by Laura Kaighn
Dorinda chuckled again. “Green, huh? ‘I will not eat them, Sam-I-Am’,” she recited reaching into the refrigerator for the eggs and a jug of milk. “ ‘I do not like green eggs and ham’.”
“Who is Sam?” Vesarius asked innocently. The forks were poised in his dark fist.
Dorinda stifled a laugh. This only generated a deeper scowl from the wide shouldered warrior. “Sam’s a character in a children’s book. He tries to get another fellow to eat green eggs and green ham, but the other won’t even try them. Once he does though, he loves them.”
“Did a Vesar write this book, Green Eyes?” Vesarius’ question was accompanied by the slightest twitch of a crooked grin over the finished place-settings.
Dorinda nodded. “Perhaps Dr. Seuss was a Vesar. His stories certainly were unique enough.” She cracked four eggs into the pan. They sizzled loudly. Reducing the flame, Dorinda turned back to her guest. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Yes.” Vesarius moved to retrieve the popped up toast. “Sam Waters is the Pompeii’s historian. He introduced me to coffee. Said it was a warrior’s brew, dark and steamy.” Dori watched him shrug and place the toast onto each respective plate. “Michael Coty has teased me about it, though. True warriors, he says, should drink coffee thick and black as the Arabs do.”
Dorinda skewed her chin. “Why? How do you drink it?”
Deadpan, Vesarius turned to reply. “With cream and sugar.”
Dorinda giggled. She covered her face with her palm and shook her head. To steady herself, she leaned back against the counter. “You should be a stand-up comedian. You’re very good.”
“Are there any opportunities for a large, lost alien with no future?”
Dorinda hiccupped into silence. The Vesar’s face was still impassive, but his eyes were now rimmed with torment. Wide mouth set in concrete, his chin turned downcast. The Vesar’s lungs expelled an anchored exhale. Dorinda breathed too. “Oh, Vesarius, I’m sorry. I understand your loss.”
In response Vesarius’ head snapped up from the floor. His pitted eyes glared with a vicious fire. “Do you?” he bellowed. “Gholm-nejht atsch? My world is gone. Huaj´im! It does not even exist yet. Not as I know it.” With a swipe of a mahogany hand he expounded, “I am trapped here. Here, where I must hide for the remainder of my life. Or else be an oddity for you humans to stare at ... dissect.” His simmered gaze frosted slightly, wrath cooling. “I am Vesar. We do not hide.” There was an electric silence between them for a long moment. Then, with an abyssal sigh, Vesarius’ next words were tainted in penitent finality. “You should have left me there to die.”
“Oh, no, Vesarius. No,” Dorinda heard herself mutter. Without thinking, she rushed to him. His body was hot and rigid beneath her quick embrace, an ironic contrast to his defeat. Dorinda released him, embarrassed by her own haste. She considered what to say in reassurance. “Vesarius. Maybe Michael Coty didn’t destroy the Arch. You said he might be trying to find you, to figure out how the machine works.” When the man remained a mahogany pillar, Dorinda pressed on. “I usually go for walks with Casey before breakfast. If you’re up to it, we could conveniently head in that direction, to where I found you. I know a trail. Perhaps we could leave your captain some kind of a message. Let him know you’re all right.”
Dorinda watched his hanging, brooding countenance. The muscles along Vesarius’ chiseled cheekbones relaxed; his rugged features softened. Even his one hand, which had clutched the back of the Windsor chair, loosened its white-knuckled grip on the pickled wood. “Let Bear know I am reclining on a couch of luxury with a brave woman who laughs at my jokes?” Vesarius raised a challenging brow to her.
“Yes.” Dorinda placed a heartening hand over his. “And it’s the lap of luxury.”
“Before or after breakfast?”
Smiling at his returned wit, Dorinda patted that appendage, “After. You need to recharge your batteries from yesterday.”
Nodding Vesarius agreed. “That sounds reasonable, Green Eyes.” Echoing his gesture Dorinda stroked the man’s hand once more and turned back to the stove. “Your eggs are burning,” he informed even before she’d taken a step from his side.
“Oh, no. Not again!” Dori stomped a foot. “I used to be a good cook.”
“Before or after I arrived?” Vesarius pulled his chair from the table to sit.
