Preemption Road

If you listened to the stories, and believed in that sort of thing, all you needed to do to erase the past was to take a drive down Preemption Road. From what he understood, it was, legend aside, quite a nice drive. Preemption Road led from Main Street all the way to the interstate on the other side of the county, winding its way over and through the hills and along the river as it went. To him, though, that pretty much described every road in Vermont. What was so special about this one in particular was beyond his comprehension.

Maybe it was the name: Preemption. As if somehow, just by driving its course, the road itself would preempt whatever decision, event, pain or problem you sought to forget. It was a silly notion, indeed, if not intriguing. He'd heard the stories since childhood but never felt compelled to investigate their veracity any further. At least he hadn't until that certain Saturday night.

Grady Tillman was supposed to have been skiing but an upset stomach had cut his afternoon short after only his second run. Thankfully he had driven alone so he only had to face a few derisive taunts from his buddies before leaving. Though he wasn't in that much pain, it was sufficient enough to prevent him from skiing. It paled in comparison to the pain he felt when he pulled into his driveway.

Grady and his wife Shelly lived just off Route 4 near Killington, and their driveway wound up the hill to an oversized log home tucked in the middle of a clearing of the surrounding woods. From their deck they could see the top of the snow-capped mountain even on overcast days. He loved it there. As he pulled up to the house, however, he couldn't help but notice the strange vehicle parked in front of the garage where his Jeep usually resided. Cautiously, he entered the house and immediately wished he hadn't.

They clearly hadn't heard him enter. Grady's eyes welled with tears the moment he heard the cries of passion coming from her lips. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to walk out the door and never return, but somewhere deep inside he needed to know who was fucking his wife. Slowly, he ascended the stairs and found himself standing outside his own bedroom. There he watched briefly as the stranger pounded himself into Grady's wife from behind over and over again. When he couldn't take any more, he spoke.

"You have got exactly ten seconds to get your dick out of my wife and out of my house."

Shelly screamed, and her lover fell over the side of the bed. Frantically she tried to explain, as if there was any explanation for her behavior. Grady ignored her and stared at the man he didn't recognize. "Nine. Eight. Seven," Grady counted.

The man never spoke a word. Instead he simply gathered his clothing as quickly as he could, ran past Grady, and out the door. Grady turned his gaze to Shelly, now sitting up in the bed trying to cover her adulterous body with a sheet. Tears streamed down her face as she began to plead.

"Grady, I'm sorry. I never meant," she began.

"I wish I never married you. I wish I never met you. I wish you didn't exist."

Grady didn't speak another word to Shelly. He really had no memory of what had happened next, other than to speculate that he turned, walked down the stairs and out the front door, got in his Jeep and drove. He had no concept of time other than the fact that the sun had begun to fade in the western sky. His world had been shattered in an instant, so he drove as if he could somehow drive far enough away to assuage his pain. He would have kept driving, too, had he not caught a glimpse of the street sign out of the corner or his eye.

The brakes screeched and the Jeep skidded slightly in the sand that covered the road. Grady put the vehicle in revers and backed up until the sign came into full view. "It's worth a shot, I suppose," he muttered as he put the Jeep in gear and turned down Preemption Road. "What have I got to lose?"

Grady drove for a while, taking in the scenery before the sky faded into darkness. It was every bit as beautiful as he'd been told. The road followed along a small river that flowed from the hills above, cascading over large rocks and fallen timber. It was soothing. It was too soothing. Grady's eyes grew heavy and it was only the grinding of the tires in the gravel that stirred him awake. He jerked the wheel and pulled the Jeep back onto the pavement from the shoulder and breathed rapidly.

"Dumb ass," he said aloud, chastising himself. Wide awake and focused now, Grady soon came upon an intersection that was simply labeled "crossroads." He thought little of it as he passed through, never noticing the flash of light behind him as he did so. After another few miles his eyes grew heavy again, and he resigned himself to turning around, heading home, and dealing with Shelly.

"Now what?" he asked himself as he pulled up the driveway. Gone was Shelly's Trailblazer and parked in its place was a Jeep Cherokee, the older style before Jeep ruined the brand with the new model. He didn't recognize it and his mind could only speculate as to what he'd encounter when he walked through the door.

Before he saw that Shelly's truck was gone, he'd expected to walk in to find her sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine in hand, smeared mascara on her face, and a mouth full of excuses. That's what he expected.

"There you are!" her voice called out as soon as he walked through the door. "I was getting worried about you!" The voice was not Shelly's.

Grady stood dumbfounded. The woman that came into the foyer from the kitchen was not Shelly. This woman was a good four inches taller than Shelly, and quite a bit more slender. She had long blonde hair and deep brown eyes, and stunned him with her beauty. She smiled all the way as she approached him and kissed him on the lips to welcome him home.

"I, what?" were the only words Grady could muster.

"You said you were only going to be gone for a little bit, but when it started getting dark I got worried. It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're home. I'm making that roasted chicken and potatoes you love," she called over her shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen. "Should be ready in about forty-five minutes or so. Do you want a beer or something?"

Grady shook his head and tried to comprehend what was happening. Unsteadily, he wandered into the family room and gazed at a wedding picture that was not Grady and Shelly. According to the party favor draped across the corner of the picture frame, the photo was from Grady and Jenny's wedding, the date of which was a full year before the date on which he had married Shelly.

"What the hell is going on?" he whispered as he lost his balance and collapsed on the couch. Jenny had come back in just as he fell.

"Grady! Are you ok?" she asked with concern. Gently, she placed her soft hands on his cheeks and gazed into his eyes. "Honey, you're pale and cold. Are you alright?"

"I, I don't know," he said, confused.

"Forget the beer. I'll get you some water. I'll be right back."

Grady looked around the room while she was gone. Everything was the same, but different. The furniture, the drapery, the photographs. All in the same places, but now different colors and patterns. Gone was any trace of his marriage with Shelly, replaced by images of Grady, Jenny, and a life with which he was completely unfamiliar. Suddenly his mind sharpened and filled with frightened illumination.

"Preemption Road," he mumbled.

"What about it?" Jenny asked as she brought him a glass of water. "Did you get in an accident? Honey, you're scaring me. What happened?"

Grady looked into the beautifully caring eyes staring back at him, and had no answer.

© J.J. Goodman 2014. All rights reserved.