses or trip prizes.” Malory nodded and smiled as she braked for the car in front of her. “I know, like my upcoming beach volleyball tournament and my volunteer assistant coaching for my girls’ high school ice hockey team. I’m excited.” The team she coached for was at a private school in Bel Air, a relatively short distance from the offices of I.I.E. Normally, she had coaching duties on Monday and Wednesday mornings, but she wasn’t needed today, so she had happily let Ellen and Dave know that she could drive.