She tries to stand, but she’s wrenched muscles in her lower back. Her left leg feels weak, doesn’t seem to hold. So she rolls right to stand. Which means she must turn her back on him. In that instant, she sees him pounce in her mind, feels him behind her, winces at the perceived moment of impact. But then she is standing, facing him. He hasn’t moved. She stands tall, her hands raised. His ears flatten. She knows this fear in herself. It’s the one you have to move into to survive. She shouts, a big noise like a karate yell, and takes one step toward him. The cat bends upon himself and slinks away, viscous liquid inside fur and skin. She watches him leave, consciously holds her bladder, feels her knees go watery and loose. Breathes survival.
Begins the long walk home.
Every step with her left leg is short, wincing. She cuts straight down the hill, looking over her shoulder every third step. A quarter-mile into the miserable hike, the rain lets go, soaking her through, melding one kind of shiver with the next.
Cowboy is herding goats and Barbary sheep in the pouring rain. Herding them into covered pens, on foot, by hand, because they get sick sometimes if they get too drenched. His head is down; he doesn’t see her hobble up. Rain pours in sheets off the brim of his hat. He runs and shouts, looking almost naked in his wet clothes. He looks up and sees her.
“Where’s Fletch?” she says, glad now, when she’s safely back, that she didn’t need him to come save her. “He ran home.”
“I closed up the barn when it started to rain. He wasn’t here then, and he’s not here now.”
“You don’t suppose he got lost.”
“Shit, no. You could let that beast off in Miami, Florida, and he’d find the barn. You okay?”
“Hey, Derek. Can a mountain lion bring down a grown horse?”
“You saw one? Where did you see one?”
Now she has to answer, or not. Maybe sign the lion’s death warrant. Maybe choose a side. “Up on the ridge road, about a mile this side of the spring.”
“Going which way?”
“Northeast.”
Cowboy starts for the barn at a run. Diane stands in the sheeting rain and watches him go. Then she corrals the last of the goats and latches their gate.
A moment later, Cowboy rides out of the barn on his big chestnut quarter horse, his rifle across his thighs. He nudges the horse into a lope and heads through the downpour up the hill. Diane watches, feeling a strange satisfaction. He has gone off to avenge her for what almost happened, what could have happened. Either that, or he just wants to shoot one, and this one will do.
She arrives home needing empathy from Gil. Well, from someone. Instead, she gets this: “Your asshole friend went and bought one of those permits.”
“He’s not my friend. And I heard he was going to, not that he already did.”
“You heard wrong. He got it this morning.”
“Well, I guess that explains why he’s out hunting.”
“In the middle of a storm, he went out hunting?”
“I saw one,” she says. “Up on the ridge road by the spring. He went off after it.”
She waits, dripping onto the carpet, for him to say things. Things like, Are you okay? You’re limping. Were you scared? When she grows tired of waiting, she limps into the bathroom and draws a hot bath.
She soaks until the shivering stops, until her stiff back and hip loosen slightly. When she closes her eyes, she sees the face of the lion, staring at her, and wonders if she wants Cowboy to find him or not. If she wants him to miss or not.
When she dries off and comes out of the bathroom, feeling somewhat better, Gil is gone. She looks in the closet for his shotgun. That’s gone, too.
By the time she arrives back at the ranch, Gil’s car is parked by the barn. Diane steps into the barn, out of the rain. Looks for Fletch and calls for him, but he’s still gone.
She saddles the most docile of Cowboy’s horses. The big roan he bought for his six-year-old son to ride during his court-ordered visitations. Her left leg won’t reach the stirrup, it hurts too much, so she leads him over to a hay bale to mount. They ride off into the rain.
On their way up the hill, she sees Gil a half-mile up, on foot. She tries to kick the roan into a gallop, but only her right leg gives pressure, and he steps crabwise to the left. She uses the ends of the long reins to slap him first on one flank, then the other. They break into an uncomfortable trot.
