by Bellus, HJ
“I went on a run.” Frankie stands back up, answering my unasked question. “Right down the main street.”
“Jesus,” I grit out between clenched teeth doing my best to control my temper. “And?”
She shrugs. “I had a great run and it was fantastic.”
Frankie walks past, sauntering up to the back door. She opens it but before she enters, she turns back to me. “What time should I be ready today?”
I’m left speechless, having no idea what’s up or down anymore. This girl. Hell, screw that—this woman. She’s something.
“Let’s leave in the next hour.” I walk closer to her.
I’d love more sleep than anything right now, but with fuel racing in my blood, that will never happen.
“Sounds great, Cray. I’m just going to hop in the shower and I’ll be ready.” She smiles with no perceived thoughts and disappears into the house.
An hour and a half later, we are cruising down the highway behind Truckee with the windows down and the breeze flowing in, creating a slice of peace. The local radio station blares a current tune. I catch Frankie out of the corner of my eye every so often, bobbing her head and tapping her foot to the beat of the song. Not one word has been spoken since she returned from her run.
I learned she ran into Les and Veronica at the grocery store. Les was his typical dickhead self. That motherfucker will be lucky if he ever sees the light of day again. It’s funny what you find when you start digging up a little bit of dirt. I will make damn sure all of the embezzlement charges stick and he’s behind bars for a long time. Fucker is lucky I’m not going to kill him with my own hands. Truckee mentioned he has people on the inside for that. I hope Frankie seeing Les being arrested helped put her mind at ease in some way.
I relax in the driver’s seat with my arm slung over the steering wheel and just drive. We stop once to fill up on gas, and of course Opal had to run to the grocery store next to the gas station to grab some groceries. I swear to God that woman always has cooking on the brain. It’s almost as if she’s scared to be without food, and maybe there is a story there.
I fuel up and grab a few snacks, even though we aren’t that far away from our final destination. I don’t pass up the opportunity to buy salty potato chips and Swedish Fish very damn often.
“Those are my favorite.” Frankie points at the pack of gummy goods.
“Oh, yeah?” I crook up an eyebrow, firing up the truck. “Mine, too.”
The bag crinkles as I pop it open and grab a few, tossing them in my mouth.
“Hey.” She slides over to the center. “You have to share.”
“Or what?” I ask.
“You will no longer have the hero status you’ve earned. You’ll slide right back down to asshole level.” She tilts her head with determination in her stare, punching home her point.
“You’re something else, Frankie.” I toss the bag on her lap and kick the truck back out onto the highway.
She wasn’t lying about them being her favorite since I never got another single one. It’s not long after we hit the bumpy dirt road leading back to Uncle Preacher’s ranch that Frankie’s eyelids grow heavy and her head rests on my shoulder. It’s nice. But it doesn’t stop the storm brewing inside, screaming at me how wrong this is. This time I ignore it and allow myself to enjoy the moments of peace.
“Written in the Sand” by Old Dominion begins playing and I can’t help but get lost in the moment. It would be so easy and feel so damn good to allow my hand to drop to her thigh. Anything to comfort and hold this girl in protection. The area of gray I was flirting in is long damn gone. The once law-abiding man I used to be has vanished in the winds. Tears me up to no end. I should quit while I’m ahead and walk away. The thing is that will never happen. I’m so beyond fucked.
* * *
Frankie
As soon as the loud, rumbling engine of Cray’s truck ended, I woke from my slumber. I ducked my chin to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks from falling asleep on him. I wiped down my mouth to make sure I didn’t slobber on him.
By the time I crawl out of the driver’s side of the truck, Cray strides away without a single word. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but if I had to guess it would be me plastering myself to him.
