Lockdown Love

by Brisa Starr

  The man next to her clears his throat and says, “It looks like you found our dog. I’m Max O’Halloran, and this is my wife, Carol.” They stand back to maintain social distance.

  “Yes, it seems so,” Emma says, smiling.

  I open the door, and the puppy runs outside to the couple and starts jumping up and down, excited to see them.

  “Did you see the picture of him on the Sun City West app?” I ask him and put my arm around Emma.

  “No,” the lady says as she bends down to pick up Biscuit. “We’ve been walking around all day, calling out for him and looking for him, when we saw your sign. Thank god we saw that. Thank you, thank you.” She nuzzles her boy and asks, “Where on earth did you find my little rascal?”

  After telling the couple how we found him on the golf course and removed the cactus needle, they continued thanking us over and over, before finally turning to leave.

  I close the front door, saying, “Your sign worked!” I turn around to look at Emma, and I see her sweet face. Tears are rolling down her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?” Instantly feeling protective, I grab her and hold her in an embrace.

  She hugs me for a second before extracting herself from my arms. “Oh, I know it’s silly, but I’m going to miss that little furball. I feel like he was my good luck charm helping me finish my book. Maybe Granny sent him to me, just for the day.”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and look directly into her eyes, serious, and say “Emma, now you listen to me. Don’t short-change yourself. I know that you feel your Granny’s spirit around you, and you talk to her all the time. I love that, and I know she’s here, listening and helping you. But you wrote that book! You did it. It wasn’t a special coffee cup or a dog. It was you. All of you, and yes, you are made of your Granny, so by extension, it is her as well. But you sat your ass in that chair writing, day after day, until it was done.”

  Her lips curl up in a smile, and I see the pride coming to her face as she hears my words and absorbs their meaning. “You’re right,” she whispers lightly, but the words weigh heavily in their significance.

  “Now. How about that spin in the golf cart?” I say and grab her hand.

  We walk toward the garage and she says, “Told ya my sign would work.” She winks, and I bend over to kiss her beautiful face.

  We step into the garage, and I push the button to open the garage door. As it opens, the overhead light turns on. I’m about to put on my flip-flops when I see that the front right tire on the golf cart is flat.

  “Shit,” I say, walking toward it.

  “What?” She asks surprised.

  “Bessie has a flat tire.” I point to it and kneel down for a closer look.

  “Oh dear,” she says. “That’s not good. Aside from the obvious — that we can’t take our little spin — the reality is, it’s our only set of wheels. We gotta get this fixed.”

  “I don’t even know if my parents have a jack, but I’m gonna need one to change the tire. They must have something though. My dad was an Eagle Scout, ‘always prepared.’”

  We dig through the cabinets and finally find, not only the jack and a tire iron, but also a perfectly good spare tire, and an electric air pump.

  “Like I said, always ready for anything,” I say. “I’m going to put my shoes on, and then I’ll change this. We’ll be on our way in no time.” I walk toward the door to go get my shoes.

  “OHHH FUCK! Ouch! Fuck! Ouch!” I yell, hopping on one leg. “Did I just step on a piece of glass? What the fuck?”

  “Landon! Are you OK? What is it? Let me see!”

  “I stepped on something sharp. Really sharp. Ow, FUCK it hurts!” I hop back to get a better look, and I lift my foot to see. But there’s nothing there, no cut, no blood. I look down on the ground.

  Emma, already investigating the ground, shrieks, “Oh my god! A scorpion!You stepped on a bark scorpion. It must have stung you.” She freaks out, jumping far away from the inch-long creature.

  “Holy fuck, this hurts like a mother fucker! It must be the venom.” I hop over to my flip-flops, put them on, and hop back to the half-squished scorpion and finish the job with a solid stomp of my sandaled foot.

  “Here, let’s get you inside,” she says, and she puts my arm around her shoulders, helping me walk while she tries to support my weight, wrapping her arm around my waist.