Gil disappears onto the ridge road; then she hears the shot.
When Diane rides into the wet scene, she notices first that both men are alive. Lost in a confrontation, but alive. Then she sees Fletch, but he is not alive. He’s sprawled on his side, a quarter of a mile from where he threw her, his eye open to the rain, free of the tack he wore. It’s nearly dusk, and the lightning and thunder have moved close. Neither man seems to notice as she rides up. Cowboy is dismounted, his horse grazing at the side of the road; he’s pushing Gil back with a hand on his chest. Both have their guns in hand, but neither is raised.
She hears Gil say, “You had no right. No right to touch that horse. Any more than you had to touch her.”
Cowboy’s arms fly out to his sides, rifle and all, a wet gesture of inculpability in the pouring rain. “Hey. I don’t put my hands where they’re not welcome.”
Gil drops his shotgun, and Diane knows he’s going to jump Cowboy. Even though she doesn’t want this fight, part of her is glad to know he really would this time.
“Hey!” They both look up, startled, and the roan twitches. She wants to dismount, to go to Fletch. She wants to know what happened. He doesn’t look like he crossed paths with a lion. He looks untouched. But she knows she’d never be able to remount.
Gil says, “He shot your horse, Diane.”
Cowboy says, “His leg was broke. Stuck it in a squirrel hole running home. Clean broke, Diane. I just put him out of his misery is all.”
Before she can answer, Gil says, “You had no right.”
“Yeah, well, what would you have done?”
“Get the vet out here.”
“Vet can’t save a horse with a broken leg.”
“That’s for the vet to decide.”
“Wait!” she shouts. The horse twitches again; the men go silent. Cowboy’s balled-up fist slackens. “Do I get to say something about this?” Diane sits her horse for a second or two, watching the trees rain, tired of feeling soaked and cold. “Derek is right.” Silence. “Why make him lie in the rain with a broken leg until the vet comes?”
She looks down at Gil, wanting to see his eyes, but it’s too dim. Then he turns and walks away, toward the barn and his car.
Cowboy calls after him. “Forgot your shotgun.” No reply. “I still want my damn cat back.” Gil keeps walking. Cowboy looks up at Diane. “I still want my damn cat back.” He looks more innocent somehow, soaked, like a dog freshly bathed. Not worthy of all the power she’s vested in him.
“Bob…passed away.”
“From that thing on his side?”
So it’s that easy. All she has to say is yes. Then it’s Cowboy’s fault, a closed subject. “No, the vet pulled him through that. There was an accident.”
“Oh, great. You stole him so he’d be safe. Now he’s dead. He’d’ve been better off with me.”
“Maybe.”
“Shit. I liked that cat.”
“I know you did. I’m sorry.”
After a moment, Cowboy shrugs. Walks back to his horse, mounts up, and heads northeast, away from home.
Diane cups her hands around her mouth and calls after him. “Derek.” He turns and rides back. “Are you insane? It’s almost dark. That lion is two hours gone. The lightning is coming closer. My God, Derek. Give it up.”
His horse shifts underneath him as he looks into her eyes. A flash of lightning illuminates them, thunder follows without a beat. He says, “I hung your tack on that tree.” Then he heads for home.
Diane rides over to Fletch. Looks down at him, then down toward the valley. Lightning flashes,
and she sees Gil on the hill trail, walking down. She looks back at Fletch. When it flashes again, she sees the small, neat bullet hole between his eyes, the impossibly angled leg. It should be a relief. Because he was a mistake. She didn’t want him. But he was her horse, anyway, and it hurts to lose something, even if it was something you didn’t entirely want.
She rides back, leaving the shotgun in the mud. Leaving the saddle to hang on the tree in the rain. If Cowboy wants it, he can have it. She isn’t going to get another horse.
When she arrives home, Gil is not only there, he has half her clothes packed.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she says.