I don’t have time to mentally beat myself up about it because the view of the ranch we are parked in front of strikes me hard. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if an eccentric clubhouse from a childhood picture book popped off the pages and came to life. There are odd and interesting lawn ornaments placed in every nook and cranny, from metal frogs that spit water out of their mouths to dozens and dozens of birdhouses dangling from trees and the porch. It’s too much to take in. I could stare at it for hours, noticing something different every time. The house itself is a one-story ranch style home with cabin siding and a wraparound porch.
There are acres and acres of green pasture that frame the area around a pristine old-timey red barn. The place, as unusual as it is, is stunning in its own right.
“Get your ass up here, girl, and give your favorite guy a hug.” A man with hair white as snow and a slight potbelly stands on the porch waving his arm.
“Come on.” Opal grabs my arm. “Come meet my favorite human on this planet.”
I have no choice besides to follow her up rocks that lay out a sidewalk. I glance all around to gain sight of Cray, but it’s like he’s disappeared without a word.
“My Opal.” The old man holds his arms wide open.
Opal drops my arms and races to the man, indulging in a long hug. There are hushed whispers between the two but I can’t make them out. I feel like I’ve intruded on a very private moment and take another opportunity to look for Cray. Still nothing.
“And who is this lovely young one?” The booming voice of the old guy sounds around me.
“Preach, this is Frankie, and, Frankie, this is Preach.” Opal waves between us.
“Well, if my kids brought you here that means you’re part of the family. Get over here.” He spreads his arms wide open like he did for Opal.
All of the courage and strength I once owned vanishes in a heartbeat with the vision of this stranger approaching. My old friend, terror, races into view. My hands begin to tremble and my knees go weak as my vision goes in and out. The pain, the tearing, and everything in between attacks all at once. My gasping is the only audible signal making it to my ears.
“Preach, please back up.” Opal steps between us, staring right at me. “He’s safe. He’s safe,” she repeats, over and over.
“Frankie, he won’t touch you if you don’t want to.” She squeezes my shoulders and I jerk back.
Opal puts her hands up in the air. Where is Cray? Where is he? The panic swirls and whirls into a never-ending vortex.
“Frankie, look around you. I want you to find five things you can see,” Opal whispers in a gentle voice.
I focus on her direction and do exactly that. I first spot an old rusty wagon wheel leaning against a hydrant, a sweet chime of a shiny metal wind chime catches my attention because there’s so much fine detail in the piece of work, a tabby-striped cat darts across the lawn chasing a monarch butterfly. I glance down to the toes of my Chucks and spot a crack in the old wood of the porch we are standing on. It’s a healthy size one but still holding up and doing its job. Cracked but not broken.
My breathing begins to even out when a dart of movement catches my attention. I’m drawn to a bright red bird feeder dangling from the porch. Upon closer inspection, it’s the liquid inside the feeder giving off the red hue. The movement happens again so rapidly I barely catch it. Then a beautiful, mysterious hummingbird stalls for just a brief few seconds flitting around the feeder before indulging in the sticky syrup.
It takes me back to a memory. A really damn good memory that warms me from head to toe, striking out the fear that caused a panic attack.
“Grandma, why do you always hang those up?” I ask, taking a lick of my purple popsicle.
Grandma steadies the bird feeder filled with red syrup on a hook before looking at me. “My dad always fed the hummingbirds. At a young age, when I was having a bad day I’d stomp outside throwing a hissy fit and every single time I’d spot a hummingbird buzzing around, I’d end up calming down and realizing everything was going to be all right.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “But why do you hang them?”
Grandma’s sweet chuckle fills the air as she settles into the chair next to me, taking a long pull from her sweet tea before answering me. “You sure have a lot of curious questions for a five-year-old.”
“It’s my job. That’s what my teacher said, anyway.” I catch a piece of my popsicle that’s about to plop down in my lap with my tongue. “So, why do you hang them?”
“Sweet baby girl.” She reaches over and pats my leg. “Life can be beautiful and life can be difficult. The beautiful days are wonderful and the sweetest blessings. And then there will be times in life that are hard and dark and those are the days the hummingbirds brighten it up. So, I guess my answer is because they soothe me and remind me of all the beautiful things.”