  We hobble to the couch, where she helps me sit down and put my foot up. “You stay here,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

  While she’s gone, I look at my foot. The skin is starting to turn bright red around the location of the sting, and the pain is intensifying, like someone’s digging a needle into the sole of my foot and twisting it around. Emma runs back in with a tray and bottles on it. She sets it on the table, and I get a better look. Two bottles, a thin towel, and an ice pack.

  “What is that shit?” I growl, not able to contain my frustration at having stepped on a scorpion, and the searing pain that I’m feeling.

  “Well, I know how to treat scorpion stings now. With plants. When I learned we could have scorpions in the house, I did some research.” She takes one of the bottles and opens it. “Here, open your mouth wide and tip your head back.”

  She takes a bottle with a dropper and tries to squirt something in my mouth.

  “No, what the fuck is that?”

  “It’s echinacea. Now tilt your head back and open up your mouth. NOW.”

  Surprised by her bossiness, I comply.

  “Keep it open, I’m gonna give you a Herculean dose,” she says and squirts six full droppers into my mouth. “Swallow!”

  I do as she says. The shit is gross. My tongue starts to tingle.

  “Six more now.” I comply again, and she squirts them into my mouth, which now burns from the alcohol in the tincture, but it’s nothing compared to the pain in my foot.

  “How is that plant shit supposed to help?” I bark.

  “Would you stop being a big baby, and let me finish.” She puts the bottle back on the tray and opens another little bottle. I suddenly smell peppermint. She turns toward my foot.

  “Jesus Christ, what now?”

  “Will you be quiet? Let me do this.” She lets four drops of some intense peppermint smelling-shit land on my foot, and she gently rubs it in. Then she covers it with a thin towel and puts the ice pack on top.

  “There,” she says. “The echinacea is to help prevent an allergic reaction. High doses like that are good for serious bug bites and stings. And the peppermint essential oil will help reduce the pain of the sting site. The ice is to reduce the swelling.”

  Proud of herself, she taps her temple and winks at me. “I know a thing or two.”

  I’m mildly impressed. She sure sounds like she knows what she’s talking about. But I hide it, and I look at her flatly. I’m going to withhold judgment until I see how this all turns out.

  “It’ll only take a couple minutes, and it’ll start to feel better,” she promises. “Your nervous system might respond with shaking because of the venom spreading, but it’s OK. So long as you can breathe, you’ll be fine.”

  I’ll be damned, she’s right. Not only is it feeling a little better already, but my leg is also shaking, just like she said it would.

  “That’s totally natural,” she repeats, placating me.

  I nod at her, thinking that she’s on to something with her Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman stuff, but not saying anything. Yet. The pain is diminishing and, although the shaking of my leg is unnerving — no pun intended, and I mentally smirk at my own joke — I begin to calm down.

  She continues, “You need to stay off your foot for a while because it might start to feel numb from the venom and the ice. It’s not safe for you to walk with your foot numb… the last thing we need is for you to fall and split your head open.”

  “I think I like it when you play nurse.” I grin and run my hand up her leg.

  She swats my hand away. “You stay here on
the couch and let your boo-boo rest,” she says with a smile. “I’ll go see what I can do with that flat tire.”

  She moves to stand up, and I grab her wrist, pulling her back down. “Oh no you’re not. Do you even know how to use a jack?”

  “How hard can it be? I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “Absolutely fucking not. You are not going to change that tire. Like you said, the last thing we need is another accident, requiring a trip to the hospital when it’s full of people sick with the virus.”

  “Oh come on, Landon. Give me a break. Nothing is gonna happen. It’ll be a piece of cake,” she promises.

  I clench my fists and cut her off, “I said no, Emma. I’m serious! Leave it the fuck alone.”

  She’s a bit stunned, I think, from my dark tone, and sensing defeat, she concedes. “Fine. I’ll go put this stuff away and get us something to drink.”

  She leaves the room, and I lay back and rest my head on the pillow. A fucking scorpion? Really? Serves me right for going barefoot in the garage.