Rolling her eyes at him, Dorinda reached for the skillet and dumped the browned eggs into the sink. Then, wiping out the pan with a paper towel, she started again. Dorinda also put on a pot of coffee for them to share. As she hovered by the stove, Dorinda felt the Vesar’s embered stare on her spine. “So, what kind of message should we leave?”
“Unfortunately,” Vesarius began from behind her, “I have already left a message Coty will understand. My boot prints and a rather bloody, snapped sapling. If he finds those, he is proficient enough at tracking to trace my path to the roadside.”
Dori flipped the eggs onto Vesarius’ plate then her own. “Will Coty be able to track you here?” She stepped over to the coffee maker and pulled the carafe away – stopping the brewing long enough to pour two mugs of the aromatic liquid. Then, scooping in some sugar, Dori placed the mugs on the table, the creamer between them.
Vesarius was shaking his braid at her. “He will see I was dragged down the road, perhaps surmise which direction I was taken. But, no. Only I can track a vehicle on a roadway.”
When she sat down across from him, Dorinda waited for Vesarius to taste the coffee before asking, “Only you?”
He nodded. Setting the coffee mug down, the warrior lifted his fork to scoop into his eggs. “I am a tracker. Tundra and I find missing people, lost shipments, murder suspects, even runaway children.” Popping an entire egg into his mouth Vesarius continued over his chewing. “I have taught Coty some techniques, but he is only marginally capable.”
“Casey’s got her tracking certificate,” Dorinda offered trying to ignore the warrior’s manners by poking her knife into the butter. “We earned it three years ago in Utica. We’ve even done some orienteering for hire.” Spreading butter onto her toast she inquired, “How does Tundra help you track?”
In between gobbles of food, Vesarius explained his job to her. Dorinda listened intently even as she was making him more eggs and toast. When he easily downed them, still looking hungry, he apologized. “You must realize. I have spent the past two days healing. My metabolism is still set for maximum ion drive.”
Curious, Dorinda handed him a coffee refill. “Is that why your body’s so hot?”
Vesarius swallowed a mouthful of toast, his fifth piece, and nodded. “My body temperature is normally forty-one degrees Celsius. But it is raised slightly during healing, as is my heart rate and blood pressure.”
Dorinda had to know more. Her curiosity piqued, she slid back into her chair and planted her elbows atop the table. “What else is different between humans and Vesars? Do you have two hearts or extra kidneys or something?”
Steepling his long fingers over his plate, Vesarius chuckled. “No. We are ... arranged differently. Our organs are shaped differently, in different places ...”
“Where’s your heart?” Dorinda blurted leaning forward in anticipation. Vesarius arched his eyebrows at her. Then, raising his left hand he crossed his chest and patted his right shoulder at the base of the neck. Dorinda gasped. “Then that plasma burn ...”
Vesarius nodded. “Nearly killed me, yes. We Vesar have a double scapula at the shoulder to protect our heart. Some of us are left-hearted.”
Dorinda’s eyes drifted to her empty plate, her mind trying to absorb the information. “And the ridges?” She gestured toward his shoulder.
“Those are warrior crests. In ancient times we used them to battle over women and property. No longer.”
“You have some on your toes, the back of your neck and your chest too,” Dorinda noted.
In response Vesarius grunted smugly. He reached to his waist to tug the bright orange sweatshirt from hi
s torso, slipping his long braid from the collar. Next, he placed chin against bare chest and inspected the line of bone that vertically bisected his sternum to the last pair of ribs. With another grunt, the warrior picked at the tape attaching the bandage there. He yanked it off with a hiss. Dorinda winced in sympathetic pain. Vesarius then prodded the reddened and scabby scar at the injury site. It had not healed as nicely as the shoulder. “Huaj´im.” When he caught Dorinda’s expectant gaze, Vesarius retorted, “Vanity.” He refrained from further elaboration by drawing back on the sleeveless garment.
After a moment of disenchanted silence, Dorinda rose from the table to collect their dishes. She knew how to cheer them both. “Are you ready for a walk? It’s about a two mile hike west, around the lakeshore then through the woods to the Uncas Road.” Setting the plates in the sink, Dori advised, “Best we take the back way. There’ll be people out heading for church down to Inlet and Eagle Bay. Not many mind you, but there are some houses east of me.”
