Anyplace Else Read online

  Anyplace Else

  By Kim Fielding

  Grant Beaudoin should be thrilled to escape Minneapolis at Christmastime and grateful to lounge on a Hawaiian beach. Instead he is mired in self-pity and drowning in too much tequila. His twin is marrying the perfect man, while Grant is stuck in middle management with no love life in sight. A walk into the rain forest leads to a meeting with a doomed man who has a story about a holiday that predates Christmas. Grant comes to realize that difficult endings can lead to new beginnings—and perhaps a brighter future.

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  About the Author

  By Kim Fielding

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  Copyright

  GRANT BEAUDOIN leaned back in the lounge chair, watched the blue-green waves dance, felt the floral-scented breeze skim playfully over his bare torso and legs, and wished he were anyplace else. He mustered a weak smile when the cute waiter strolled over.

  “Another margarita, sir?”

  That would make three today. No, four. And it was barely midafternoon. “I probably shouldn’t,” Grant admitted.

  The waiter tucked his bamboo tray under one arm. “Tell you what. I got something special I’m gonna have Kane mix up for you. I guarantee it’ll make you feel happier.”

  “I should feel happy already. It’s December and I’m sitting on a tropical beach getting a mild sunburn instead of freezing my ass off in Minneapolis.”

  “Sometimes it takes more than good weather and pretty scenery to lighten the heart. How about that drink?”

  Grant shrugged, thinking it also took more than booze plus guava and pineapple juice—or whatever the overpriced special drink included—to lighten a heart. “Sure. Why not?” He’d leave the waiter a good tip for his efforts to cheer him. Of course, he’d have tipped well anyway because the kid was adorable and attentive and because, back in college, Grant had waited tables to pay the rent. No matter how gorgeous the setting, it was hard work.

  The waiter grinned before heading back to the bar. He navigated the beach well, although Grant wondered if he got tired of the sand. It was the sugary-fine kind that worked its way into pockets and under clothing. It was probably going to give Grant a rash in the most unfortunate places. “Stupid sand,” he grumbled. Stupid beach. Stupid Hawaii.

  Maybe he should have joined the rest of the wedding party in their drive across the island to Volcanoes National Park. The excursion had been organized by Grant’s brother’s fiancé, Filip, who also had the idea to get married in Hawaii at Christmastime, who arranged plane tickets and hotel rooms for family and close friends, who was so amazing and perfect and wonderful that Grant would have collapsed long ago from fatal jealousy were it not for the fact that Filip and Ulysses were so perfect together. People used to have a hard time telling Grant and Ulysses apart—they were identical twins—but lately that problem had disappeared because Uly was the one always beaming blissfully. Grant mostly scowled.

  “Here you go, sir.” The waiter set a tall, narrow glass on the metal table beside Grant. The straw matched the chartreuse liquid, and a plastic sword speared pieces of colorful fruit that floated in the drink.

  “What is that?” Grant asked doubtfully.

  The waiter grinned. “Magic.”

  “Rum? Tequila? Vodka?”

  “Nope. Some lilikoi, papaya, mango… and this and that.”

  Grant wondered which this or that gave the stuff its nuclear hue. He was more than a little hesitant to try it. But the waiter was, well, waiting, seemingly anxious to find out whether Grant approved. So Grant lifted the glass, gave a tiny salute, and took a sip.

  “Well?” the waiter asked.

  “Um, interesting.” Not as sweet as he’d expected, which was good, and it had a weird spicy kick that took him totally by surprise. He couldn’t taste the alcohol. He tried more. “I think I like it.”

  “I knew you would. It’s one of Kane’s specialties.”

  “I guess I’m glad I didn’t go to the volcanoes today after all.” And as he said that, he realized the statement was true. He was almost enjoying sitting on the beach, drinking something exotic, and chatting with a good-looking guy.

  “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t really trust the volcanoes anyway.” The waiter shuddered. “Pele has a temper.”

  “Are you from here?” Grant asked. The waiter didn’t look Polynesian, but why else would he act like a volcano goddess was real?