  I close my eyes briefly, just to rest them. I suddenly feel so tired. It’s been a busy couple of days, and I just want to rest for a moment…

  17

  Emma

  I take my plant medicines back to my bathroom and put them away. While I’m there, I pee. All that wine is making its way through me. After a quick refresher with my lip gloss and a bit of blush, I walk back into the kitchen to get us something to drink.

  I wonder what he thinks is going to happen if I try to change the golf cart tire. He was so adamant and panicky about me not touching it. I don’t know if he was trying to be macho after his behavior with the scorpion or if he was just really worried that something could happen. I’d like to think it’s the latter, but I’m not incapable. Geez! Quite the contrary, and besides, like I said, it can’t be that difficult.

  I fill our cups with ice and then open the refrigerator to grab a cold bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water. I fill our glasses and decide to add some fresh lemon wedges. I love that the back yard has so many citrus trees, and I hate to see it go to waste, so I find myself adding lemon to all of my drinks. I squeeze the lemon into the fizzy water and carry them into the living room, where I see that Landon is sound asleep on the couch.

  I grab a couple of coasters and set the cups on the square wood coffee table. Ha. Sleeping like a baby. I stand there looking at him. I chew the inside of my mouth for a second, a certain thought dancing in my mind... He’s asleep. I’ll just do a little research on YouTube about changing a golf cart tire. That way, when he wakes up, just in case he doesn’t know exactly how to do it, we’ll be ready to go with the video.

  I spin on my heel and go into the bedroom where my laptop is. I fluff a yellow and orange paisley pillow, and prop it up against the wooden headboard. I sit on the bed, my back leaning against the pillow, laptop on my lap. I Google how to change a golf cart tire, and a YouTube video with instructions pops right up.

  I watch the five-minute video and resist rolling my eyes, but for crying out loud, this does not look very hard. I can totally do this.

  Invigorated by a smidgen of feminine mischief and a dash of determination, I decide to directly disobey Landon’s order. I will change the tire.

  Admittedly, I have an honest curiosity about changing tires anyway, all by myself. I’ve never done it. I’ve always wanted to, and although this tire is tiny and cute, I consider it the perfect baby-step toward changing tires in general.

  I hop off the bed and head out of the bedroom. I peek around the corner to make sure he’s still sleeping. I hear him snoring. Oh yeah, he’s out. I got this.

  I go into the garage and turn on the light, which had turned off automatically. The garage door is still open, which is nice, because it’s stuffy in the garage when it’s closed, and I wouldn’t want to wake Landon with the sound of the garage door opening.

  I get out the jack, the tire iron, and the spare tire. I position the jack just like it showed in the video and start pumping the lever, lifting up the golf cart about eight inches. This is so easy. I can’t believe he was all worked up when I said I’d handle this.

  I put the tire iron on the first lug nut and go to loosen it. “Righty tightey, lefty loosey,” I remind myself. But the lug nut doesn’t budge. So I put my weight into it and give the tool a good, hard push.

  Just then, the whole cart jerks and suddenly lurches backwards, rocks off the jack, and — OH SHIT — with a loud BANG, it lands hard on the concrete. Then the cart starts to roll, slowly at first, then faster, out the garage door, down the driveway and into the street.

  “No! Holy shit!” I yell.

  Too shocked to move, I stare at the golf cart like a deer in headlights! Crap! Crap! Crap! Then, finally getting my shit together, I run out of the garage after Bessie.

  “What the...” Landon yells as he yanks open the door.

  He sees the golf cart gone and yells for me, “Emma? Where are you?”

  Crap. “Out here!”

  He hobbles out onto the driveway. Uh-oh. He’s pissed. He sees me step out from behind the cart.

  “Hi!” I say.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Why is the golf cart… in the middle of the street?”

  I put on my biggest, sweetest, most apologetic smile, and I say, quietly, “Trying to help?” I shrug my shoulders and lift my hands, palms up.

