Chapter 1

I hate the dream

It’s the worst thing

I’ve ever seen

I hate the dream

In the end

I hear her scream

Things are not always

As they seem

As the sedan cruised down the east side of Lookout Pass, Josh Cody’s heart began to race. He’d finally come home. Montana, the state of his birth and home for nearly half his life, stretched out before him. The line from a song made famous by John Denver kept playing in his head. “He was thirty years and runnin’ when he found his way back home.”

Just a day earlier, the newly retired teacher had loaded his two dogs and cat into his car and began the two-day, 1,200-mile journey from Salem, Oregon, to Miles City in the far eastern part of Montana. Cody had finally retired after more than 40 years working as a journalist, businessman, and educator.

Miles City, Montana, is part Wild West with a dash of modern, boasting neighborhoods shaded by ancient cottonwood trees, several beautifully maintained parks, two rivers, sports fields, tennis courts, a nicely kept nine-hole golf course, shooting ranges, a lake for boating and one of the few remaining natural swimming holes in the country. Bars in the quaint town, most famous for its Bucking Horse Sale, only slightly outnumber the churches.

The scorched, desolate, gumbo hills were the Wild West to Josh Cody the boy. Many Saturdays he could be found scampering up the backside of Carbon Hill sneaking around the isolated sandstone cliffs and caves pretending to be an explorer or a brave member of the U.S. Cavalry. After all, none other than General George Armstrong Custer camped out at the confluence of the Tongue and Yellowstone rivers that border the town to the north and west just days before his ill-fated battle with the Sioux, Cheyenne, and the Arapaho on the Little Bighorn River.

“I can easily make Bozeman,” Cody commented to his furry traveling companions as he streamed past Missoula. From the interstate, Cody could see the campus of the University of Montana where he had spent four years earning his undergraduate degree. “Might as well call and get a place to stay tonight.” Getting to Bozeman would make the second leg of his journey much shorter. Motel reservation confirmed, Cody could now relax and enjoy the picturesque drive through the rugged, towering, snow-capped mountains and lush green valleys of western and central Montana.

“Let’s take a trip down memory lane,” Cody said to the pets as the car approached the first exit into Miles City. “There’s the fairgrounds and the fish hatchery,” he said as the dogs, sensing an end to the long journey, eagerly watched out the windows of the back seat. “Went to quite a few picnics at the old water plant too and the Range Rider’s Museum is still here.” Finally he crossed the bridge over the Tongue River spilling onto Main Street.

The front window curtain in the house next to Cody’s parted as he backed into the driveway. Nosy neighbors are part of the small-town experience he remembered. “Get used to it.” He swung the front door open. The three-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath ranch reminded him of his family home only smaller. There were a few chips in the paint and the rain gutters sagged in places, but those were all cosmetic issues.

“This will be my sanctuary, especially in the summer,” Cody remarked as he led the dogs out the slider to the fenced, partially shaded backyard. His home in Oregon had a similar setup with a covered patio and space for the dogs to run. He’d spent many evenings relaxing on that patio with a glass of wine and a guitar.

Sweat beaded on Cody’s forehead as he lugged the last of the items from the car into the house. Once unloaded, he fed the animals and called for the mass schedule at Sacred Heart Catholic Church. He was in luck. It was only 4:15 and the Saturday mass did not start until 5:30. That left ample time for a desperately needed hot shower.

“Well look who’s decided to pay us a visit,” the familiar voice called out as Cody was about to ascend the steps of the church. Cody turned to see the smiling face of Portia Ross, wife of one of his best friends growing up. “What brings you to Miles City?” she asked.

“Well I was just passing through and thought I’d stay a while,” he said as her husband, Justin, walked up. Cody hesitated to say he’d moved back permanently. Let people figure it out, he reasoned.

“How’re things in Portland?” Justin asked not realizing Cody hadn’t lived in the metropolis for more than 15 years.

“I guess they’re fine,” he responded. “I get over there once a month or so. Been thinking about moving back here to retire, though.”