“Am I beautiful, Grandma?” I dart my tongue out, enjoying the tart flavor of my popsicle, eagerly waiting on her answer.
“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“Am I like a hummingbird for you, Grandma?”
“You sure are, always reminding me of all the beautiful things.”
“All the beautiful things,” I whisper to myself.
“Frankie.”
I glance forward, making eye contact with Opal. She opens her mouth to guide me further into an exercise, I have no doubt of that. I stop her, repeating “all the beautiful things” over and over again. My brutal, ugly things outweigh the wonderful, however, the fact that I have some brilliance in my life is the important part.
I sidestep Opal and step up to Preacher, stretching out my hand.
“I’m not a hugger.” I shrug. “But it’s very nice to meet you, Preacher. Your place is beautiful.”
Preacher grips my hand and shakes it with a wide smile plastered on his face. “Nice to meet you as well, Frankie. I’m pretty fond of this place.”
And just like that, the conversation flows easily between the three of us. I still have no idea where Truckee and Cray went off to. Preacher practically pushed us down in the rockers on his porch and rushed inside. He returned with ice tea, lemonade, and a platter of sandwiches.
“I’ll never figure you out, Preach. Every single time without fail you have food prepared for us.” Opal sits forward, taking a triangle sandwich filled with chicken salad.
“Can’t outsmart an old fox like me.” He points a lighter at her. “That stubborn jackass man of yours still hasn’t figured it out.”
“He’s not mine.” Opal bites into her sandwich.
I nestle down in the rocker, wanting to hear this conversation. I know they sleep together, they don’t hide their affection, and sure as hell let their raw feelings fly, but then everything is right in the world. There’s love. I’m no professional in that avenue with the whole male and female connection, but I do know that those two are in deep and raw love in a genuine form.
“Keep telling yourself that, little lady.” Preacher rolls up a long stick, lights it for several seconds, and then takes a long inhale from it. He doesn’t say a word before passing it to Opal.
She takes it and does the same thing and then hands it to me. I know she spots the quizzical look on my face. I know what it is just by the smell of it.
June described the aroma of pot to me in detail and how it made her feel. I sense the skeptical look on Opal’s face. It makes me think twice before taking the smoking bud from her hands.
I haven’t lived. Haven’t experienced shit, so I take it without a second thought. I glance down at it and remember my mantra beautiful things. It’s my time to live and take my life in my own hands. I bring the end Preacher and Opal had to their lips to mine and suck in just like they did. My lungs do the perfect job of sucking down the smoke and then I exhale.
It’s harsh. A feeling of my lungs and throat being shredded apart and the natural reaction of coughing ensues. I pat my chest and gain my bearings before passing the joint back to Preacher. He doesn’t hesitate or stall before inhaling again and puffing out another majestical plume of smoke. Opal does the same and it’s my turn again. The circle is never broken. I don’t feel a damn thing from my first inhale so I do it again. Inhaling but this time the exhale is slower as I focus on everything beautiful in my life. The exhale is brilliant as no coughing attack accompanies it.
It’s like a bulldozer slams into me. My head spins, worries drift away, and I float. Preacher does the same thing as does Opal. This time I clutch the burning magic torch in my fingers and take a light inhale then exhale. The pattern repeats over and over with the exception being I clutch the joint but don’t inhale enjoying the tranquil state of being. It’s blissful and time isn’t a factor and neither is the outside world right now.
“Jesus, Preach, you already got the girls high!” Truckee jumps up on the porch, forgoing the stairs, and breaks the pattern of our circle, taking the final hit of the joint.
“It’s called hospitality, asswipe. One day you might learn it.” Preach kicks his legs up on the table in front of him.
“Roll me another. You guys didn’t leave me shit.” Truckee swoops the piece of sandwich out of Opal’s hands, downing it in one bite. “And stay out of my food, woman.”