In answer, Vesarius sprang to his feet tugging at his restraining clothes once more. “Lead me. I will follow.”
“Wait a minute.” Dorinda sighed seeing his obvious annoyance. “I’ve got to get you something else to wear. You need to be more comfortable ... And inconspicuous.”
Dorinda led Vesarius through the front entry hall, living room and into her bedroom. There she knelt to pull a container out from under the bed. Quickly Dori rifled through the folded clothes inside, but stiffened when Vesarius plopped down cross-legged beside her. Now her hands were fumbling in the box, her eyes no longer focused on the task.
“These were Michael’s?” the warrior inquired scrutinizing the pile. “You have retained his possessions? You would not make a good Vesar. A warrior’s pack is his only baggage.”
“Not retained,” Dori justified, echoing his strange word choice. “I’ve just never gotten around to sorting through them or giving them away.” Dorinda held up a pair of khaki pants then flung them back into the box.
She reached under the bed for another storage container. Huffing, Dori briefly dug but found nothing that satisfied her. Then, climbing to her feet, she flapped her arms and muttered, “I’m sorry, Vesarius. I just don’t think any of these clothes will fit you. There’s supposed to be a set of camouflage-wear that somebody gave Michael as a joke. He wasn’t in the military and he didn’t hunt. But he did like to hike in the woods and watch deer come to his salt lick. Anyway, the outfit was always too big for him. Michael did wear it a couple of times, though.” She paused to think. “Once he wore it for Halloween. Maybe ...” Dorinda tramped to the utility door beside the bathroom. With a sigh, she hesitated, hands on her slim hips.
“It upsets you that I am to wear your husband’s clothes,” Vesarius observed quietly from the floor. “That I am making you search through them, making you feel sorrow again.”
When Dorinda blinked hard before glancing his way, Vesarius’ gaze softened in obvious empathy. Dorinda shook her head once and sucked a breath to regain her composure. “I’ll look in my closet. Maybe it’s there with a box of old costumes.” Then, flinging open the door, she switched on a light inside and stomped beyond a stack of boxes.
* * *
Vesarius waited several minutes. When Dorinda did not return promptly, he rose from the floor to follow her. From the kitchen, Casey issued an expectant yip and scrambled for the porch door. Vesarius could hear the rumbling scratch of something large approaching through the woods.
From inside the closet, he could also discern much shuffling and sliding, even a heavy bump from something being dropped on the floor. He poked his head in to see.
The closet was deep. Running the whole length of the bathroom. Opposite the tub wall, it housed pipes, the hot water heater and furnace. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting shadows everywhere but providing little assistance to Dorinda.
She was at the back bent over and facing away from him. Her arms were half buried in a tall, paperboard box. Obviously frustrated, the woman was mumbling under her breath. Occasionally she swiped her bangs away from her eyes.
Moving closer, careful not to scare her, Vesarius purposely bumped a box before speaking. “May I help? Vesar have better night vision than humans.”
“No,” Dorinda snapped. “Just leave me alone.”
Uncertain how to respond, then deciding it best to comply, Vesarius backed out of the closet. Wiping some residual dust from his pant leg, he heard her sneeze a moment later. Then an echoing knock erupted from the cottage’s front door. Forgetting himself, Vesarius almost turned to answer it. Casey was already bounding back in from the kitchen barking her greeting to the visitors.
Before Vesarius could call her, Dorinda was at the closet entrance with a questioning gape. With a poke of his thumb he explained. “Someone is at the door.”
“Damn. And the house is a wreck.” Pulling at his bare arm, Dorinda ordered him concealed. “Here. Hide in here.” As soon as Vesarius crossed the closet threshold, Dorinda flicked the light off. “I know I don’t have to tell you to keep quiet.”
Before he could answer, the door was in his face. Shrugging, Vesarius turned to the back of the blackened closet. In the darkness he started searching for the camouflage outfit Dorinda had mentioned.
* * *
Brushing Casey away, Dori unlatched the front door to find Sheriff Cooper and his young deputy expectantly standing on her doorstep. “Good day, Mrs. Tanner,” Cooper greeted tipping his hat. “May we come in?”
“Well, Mr. Cooper. I’m doing a bit of Sunday straightening right now.” Dorinda blocked the doorway with her slender body. “The house is a mess.”