“That’d be wonderful!” Portia smiled. “We’d love to have you back.” Cody still wasn’t sure. The old saying “You can never go home again,” had been rattling around the back of his mind since he’d made the decision to return.

“We should get together for dinner while you’re here,” she said as she and Justin walked up the steps into the church. “Stop by the house tomorrow and we can set it up.” Cody waved then waited a few minutes before entering.

As the moving truck pulled away, the move was officially over. Sure there was a lot of unpacking to do, but there was no need to rush.

Cody awoke the next morning energized. After spending nearly a week on an inflatable mattress, sleeping in a real bed was a relief. He got up, let the dogs out, prepared the morning pet feeding then started for the kitchen to make coffee. He had the coffee press, but no coffee, no mug, and no way to heat water. He checked the front porch, found his copy of the Billings Gazette and in less than an hour was seated in one of the two coffee shops downtown.

When Cody emerged the sun had risen to mid-morning position. He could easily walk back to his house and this morning was perfect for the walk. As he made his way, he was struck by the many empty parking places and vacant storefronts along Main Street. The downtown was a mere shadow of its once vibrant self. The arrival of Walmart on the south edge of town nearly two decades before had clearly had an impact.

“What now?” he wondered. He could go home and begin unpacking, but the itch to do something fun and active was stronger. “Why not tennis.”

The courts were empty when he arrived but the concrete hitting wall was still on court one. Cody arched the racket over his head side to side and bent at the waist to loosen up. About 15 minutes later a couple of young girls showed up. They looked to be ten or eleven and reminded him of his fifth and sixth grade students back in Oregon. The girls went to the court on the far end, which was good since they had a hard time keeping the ball on their court and their near constant giggling would have been a distraction had they been closer.

Nearly an hour later Cody slowly made his way to the bench on the side of the court. He was once again faced with the dilemma of what to do with the rest of his day? He’d already driven around and checked out the most popular sites, Spotted Eagle, the local golf course, his former neighborhood, his old school. The only thing left was the Pine Hills southeast of town. They were the closest thing to mountains in this part of the state and the only place where trees covered the hills. There used to be a park out there, he remembered, maybe he could find it. His family had gone on picnics at the park a few times and he recalled that there was an abandoned shaft coal mine nearby. At one time, it had caught fire and burned for years.

Cody loaded up his gear for the walk home. “Go where you can walk a lot,” his cardiologist in Oregon had advised. But with the sun directly overhead and the temperature rapidly climbing, Cody began to wonder if there might be a better way.

“Hi, welcome to Michaelson’s Bicycles. How may I help you?” the friendly clerk practically shouted as Cody walked through the front door.

“Well, I am not sure, but I think I might want to purchase a bike. I have to be careful though because in the past when I rode, it was really hard on my knees. I’m told a recumbent might be good for that, but I really don’t like being that close to the ground.”

“Well, the best thing I think,” the clerk said, “is to just try the bike out. Sometimes it’s more about seat height and how far you have to reach for the handlebars than anything else. What kind of riding you plan on doing?”

Cody explained he would be using the bike as a way to get around town. “Maybe one of these. You don’t need a lot of gears because it’s pretty flat here, but you want bigger tires for better traction on pavement,” the clerk advised.

Cody liked what he saw but then glanced at the price tag. “Hate to tell you this, but I paid way less than this for my first car. But that was almost 50 years ago.” Maybe he could justify the cost if it saved on gas and was good exercise.

“So how does this work trying one out?” Cody asked expecting the clerk to say he would have to secure the bike with a credit card.

“Just go,” the clerk said pointing to the door. “See you in a little while.”

Nearly eight hundred dollars and an hour later, Cody rolled up to his house on the new bike with his tennis gear conveniently stowed in the saddlebag-style baskets on each side of the rear wheel. At first the dogs didn’t recognize him and started to bark.

“Yes, is Marla Prell available?” Cody asked.

“Who can I say is calling?” the receptionist...