  The waiter’s answering smile was very toothy. “No, not me. I was born near Cusco.”

  “Peru?”

  “Now it’s Peru, yes. But I like it here.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you don’t?”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Faint praise.” The waiter chuckled. “Is it islands you’re opposed to?”

  “No, I have nothing against islands. It’s just… it’s Christmas. And my brother’s getting married.”

  “Those are bad things?”

  Grant sighed. “No, they’re great. But I’m the only member of the wedding party who’s single. I’m tragically single. Thirty-six and I’ve never been serious about anyone. And nobody’s ever been serious about me. I’m a middle manager and my career’s going nowhere. I can’t even remember if I once had ambitions. Dreams. Fuck, even my dreams are boring nowadays. And now I’ve got my twin’s wedding, the holidays, and a tropical island, and I’m all by myself. It sucks.” Shit. Too much tequila for sure. He took another sip of the green stuff anyway.

  But the waiter was unfazed. Maybe he was used to angsty mainlanders. “Thirty-six is a good age. And this is a good time of year. The solstice, right? The sun is reborn and all kinds of surprising things can happen.” He gave his widest smile yet. “Enjoy your drink, Mr. Beaudoin.”

  Grant, with only limited success, tried not to watch the waiter walk away. His resort uniform—floral shirt and khaki shorts—was too baggy for Grant’s taste, but the man had long legs, tanned and muscular. The type of legs Grant could imagine wrapped— Jesus. He needed to stop drinking, stop fantasizing about sexually harassing the waitstaff, stop… wallowing. He needed to get a life. The solstice, the waiter had said. Rebirth. Maybe a good time to turn over a new leaf.

  And speaking of leaves, the lush greenery of the nearby trees suddenly appealed to him. Filip never did anything halfway, and he’d chosen a resort with expansive grounds that included a couple hundred acres of rain forest. The brochures and website gushed over the variety of plants and birds guests could discover if they strolled the winding pathways through the trees. Grant decided now was a good time to see if the claims were true. He needed a break from the sun anyway.

  Just as he slurped the final dregs of his drink, the waiter reappeared with the bill. “Nothing else for now, Mr. Beaudoin?”

  “I think I want a little exercise. Take a gander at the local flora and fauna.” He waved toward the rain forest.

  “That’s an excellent idea. That place is special.” He handed Grant the bill.

  As Grant added the tip and signed, he said, “That’s what my brother’s fiancé says. It’s why he chose this particular resort, I guess.” Filip had grinned at Grant and explained in his thick Croatian accent that certain locations on the planet were magical and therefore well suited for occasions like weddings. Filip also claimed to be some kind of Slavic wizard. He could get away with saying things like that without seeming crazy—he was so vibrant that all his flights of fancy became believable.

  The waiter took the bill and the pen from Grant. “It’s why I work here instead of somewhere else. But you should go see for yourself.” His smile was mesmerizing.

  Grant nodded and stood, stretching out the kinks from his long sojourn in the cabana chair. Relieved his
legs were steady, he smiled back. “Thanks for the advice. And for being patient while I whined at you. I’ll see you later.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” And the kid actually winked.

  The crushed shells of the walkway made a pleasant little noise under Grant’s feet as he walked toward the trees. A tiny bright bird flitted around him, chirping as if to urge him along, and the wind carried the sweet scent of nectar.

  “I’m not in a frigging Disney cartoon,” he grumbled to himself. His fairy godmother was not going to appear and bibbidi-bobbidi-boo him into a happily ever after. He was going to tromp dutifully through the goddamn rain forest, and then he was going to return to his room, down something from the minibar, and take a goddamn nap.

  The shell path became soft loam as he entered the rain forest, and long branches arching overhead seemed to welcome him in an arboreal embrace. The sounds of the Pacific hushed instantly, replaced by the slight buzz of insects and the rustling of leaves. Light filtered greenly through the canopy, falling so artfully on splashes of bright tropical blossoms that Grant wondered if the rain forest had been landscaped for that effect. Yet the place didn’t look landscaped—everything grew in the unplanned, wild way only nature could achieve. In fact, if it weren’t for the carefully maintained trail, Grant could almost imagine himself to be the first human setting foot here.