“Should have thought of that before you did it. Why would you do that to me, Diane? With anyone. Especially with him. How could you even like a man like that?”
She sits down on the bed, soaking a spot on the blankets. “I mostly don’t like him.”
“Why would you sleep with a man you don’t even like?”
She thinks, Maybe to get away from the ones I do. Which is partly true. But she says, “I don’t know.” Which is also partly true. “I’d rather leave tomorrow, if it’s all the same.”
“Fine, whatever,” he says, but he doesn’t stop packing.
Diane’s car crests the mountain and enters the pass. She pulls off to the side of the highway, parks in the dirt. Limps onto the rise to see what she can see. She always knew you could see the mountain pass from the valley, but never thought to turn it around.
She thinks she can see the ridge road, but it’s hard to be sure. She goes back for her binoculars, which are in the car somewhere. Everything she owns is in there somewhere. She finds them in a duffle bag in the trunk.
It’s nearly dusk now, and twenty or more vultures circle the ridge road above the dark shape of her horse.
After sunset, a few coyotes come out, but that’s not what she was waiting for. She was hoping against odds to see the lion again, still in the neighborhood, looking for an easy meal. But soon, it’s too dark to see, and he hasn’t shown himself.
He’s probably moved on to the safety of fresh ground.
They probably both have.
PET CARE, TAROT READINGS, MAID SERVICE
She seemed odd, but then, Victor expected her to. Even as he’d copied her number from the little handmade bulletin board sign, he’d braced himself for the worst. But he needed a dog sitter. Not wanted, needed. He hated these business trips. The trip would be bad enough without the guilt.
Still, did he really need to know that this dog sitter was also a believer in, and practitioner of, the tarot? Why not just say, “Decidedly odd person wants to stay in your home with everything you own, some of which is living and requires maintenance to stay that way, while you’re not around to supervise.”
She looked about eighteen. Nineteen, tops. Her hair, well, there was just so much of it, all wild and curly, all but one straight strand that hung down across the side of her face; that strand also appeared to be a different color. The urge to reach up and brush it back where it belonged made Victor feel old.
“My wife and I are separated,” he said.
He always said that, always hated the sound of it. Why did that seem to be his lead statement, the one defining fact of his life? Hi, the love of my life dumped me, and my name is Victor. And yourself?
“Well, that explains a lot,” Rayanne said. She crouched down near Josephine, who bared her teeth and growled. Rayanne waved it off. “She has this energy coming off her. Loss. Grieving. She really loved your wife, huh?”
“She was really Anna’s dog. I mean, I always thought if we ever….” Well, I never thought we would, Victor thought. Ever. “But she lives in a condo now that doesn’t allow pets.”
“Boy, that sucks. Man. You buy a place, and somebody still gets to boss you around. Bummer.”
She sat cross-legged on the floor beside Josephine, determined to win the dog over. Because she needed this job. Victor could be sensitive to the vibrations of others, too. Occasionally. If he didn’t forget.
“That eye is cool. I love that blue eye. The David Bowie look.”
“She’s part Australian shepherd.”
“What’s the rest, like cocker spaniel or something? Weird mix. She needs to lose weight. You need to stop feeling guilty and making it up with treats.”
“I’ve only left her once since my wife and I…. I put her in a kennel. I swear, she’s still not quite the same. I couldn’t do it again. These business trips are bad enough without worrying about her falling apart. I was hoping you’d give her lots of attention while I’m gone.”
Rayanne smiled proudly, the picture of professional dog sitter confidence. “My specialty.”
Josephine, who was now sitting with her soft, overweight body leaned against Rayanne’s thigh, chose that moment to set her chin down on Rayanne’s knee.
“I’ll pay extra.”
“No, you won’t. Lots of attention is part of the service.”
She helped Victor carry his bags downstairs, leading Josephine on a leash beside them, because, she said, departure is the most traumatic moment; the dog should be allowed to be a part of things.
“Emergency numbers by the phone.”
