Dressed in Pink

by Diana Stone

  Whew, that’s a relief. I can’t do everything myself and I won’t bother Veronica on her vacation. I can handle this and don’t want to have her stressing since there is nothing she can do from the Caribbean.

  I have to get them up to the vortex. Eric is somewhere on business. I’ve already forgotten where. It’s time to text Jack, but I don’t have a cell phone. First thing is to get one with overnight delivery. The police couldn’t find it last night. Maybe I’ll have a quick look. I don’t want to think about my phone in the pasture, it will be smashed to smithereens. As I retrace my path up the gully, I flash back to my fear during the mad scramble. I was lucky to escape. I relive where I made my stops to rest and catch my breath.

  There are my tracks leading into a clump of bushes. I remember thinking I should stop and hide and this would be a good enough place. There, under the scraggly bush, is my cell phone. No wonder I moved on, there is no concealment here.

  I place my call to Jack, skipping the darned text. He answers… I briefly, and I mean briefly, explain my night telling him I will go into detail later. Then I ask to use his vortex for the horses, and I need a little healing as well.

  “Damn it, why didn’t you call me?” he demands.

  “It went down so fast. Then afterward I was with the police, you know I’m comfortable with them. Then I went to bed. I lost my phone, so couldn’t call until now. I survived,” I explain matter-of-factly.

  “I have a mound of paperwork here, but I’ll send Rafael over with the rig. I’ll go to the vortex with you.”

  “Thanks, my horses and I could use a little healing,” to put it mildly.

  “I’ll let him know. It should be about forty-five minutes, is that okay?”

  Right on time, the Spanish Hills Ranch truck swings up to the barn pulling a white aluminum horse trailer. He has the winery logo on the back and the tack room door. I load the two battered horses in. It feels like I’m under the auspices of Spanish Hills Ranch. I slip into the soft brown leather seat, buckle up, and relax. Money is a wonderful thing. This is true luxury. I’d really like one of these new Ford trucks, but mine is paid for, and with my lifestyle that makes a difference.

  During our drive, Rafael asks me a few questions. He doesn’t pry, but he’s dying to know what happened and why we all need to troop up the canyon once again. When he sees the horses, and I tell him all about my crazy night, he is horrified, and shares my anguish. The drive is short, but comforting, sitting with someone who cares.

  As we’re unloading, Jack comes out with concern etched between his brows.

  “Let me look at you,” he insists, and gently takes my hand in his, scrutinizing my arms and face.

  “The herd ran me over. My legs and back have hoof marks.”

  With a smirk and roving eyes, he tells me I should strip so he can check them out.

  It’s nice to see he occasionally shows interest in me… When he isn’t in Europe.

  “Do you know how to drive a Gator? I have one with a roof so you can travel in style.” he points to the little work mobile with thick tires and a mini cargo area for tools and supplies.

  “I need to brush up, but I can handle it. Are you saying you’ll lead the horses while I drive?”

  We work it out so I sit in the cargo area holding the two lead ropes while Jack drives. It’s a slow plod since both horses are getting stiffer as their wounds swell. They’re limping along and making slow going of this. It reminds me of walking with Calypso. I hope this works for them. I have higher hopes than I did last time, but you never know.

  We have to make several stops to let them catch their breaths. We are going at a snail’s pace, but even still, I’m being jostled and bounced without a comfortable seat. At last, we reach the entrance to the vortex. Both horses are visibly fatigued, with flared nostrils and sweat running down their legs.

  Jack stops right outside and takes the horses from me. He waits for me to climb out, then together the four of us trudge in.

  It’s cool inside, with the same little bubbling pool in the center. We stop the horses at the damp place. They look around with pricked ears and wide eyes. Their concern could be because of the new environment rather than anything magnetic or strange. Five minutes later they are still jumpy, and I’m on my last legs. Jack directs me to the log and tells me to sit. He takes them both and walks in a small circle letting them get used to the feeling. I sink down onto the log, place my elbows on my knees, rest my head in my hands, and hope for the best.

  Finally, the horses stop, let their ears flop sideways, and look relaxed. It’s happening. They’re perfectly still and their heads begin drooping toward the ground like they’re going into a deep sleep.