  He walked slowly, stopping frequently to examine a twisting vine, an oversized leaf, an eruption of flowers, an iridescent beetle trundling up a tree trunk. He’d always lived in the city and rarely paid much attention to the plants and animals; he’d never even owned a houseplant. He couldn’t name anything he saw in the rain forest, but that was all right. He could enjoy the scenery just as well without knowing what to call things.

  The path must have twisted a great deal, because he wandered for a long time without exiting. He might have suspected he was lost, except there were no turnoffs or other trails. He actually wouldn’t have minded getting a little lost since the peaceful rain forest had driven the miserable thoughts and self-pity from his mind. He felt… content.

  He gently stroked a tree’s bark and closed his eyes. What would it feel like to lie down on the springy vegetation and let all his troubles slip away? Things would grow around and over him, covering him in a living blanket. Grant Beaudoin—organizer of training sessions, approver of vacation time, mediator of employee disputes—would sleep forever, nourishing the rain forest with his body. That was a type of rebirth, right?

  Only when he opened his eyes did he notice something strange about the tree he’d been touching. It was an oak; he knew that much botany, at least. He recognized its distinctive lobed leaves as well as the acorns littering the earth beneath it. But although he was certain that oaks were not supposed to grow in a tropical rain forest, this one looked ancient and exceedingly healthy, its broad trunk rising higher than he could see and its heavy limbs spreading wide in every direction.

  “It is beautiful, is it not?”

  Grant squawked, jumped, and spun around.

  A man stood a few yards from the path, his feet hidden by the undergrowth. He was middle-aged and muscular, with long legs, broad shoulders, and a square face slightly lined by sun and age. His skin was so pale as to be almost luminescent, and his eyes were a mixture of green and light blue. Long straight hair, slightly veiling his face, was orange tinted with green, like copper going to verdigris. Between his startling coloring and a prominent nose, he wasn’t quite handsome. But then he smiled and became beautiful.

  “You scared the crap out of me,” Grant said, his heart still beating wildly.

  The man bowed slightly. “I am sorry. I was not going to disturb you, but then you admired the tree so much and I could not resist.” His accent was similar to Filip’s, although Grant couldn’t tell if he was Croatian too. None of Filip’s relatives could make it to the wedding, and this guy certainly didn’t bear any resemblance to Filip.

  “I was just wondering what an oak was doing here.”

  “A transplant, perhaps. Enjoying a warmer climate.”

  “Like you?” Grant hazarded. Something about this guy made him want to banter.

  “Exactly like me.” He cocked his head slightly before reaching into his tunic pocket. Holy shit! He wore a long embroidered tunic over weird puffy trousers and tall boots with pointy toes—how had Grant not noticed that right away? He pulled out a gold-colored ball. “Would you join me for a snack?”

  “Are you, um, a historical reenactor or something?” Maybe the resort put on a show of some kind, although Grant would have thought they’d opt for something Polynesian instead of Eastern European.

  The man laughed. “I am exactly that.” He held out the ball. “Would you care for some?” It wasn’t a ball, in fact, but what appeared to be a large apple, its skin as shiny and golden as fine jewelry.

  “What is that?”

  “Fruit.” The man walked out of the plants, onto the path, and over to a low wooden bench Grant hadn’t noticed before. He sat and cut into the apple with a small knife he must have also pulled from his tunic, and then he popped the slice into his mouth. “It is very good. Perfectly ripe.”

  Grant had imbibed tequila before—on occasion a lot of tequila—but it had never made him hallucinate. Well, who knew what was in that green drink. Hawaiian shrooms, maybe. Anyway, it seemed like a benign hallucination, so Grant decided to enjoy it. He sat on the bench and, when the man grinned and handed him a piece of fruit, Grant ate it.