In response Cooper only tugged up his sagging belt. “Aw, no bother, Ma’am. My wife tears our place apart all the time. And I’ve got to live there.”
Dorinda sighed. “All right, Sheriff. Just don’t look too closely at the bedroom. That’s where I’m working now. See?” She moved aside to let the two men into her living room.
Cooper peeked toward the adjoining bedroom. Open boxes still sat on the floor, crumpled clothing scattered about. His chin bobbed affirmation. “Well, I’d say that’s about what it looks like at my place.”
Wanting these peace officers out of her cottage as soon as possible, Dorinda forewent the casual niceties. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cooper?”
“Well, you know my officer Dan Hawthorne.”
“Yes. Hello, Dan.” The young man was kneeling, patting the expectant collie on the head. “I see Casey remembers you too. Thank you again for the venison.”
“You’re welcome, Dori.” The blonde-haired man smiled up at her with perfect teeth. Then, standing from his furry greeting, Dan explained their purpose. “We came by because I got a call from a dispatcher in Lake Placid. She said a driver called in seeing a tan Jeep stopped alongside the Uncas Road with a flat tire and no driver. Seems this man put the call in up there when he couldn’t stop thinking about the abandoned vehicle.”
“Tourist from Jersey probably,” Cooper cut in. “Conscience got the better of him, I guess. Probably took a wrong turn off 28 to Raquette Lake. Only explanation I can gather for coming down this God forsaken dirt road.”
“Anyway,” Dan Hawthorne continued. “We knew it was your Jeep. Did you have car trouble yesterday?”
Dorinda had to nod. “Yes, Dan, Mr. Cooper. On the way back from town my Jeep blew a tire. I had to stop to change it.”
“Did you walk away from your vehicle at any time?” Cooper inquired.
Thinking fast, Dorinda considered whether Cooper had already stopped to check the site of her mishap. Figuring he had on the way from Old Forge, she answered truthfully. “Yes. I heard a noise in the woods, like an injured animal. You know me. I couldn’t leave a deer to die, so I went to look for it.”
“Did you find any animal?” Sheriff Cooper was studying her.
Dorinda cursed herself for being so honest; she didn’t have much practice lying. Then realizing she didn’t hav
e to, Dori relaxed. She hoped Cooper hadn’t caught her tense exhale. “No, Sheriff. No animal. I figured it was a mockingbird. They can make the strangest noises.”
Cooper turned to his deputy. “Hawthorne?”
“Uh, yes, Sir. Her story sounds right. We were searching the woods yesterday morning about the same time she would have driven by.” Now Hawthorne considered Dorinda with earnest concern. “Why didn’t you flag us? I would have changed your tire for you, Dori.”
“You’re injured?”
Dorinda blinked at the sheriff’s unexpected question. “I’m … I’m fine, Mr. Cooper. I know how to drive my stick.”
“Your wrist is bruised.”
“Oh, this? I ... did this last night. It’s just sprained.” Dorinda’s mind raced for an explanation. What if Cooper inquired further?
“How’d you manage that, Mrs. Tanner? There’re plenty of men in town who’d come out here to lend you a hand.” The sheriff poked an elbow into Hawthorne’s rib. “Danny here for one.”
“Oh, I was unclogging the drain in the kitchen and the wrench got away on me.” It was true; it had happened last week. “Next time I’ll call on a man’s strength. Is there anything else I can do for you, Sheriff?”
“No, Ma’am. That’s all. We’ll be going now.”
Nodding Dorinda pivoted toward the door. In passing, Dan brushed a hand against her elbow. “If you need anything, Dori, let me know.” The deputy offered a sincere grin. When Dori smiled at his kindness, Hawthorne added more softly, “Your eyes really do sparkle better without your glasses.”
“Thanks, Danny.” Dori rubbed her naked nose conscientiously and ushered the men out with a muttered goodbye.
As the front door clicked shut, a loud but muffled sneeze blasted from her bedroom. Dori froze hoping the sound had not carried through the wooden barrier. Checking the side window, she saw the two officers talking together and heading for their patrol car parked along her sandy driveway.
Dorinda released her breath then trotted through the bedroom to the closet. “Vesarius?” The utility door creaked open, and his six foot seven frame stepped out tensed for another sneeze. Dori jumped back when it came, answering with a hearty “Bless you.”