  He rakes his hands roughly through his hair and hobble-runs out to me in the street, “Jesus Christ, Emma! I told you...”

  “I know. I know.” I interrupt him, putting my hands in the air to concede. “You’re right.”

  And in that moment I see on his face not anger, but real fear that I had been hurt. I suddenly think about how he was right. I’ve spent so much time always trying to prove my point to him. To prove that my plant medicines work, and to prove that I can compete with his conventional medicine. To prove to him, and myself, that I can write a book on my own.

  I’ve been harping on him about having a closed mind, when all this time, maybe it was me being close-minded. My stunned mind absorbs this. My heart follows suit.

  I look at him, and I see him with new eyes. The reality is that there’s room in this world for both of our ways of thinking. Even different politics, if we’re respectful of each other. And, I must admit, conventional medicine definitely has its merits.

  But I was so busy trying to puff up my ego and trying to get myself in a mindset to plow ahead with writing my book, and always being right, that I shut myself off to Landon. Both my heart and my mind.

  He watches me and sees the emotions flickering across my face. He walks to the driver’s side of the golf cart to sit down and rest his foot.

  He shakes his head and then starts to laugh.

  I laugh too, and sit next to him on the golf cart. We’re both a bit delirious at everything we’ve been through, and we release it all by laughing our asses off. On a golf cart with a flat tire. Under the stars. In the middle of the street.

  “Whoops,” he says. I can see he’s no longer worried about my well-being or angry with me.

  “I’m so sorry, Landon,” I say, still chuckling a little, but with my voice turning more serious. “I thought I could do this. I thought I didn’t need your help. And, well, I wanted to prove to you that I could do it, all by myself.”

  I look at him with sincerity in my eyes. “I think I’ve been trying to prove myself to you these past weeks with my answers to everything... plants, politics... I don’t know, just everything.” I sigh and continue, “Knowing you’re a doctor, and so successful, and a little cocky, I might add,” I wink at him with a tiny smile. “It doesn’t matter. I just... I should’ve listened to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says and leans over, kissing me on the forehead. He stands up and walks behind the golf cart. “Let’s push this thing back in the garage.”

  We get Bessie back into the garage and, although Landon’s leg is still twitching a little, it’s better tha
n before.

  “You know, Emma, you’ve opened my eyes, too. Some of your remedies have taught me a few things. My habit may always be to use the conventional approach, but I’m starting to appreciate your knowledge. I mean, hell, my foot is feeling much better.” He cocks his head at me and smiles.

  We change the tire, together, in no time at all. It turns out, you loosen the lug nuts before lifting the vehicle. The YouTube video did NOT mention that.

  When we finish, Landon stands up, wipes his hands together like a job well-done and looks at me. “Ready for that ride?”

  I laugh. “Absolutely!”

  18

  Emma

  I wake up late the next day and see Landon next to me, snoring gently. He must have really needed to sleep if he’s not awake yet. I snuggle into him. Suddenly, I remember that I have all the ingredients to bake scones!

  Yes! It’s Baking Day!

  I’ve been so busy writing the book and otherwise watching TV that I haven’t even made my famous scones yet. I knew something was missing from my life! I lean over and kiss Landon. He wakes and encircles me in his strong arms.

  “I’m going to bake scones today.” I look up at him and kiss his chin before ducking out of his embrace. I move on top of him, straddling his lean waist with my thighs. “I’ll making a quadruple batch, too, and then we can bag them up and drop them off on people’s porches nearby.” He grabs my hips and grinds upward into me.

  “You’re a very thoughtful girl, Emma, that’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”

  I smile and lean over him for a proper good morning kiss before hopping off him and heading to the bathroom to get ready. I put on a navy, cotton, knee-length dress and wrap my head in a red and white polka-dot scarf. I walk into the kitchen and spy an apron hanging on a hook. Perfect. As I tie the string around my waist, I smile to myself, knowing I must look like some housewife straight out of the 1950s.