  I’m getting a whiff of sage. I breathe in deeply, in case the scent is the cure. It pours into my lungs, stronger with each breath. I’m physically exhausted, but my mind is waking up with insight.

  I again question what I’m doing with my life. I’m asking my higher-self if I had another option, other than shooting Pickett. My voice replies that he made his own destiny by trying to kill me. That I will not be held negatively accountable. It was his own choice.

  My thoughts move to my career path. I feel this path is fine for now. I must be alert to changes I need to make as they’re available. I have to allow them to happen and not to get locked into a career that doesn’t allow me to express myself. That makes sense as long as it pays a living wage.

  Regarding men: While I’m attracted to Jack, he has shown that he is not my type of man. He is too arrogant, bossy, and overbearing. He will rub me the wrong way every single time we are together. He is attracted to me and often is generous and sympathetic; but his business, his divorce, his wealth, and popularity, make him a terrible catch. Maybe Eric is someone I should concentrate on. We enjoy each other’s company and have a lot of fun together. It will be an adventure and a journey. I am confused by my soul mate theory the last time I was here. I thought Jack was my soul mate. What happened? Jack may have changed it. He has his own free-will and acts like an arrogant pig. I’ll adjust my thinking so I don’t lose Eric because of my soul-mate idea. He may not dine in castles and have friends with jets, but he is a good man.

  My higher voice drifts away. I’m back to having only one voice in my head.

  On the other hand, I wonder if I should hold off a little longer with Eric and see what happens with Jack. Just one more time. Am I am an idiot for thinking this when I had insight that told me otherwise? Is this what happens in the conversation between my higher self and my stupid self—that I give things one more try?

  My body feels relaxed and pain-free. I’m testing body parts—stretching my arms and legs and twisting my back this way and that. Pressing on my bruises doesn’t hurt. Ah, chalk this up to another healing. I love this place!

  Sometime during my insight, the horses lay down. They’re breathing comfortably in the damp sand.

  I look at Jack. He’s not really here, either. He’s sitting in a dry spot staring at nothing on the ground. I guess he’s doing a little thinking as well. I hope it’s good for me.

  As I sit quietly and wait, Jack returns to the present, looks at me and smiles.

  “How do you feel?” he stands and brushes sand off his pants.

  “I feel great, I don’t have pain or stiffness anymore.” I wonder if I can get him to open up. “I had some insight into my life and what I should be doing.”

  “It’s good to have insight.”

  “Did you have any?” I pry.

  “I’ll have to see.” He looks at the horses, “They’re waking up,” he takes the leads and waits for them to stand and shake off the sand.

  They received the magic of the vortex. They are calm and relaxed and have lost their wide-eyed fear. Their wounds look partially healed and free of inflammation.

  I decide not to get jostled in the cargo area, so I walk the two back to the ranch. Jack slowly motors along behind. Maybe he’s thinking?

  I feel great. I have eno
ugh energy to consider the walk in the river bed a good way to firm up and burn calories. I know I’m back to normal when I’m concerned about my weight.

  Rafael hears us and comes out of the barn. Jack has him put the two in the big corral.

  “Would care to join me for a sandwich?” he engages me with a nice smile.

  “I’d love to.” Darned right I would. Perhaps he had some insight he’d like to share.

  We walk in companionable silence to the house. The day feels right. Everything feels like it’s working out for me. The house feels cool after the warm sun. His housekeeper isn’t here, so he digs through the fridge to see what he can find. One at a time, he pulls out the ingredients for a mozzarella, tomato, and fresh basil ciabatta sandwich.

  He stops rooting in the fridge for a moment, “I have something you should see. Come with me.” He has a beaming smile and looks like a kid waiting to show me something.

  As I walk up the few stairs to the master bedroom, I don’t think this is what it seems. “Saying you want to show me something in your bedroom sounds provocative.”

  “I realize that, but this time it’s different,” he lifts the lid of a keepsake box and picks up a small, rotten pouch. I found this in the vortex a few months ago.

  He holds out the cracked leather and I take it. “Wow, this is old.”