“Right. We’ll be fine.”
“I wrote down all the stuff I told you about feeding.”
“Stop worrying. I do this all the time. So where are you going?”
“Phoenix.”
“How long a plane ride is that?”
Just a couple of hours, Victor thought, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if life were that easy? “I’m going by train.”
“Wouldn’t it be faster to fly?”
“I suppose.” He stood numbly for a few seconds, looking down the street, but his cab was not imminent. “I’m one of those people who’s afraid of flying.”
Her face brightened. Maybe she’d been waiting for him to take her into his confidence on something. Anything.
“Xaviera Hollander,” she said, and it was such a strange thing to say that he chose to let it go by. “I brought you something. Sort of a little going-away present.”
Awkwardness settled over him, threatened to smother him, the hard way. Slowly. “You didn’t need to.”
“This is going to be a weird trip for you. Could be weird good or weird bad. I’m trying to help you tip the scales.” She held out a small, transparent crystal, dangling on a string necklace.
When it became clear he would neither move nor speak, she loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and placed it around his neck, under his shirt. Her fingertips brushed his skin, made him shiver.
“No one will even see,” she said. “But you need this. I did your cards last night. Big changes in the works for you. You’ll be surprised.”
The cab arrived, giving him a chance to look away. To get away.
He wanted to say no guests, no parties. No long-distance phone calls. But he couldn’t bring himself to treat her that way. She’d given him a present.
“We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Josephine?”
Victor stepped into the cab. He looked up to see her knocking on the window.
“Not Xaviera Hollander,” she said when he rolled it partway down. “Erica Jong. Geez, no wonder you looked at me so funny.”
Victor stood on the platform under a brilliant desert night sky. He’d stepped off the train at a quick stopover to phone Rayanne. Just to assure himself that everything was okay.
She picked up on the first ring. “Branch residence.” Very professional, but sounding out of place on her, fitting her the way a conservative wool business suit might.
“It’s Victor.”
“Right. Victor. What’s up?”
An awkward moment in which he was left to explain himself, to justify this call, which he seemed unable to do. He struggled with an urgency he could feel but not express. “Everything okay?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“She didn’t snap at you or anything?”
“I
’m on your bed, and she’s draped across my stomach.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He wasn’t sure if that felt okay or not. It felt unsettling to think of this odd stranger in his bed, and Josephine was never allowed on the furniture. But maybe that policy was all wrong. Maybe when he got home, he should invite Josephine to sleep on the warm electric blanket with him. Suddenly, he couldn’t decide which sounded right. The thought of the warmth of the soft little dog, close in an unguarded moment of half-sleep, made his throat tighten uncomfortably.
“I know it seems silly to call so soon. I just….” He had thought he could talk through, past, the lump in his throat; instead, it rose up to break his words, to expose his feelings like light through a threadbare blanket. “That little dog just means so much to me.”
He could not have been more surprised to hear himself say it.
“I know” is all Rayanne said in reply.
Apparently, only Victor had just learned something new.
He hurried off the phone, struggled to compose himself. It all seemed the fault of this damned rock on his chest, though he couldn’t say why. He’d left the crystal in place because it irritated him. Literally. A little nudge to make him feel alive. And because it reminded him of the strange girl who’d given it to him. He wasn’t sure he liked her, wasn’t even sure he trusted her with the dog. But without a doubt, she’d given him this little rock as a gesture of caring. So he must not have been as invisible as he felt.
He lifted his eyes to the starry sky.
Star light, star bright, he said to himself, still thinking at the time that he would reboard the train. First, he wanted to wish for Anna back, but he lacked the courage to jump so suddenly and so directly to the bottom line of his world. Ask a question straight out, the answer might be no. It might be, anyway, but ask, and you’ll find out. Then he began to wish for a peaceful heart, but it sounded too static. Like a heart at rest. Which might not have been what he wanted at all.
Always Chloe and Other Stories Page 15