  “That’s good!” he exclaimed. It tasted like an apple, but it had a kick like chili peppers.

  “Some people believe my apple is a terrible weapon. Others believe it grants immortality. But I prefer to think of the apples from the Greek story of Atalanta. Melanion used three golden apples to distract her so he could win a footrace against her—and thereupon win her hand in marriage.”

  Who the hell used the word “thereupon” when speaking? Hallucinations who had a thing for mythology, apparently.

  “What are you distracting me from?” Grant asked, aware he was verging on flirting but unable to care. He could flirt with figments of his imagination if he wanted to.

  “I am stopping you for a short while from continuing your walk. Do you mind? I am lonely.”

  “I can spare some time to chat.”

  “Very good. My name is….” The man stopped to think for a moment. “Today is December twentieth, is it not?”

  Taken aback by the non sequitur, Grant had to think for a moment. “Yeah.”

  “Then today I am Perun. Which is why I have the apple and also this.” He handed the rest of the fruit to Grant before tugging something else from his tunic. This time he held an oddly shaped bronze object with a wicked-looking blade.

  The weapon should have alarmed Grant, but apparently he was past that. “What is it?”

  “My battle-ax.” Perun stuffed it back into his pocket, which must have been very deep. “The ax of Perun. But tomorrow I will be Hors.” He pronounced it with the throat-clearing sound typical of Slavic and Middle Eastern languages.

  “You’re going to change your name tomorrow?”

  “It will change on its own. For the solstice. And I will be quite weak—so I will lose when Chernobog fights me.” Perun sighed. “He will slay me two nights from now.”

  Thoroughly confused, Grant squinted at him. “Some guy’s trying to kill you? Have you told the police?”

  Perun smiled sadly. His eyes were ancient. “The police cannot help. But do not worry. I will return one day later as Dazhbog, and I shall remain Dazhbog until I become Perun again a few days later.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. It is too much. Perhaps we should talk of simpler things. What is your name?”

  Grant told him, and then somehow, while eating the rest of the apple—core and all—he also ended up telling him about his stupid job and boring life, about Uly’s upcoming nuptials, about his own terminal case of bachelorhood. Perun listened closely
, as if this pathetic recital were the most interesting tale in the world.

  “So you are lonely too,” he said when Grant ran out of words.

  “I guess so. Yeah, I’m lonely.” Saying it out loud didn’t help.

  Perun scooted slightly closer. “It hurts, does it not? Pains one like a wound.”

  “I don’t even know you. You don’t have to—”

  “Once there was a youth, and he— May I tell you this?”

  “Sure.” It probably wouldn’t make sense, but Perun had sat patiently while Grant blabbed.

  “Thank you. This youth was lonely. He was yet quite young and lived in a tiny village, but also he was attracted to other men in a time and place when such a thing was not acceptable. He knew he would never have a beloved. This made him very sad.”

  “I can imagine.” Grant was lucky. When he and Uly jointly came out of the closet shortly after graduating from college, their parents took the news like troupers and supported them both. Their mom and dad had died young—different kinds of cancer—but they’d left Grant and Uly with the solid certainty of their love.

  “Perhaps this youth’s sadness made him ill. He took a terrible fever, burning like fire even though it was the dead of winter and he lived in a frigid place. Not like here.” Perun smiled slightly, and then his face grew serious. “The fever was so hot that it drove him from his little house out into the woods, and there he wandered through the snow until the cold overcame his heat. He collapsed and died in those woods, all alone, and the animals gnawed his bones bare, and his family never found him.”

  “That’s terrible!” Grant didn’t care if it was only a story. He could feel the chill biting at him, feel the awful fear of being lost forever. He shivered.

  Perun placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. “But the youth had one stroke of great fortune,” Perun said. He smelled good, like Christmas trees. “He died at the winter solstice. It was a holiday—Koleda. The sun dies and will soon be reborn, and the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead become thin and fragile. It is a time when the impossible becomes… a possibility.”