  “Look inside!” he insists.

  I carefully turn it upside down, and 3 gold coins slip into my hand. The coins are gold and so worn that the cross on the front is smooth, and the coins are no longer perfectly round.

  “Are these gold doubloons?” How exciting. “You found these in the vortex?”

  “When I was there with Glory. The morning sun glinted on a few crystals someone had stacked in the sandstone wall. I went to get a better look. Since I’m the right height, I saw into the hole. The pouch was in the back, perfectly lit by the sun. Another minute and I wouldn’t have seen anything. Yes, they’re escudos, which is a doubloon.”

  “These must have been there since—since when?” Gently moving my thumb across one coin, “Do you think since the time of the missions?”

  “I haven’t done much research. But see the date on the front… it looks like 1705. Mission Santa Ines was started in 1804. They could have been there for a hundred years before the mission was built.”

  “I guess there’s no way of knowing who owned these, and why they’re there.” I’m examining the coins with awe. “I’ve always wanted to find treasure. Have you looked for other holes?”

  36

  On the Balcony

  Before he can answer me, I hear an accelerating car, “Who’s driving like a maniac?”

  We both look through the glass balcony doors in time to see the black Mercedes convertible slide to a stop by the four car garage.

  “Damn, it’s my wife,” he looks around. “Stay here. I’ll get rid of her as soon as I can. I’m sorry, she’ll make my life hell if she sees you.”

  “Fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet,” I promise.

  “Thanks,” he breathes with relief, and closes the bedroom door when he leaves.

  I stand here at the dresser for few minutes. Then I sit on the bed for a few more. I hear their voices growing in volume from the foyer. It sure is unpleasant to live with that. Is this the life I want? On one hand, it would be great for my ego. On the other, he can be hard to deal with, but maybe not all the time. From a distance, I saw him as a controlled and powerful man. Up close, he’s sometimes overbearing. Maybe his wife is reacting the same way.

  “Stay here and talk to me,” Jack commands. At the same time, I hear a footstep on the wooden stairs leading up here. “Don’t walk away from me!” he shouts at her.

  “You can’t tell me what to do anymore,” she pauses. “Let go of me,” she yells at him and continues up the stairs.

  Yikes, she’s coming up here. If I hide in the closet, she’ll see me. The bed is too high to hide under, you can see underneath it when you enter the room. That leaves the balcony… I dash to the door and quickly slide it open and step out. The patio is still visible to the room, but the roof slopes down to it. I step over the wrought-iron railing and climb onto the roof.

  It’s been a few minutes. I’m now above the patio, sitting in the shade of the chimney. Leaning back with my knees up, looking at the lovely mountains and mentally leaving the scene below. Perhaps Eric would be a better choice. Drama is not my thing. Yuck, getting caught in their bedroom would have been mortifying.

  Yes, sitting up here is rather pleasant. It gives me time to think while looking at a nonjudgmental mountain. I don’t want to be the Other Woman. Is he a guy who will never leave her, who will just lead me on? Will he tell me how much he loves me and that she doesn’t understand him? Will he ask me to please believe him and give him time... and string me along forever?

  As it is now, am I the Other Woman. I hadn’t planned that nor did I do this to break-up his marriage. I only came here to use the vortex, then for lunch in his kitchen, then to see the coins. I’m not continuing the affair. Or am I? Am I having an affair? I hadn’t planned to. It happened during the night of the snakes when I also believed he was getting divorced. I think I can excuse that due to adrenaline and fear, and his overwhelming maleness.

  I know he has baggage and I know he will be unreliable. Once a cheater, always a cheater.

  Huh, I think I just had a conversation with my higher self. The vortex may have opened a small path of insight. If this is the case, I’ll have to keep up a platonic friendship until my small path of insight becomes wider.

  She steps out onto the patio, and now I can clearly hear her.

  “I expect to be paid if you want a divorce! My attorney told me 5 million will be adequate,” she screeches at him.

  “5 million, are you nuts?!” he roars.

  “Fine, give me alimony in that amount. I’ll let you spread it out over a couple of years, I’m reasonable,” she tones down her voice.