The urge to laugh my ass off hits me. I’m barely able to keep it in, it’s so overpowering. I try to ask where Cray is, but can’t get it out because if I open my mouth, nothing but giggles come out. I stand from the chair, gain my bearings, and step down from the porch. Nobody asks me a question as I take the stairs down to the grass and walk around the house.
My footsteps are light and easy. I find myself walking through the high pasture of green grass, enjoying the silence and nature. The lightness controlling my body slowly fades bit by bit as I continue to walk. Once I crest the top of the hill, a majestic pond comes into view. The water is crystal clear and still.
I make a beeline for the dock which reaches toward the center of the pond. The boards creak and crack under my steps.
“The beautiful things,” I whisper to myself once at the edge of the dock. “I’m going to fight every day from here on out to find all the beautiful things because I deserve it.”
I haven’t been swimming since the summer of my 4th grade year. My soul cries and hungers to do so. It’s what freedom and power smell and taste like.
I slip my skinny jeans off and tug off my hoodie until I’m left in a tank top, bra, and underwear. It starts right here with me choosing my future. Life over fear. Happiness over sadness. Memories over scars. I perch up on my toes and raise my hands over my head with the clearest mind I’ve had in years and take the leap.
My fingers slice into the water with the dive. I allow my body to glide down, down, down, and then level out swooping my arms thrusting me through the water. My lungs begin to burn and it fuels me on. I continue holding my breath, never wanting to surface again and just be in the silence of the water.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dalton Cray
I lost it. It all became too much. I was at the point I couldn’t control my urge to touch, hold, and hell, kiss the hell out of Frankie. Jesus, she just turned eighteen and is in a fragile state, no matter how strong she looks on the outside. It’s so wrong. Beyond fucking wrong, and I lost it.
I went straight to the barn, not bothering to introduce Frankie and make sure she felt comfortable. I had to step back. Once the barn door slammed shut, I took my shirt off and headed straight to the punching bag hanging from a beam in the center. I didn’t stop when Truckee came in or when my knuckles began to bleed. The only thing that stopped me was sheer exhaustion.
Back in the day, this would clear m
y head no matter what was going on in my life. Not today. I’m not sure there’s any answer in this situation. I knew Preach would be out here at the calf ranch and not at his home ranch. It’s further out in the country, secluded and peaceful. It’s something I figured all three of us could use. I just didn’t expect her perfect body pressed up against mine on the trip out here to drive me fucking insane.
I toss my shirt back on over my sweaty torso and figure I’ve been hiding long enough. I set out to Preach’s porch, knowing that’s where everyone will congregate. I keep my head down striding across the grass, still not quite sure how to deal with this shit. I leap up on the side of the porch where the railing has been broken since Truckee and I were little. Well, actually, we busted that piece out during one of our wrestling matches that turned into a fist fight, and Preacher never fixed it. He told us since we decided to be little assholes and ruin the railing, then we were never welcome to use his steps again and we haven’t since that day.
The smell of pot slaps me in the face once on the porch. Another normal with Uncle Preach. He doesn’t give a shit I’m part of the law and it’s illegal. He never has and never will. I glance up taking in the scene.
“Want a hit, Pissy Polly?” Truckee extends the joint toward me.
Not gonna lie, it would be damn good right now. Did my fair share of indulging during my high school years. Digging up a dead body, moving it, and disposing of it seems to have filled my quota for law-breaking behavior for the next century.
“No,” I bark out and glance around one more time. “Where is Frankie?”
“Preach got her ass high, man.” Truckee bends over, howling in laughter until tears stream down his face.
“Where in the fuck is she?” I slam my fist into the side of the house.
“Calm the hell down, boy.” Uncle Preach gets up in my face. “Hit my house one more time because of that Cray temper running through your blood, and I’ll knock you on your ass.”