  “We’ve only been married 2 years, you did nothing to help the business. I gave you a car, trips, jewelry. Why are you doing this?” he’s distraught.

  “Because you cheated on me!” She must have seen his look. “With beautiful European women and with your damned business. You never had time for me. Always, your stupid wine and ranch. You let me think you’d share your life with me, it was all a lie. So now you’ll pay for my emotional pain. I want to keep living the way I have become accustomed to,” she quotes her attorney.

  I can’t hear his reply.

  “I’ll make you sorry,” there’s a sneer in her voice.

  I still can’t hear Jack’s answer.

  “Spousal abuse is a felony you know. What’s wrong, are you afraid of me? Don’t you want your good name spoiled?” she taunts.

  Holy cow. I’m a witness. I’m happy to be a witness, but no one will believe me. She’ll say I was the other woman hiding on the roof. Oh great, that’ll sound terrible. Then the brilliant voice in me speaks up— video it. At least I’ll get her voice if she continues screaming. I dig the phone out of my jeans pocket, slide it to video, and begin recording. Just in time.

  “You’re going to jail for spousal abuse. I’m calling the police and gonna to say you hit me,” she screeches.

  “I never touched you,” he rages at her. “I’ve never-ever touched you!”

  “Yeah, but nobody else knows that,” the sound of a slap fills the air. “You did now,” she laughs hysterically. “Damn, I hurt my hand.”

  “Who in their right mind hits themselves?!” he asks wildly.

  “Someone who is waiting for her 5 million dollars, that’s who.” More hysterical laughter.

  “Get the hell out of my house!” he bellows.

  “Dear Jack, if I wanted, it could be my house now.” There’s silence, then I hear her hysterical sobbing. “I’m reporting a crime. My husband just hit me. Yes, he’s here now. I’m afraid for my life!” She gives the address along with Jack’s name and description.

&nb
sp; I hear the front door slam and he rushes out to the driveway, pacing up and back with unconcealed anger. I guess he’s waiting for the police. He never looks up to the roof. He’s forgotten about me, he doesn’t know I’m up here. The poor guy. She crossed the line, big time. He would be damned, but for me. Before I congratulate myself too much, I’d better see if I got anything on the video. I’ve done that in the past… not recorded when I thought I had.

  “I expect to be paid if you want a divorce…” I listen to part of the recording, and yes, I got it. Thank goodness she was yelling and screeching at the time. I need to keep this safe, so I send a copy to my email. I don’t know where else to send it. I’ll send one to my mother. Since she isn’t local, he won’t lose his privacy. That should be fine for now.

  In the distance, I hear sirens. Oh boy, here come the troops. I’m getting a first-hand view from the other side of the law.

  Several years ago, I got in trouble for not accepting a citizen’s arrest from an angry husband. He told me she hadn’t hit him, but he still wanted her arrested for hitting him. I didn’t want the wife to have an arrest record for something she hadn’t done. Legally I was supposed to have accepted his lousy citizen’s arrest, and then release her on her own recognizance. It seems I hadn’t followed procedure, or the law. So I got a reprimand on my record for having morals.

  Jack is standing in the driveway as the units pull up. Deputy 1 speaks with him while the other goes to interview the wife. Deputy 2 returns after a few minutes and speaks with deputy 1. Oh dear, there’s my answer… Jack is placed in handcuffs. Her face must have a red mark, so it became a felony. If there weren’t a mark, she would have made a citizen’s arrest, and then they would release him on his own recognizance. There wouldn’t be handcuffs. There would be paperwork on a pad that looks like a ticket book. Then he’d get a court date to speak with the judge.

  So I sit here, wondering what my next move should be. It occurs to me that if she makes a false arrest, he will have a much better leg to stand on in divorce court. I’ll wait until she leaves, then I’ll sneak down and have Rafael drive me to the police station. He’s introducing himself to the deputies now. Jack is speaking to him from the caged back seat of the patrol car. I’m glad I am a witness to this. I should film it. It isn’t proof of anything, but it shows him losing face to his employee and the community. That might help. I click my video on and I film away. They drive off, the wife drives off, and I make my descent from the roof.