by J. A. Pitts
“Not the most open-minded group of folks?”
Katie just shook her head once and sat back, holding her coffee with both hands. “There’s got to be something else,” she said. “She totally flipped.”
“Well, she lost this,” Melanie said, passing the stack of papers. “This could have something to do with it.”
Katie flipped through the papers, saw the check, and whistled a descending tone. “Holy mother.”
“Yeah,” Melanie said. “What kind of trouble is she into?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, scanning through the letter. “But I know the sword this guy is trying to buy. I bet this is part of it.”
“Well, we’d planned to talk about Sarah tonight. I just didn’t realize we’d have a floor show.”
Katie glanced at her sideways and quirked a smile. “Bitch.”
“Guilty as charged,” Melanie said. “But I have to be back at the hospital in an hour, so spill the rest of it. What’s special about this sword that makes it worth so much?”
“You remember the summer my parents died? Remember the bunker?” Katie began.
“How could I forget,” Melanie said, setting her coffee cup down. “Jimmy caught us fooling around down there, before he showed you the letter.”
“Well, I think all that crazy stuff my parents were on about . . . I believe them,” Katie said, steeling herself for an argument. “I think Sarah may have reforged the Gram.”
“Jesus,” Melanie said. “This is huge.”
Twenty-six
KATIE CALLED SARAH AT HOME SEVERAL TIMES THE NEXT DAY and decided to just swing by the forge. Sarah usually worked on pet projects on Saturdays, with Julie’s blessings.
She grabbed two coffees and a dozen crullers on the way.
When she pulled into the smithy parking lot, Julie came out of her trailer and walked toward the shop.
“Morning, Katie,” Julie called.
Katie balanced the bag and the coffees, while closing the door to her car with one hip. “You seen Sarah?”
“Nope. Not since about two o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
“Damn,” Katie said, her shoulders sagging a bit.
“You two have a fight or something?” she asked.
“Something.”
“That coffee?”
Katie shrugged and handed the one she had for Sarah to Julie. “Not sure you’ll call it coffee, but it’s got enough sugar and caffeine to stop a mule.”
Julie took a sip of the triple espresso mocha latte and grimaced. “Definitely something Sarah would drink.”
Katie smiled. “Might as well go for the whole diabetic rush,” she said, holding out the bag of crullers.
“If this is how you visit her,” Julie said, fishing out a sugar-laden donut, “we’re gonna need to talk about her weight.”
“I only break out this level of sugar when there’s real trouble,” Katie said. The tears were near enough to feel the sting. “We had a bit of a row at Monkey Shines yesterday.”
“What for?”
“She accused me of sneaking around with my friend Melanie,” Katie said. “Melanie was between shifts over at the Evergreen Hospital and she agreed to meet me for coffee.”
Julie took a second cruller and sat on the tailgate of her truck, kicking her feet. “And Sarah took exception?”
“Lost her freaking mind,” Katie said, pacing back and forth behind the truck. “Sarah left this at Monkey Shines.” She held out the envelope. “This mean anything to you?”
Julie glanced at the envelope, but made no motion to take it. “Came yesterday by courier.”
“Some guy wanting to buy her sword,” Katie said.
“I told her to take the money and run,” Julie said, reaching over and taking the bag of crullers from Katie.
“What did Sarah say?” Katie asked, facing Julie.
“Said it would be dishonorable.”
A warm smile blossomed on Katie’s face. “That’s my Sarah.”
“She says you told her you love her,” Julie said, changing the subject.
“Yeah, Wednesday.” She stopped, her jaw hanging open. “You think that’s what caused all this?”
Julie shrugged, munching on her cruller. “Sarah’s full of conflicting emotions, Katie. What the two of you have been doing so far has been play. Now you went and made it all serious.”
“But I do love her.”
Julie set the bag of remaining donuts on the gate of her truck and stood, sucking the sugar off one thumb. “Give her some time. She’ll come around at her own pace.”
“You think so?”
“She’s stubborn and convinced of her direction, ’cept when she’s not,” Julie said, brushing the dust off the back of her pants. “Let her come around to it. Better in the long run if she sees it herself.”
Katie let her head droop a little. “Does it have to be so hard?”
“Nothing worth having ever comes easy,” Julie said, clapping Katie on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go on home and let Sarah work this through. When she’s tired of beating her head against the brick wall, she’ll come around asking for help. I’ve been watching her for over a year. She’s a damn fine apprentice, but is bound and determined to do things the hard way.”
Katie stared at the envelope a moment and shrugged. “Well, if she comes in, will you have her call me?” she said, walking toward her car.
“Sure thing.”
When had things started to go crazy? Katie thought back. It was fine until the earthquake. Cats and horses got a little nuts when earthquakes happened, maybe it was the same with Sarah. Of course . . . She glanced over at the envelope. The sword had been reforged the night before.
She started the car and pulled out of the lot. Jimmy was being so damn cautious. What if this was Gram they were dealing with? Mom and Dad had urged caution, keeping a low profile, but sometimes things just got out of hand.
She rolled down her window and cranked up her stereo. Pink’s “So What” blasted over her. Somehow this was screwing with her relationship with Sarah and it was starting to piss her off.
Twenty-seven
I WOKE AT THE BUTT CRACK OF DAWN. I DON’T REMEMBER CRYing as much as I had last night, but I sure remember sleeping more. Another night of short sleep rations and psychotic dreams. Thunderstorms and giants battling for the high ground. Each time I dodged a bolt of lightning, or hurled boulder, another obstacle rose before me, bigger and meaner than the last.
At least I recognized they were nightmares. That was an improvement. What I needed to do was really push myself. Hammer my body into oblivion, then I could sleep.
That trail out between Issaquah and Marymoor Park was just the thing I needed to clear my head. Eleven miles. I’d run it last summer when I was getting ready for that marathon down in Bend. I could run as much as I could and walk the rest. Piece of cake.
Of course, I rarely ran more than four or five miles in a given day, so this would kick my behind.
I drank a large glass of orange juice after my shower, then dressed in my running clothes. With the MP3 player strapped to my bicep, and a healthy dose of sunscreen on my neck, face, arms, and legs, I was as ready as I was going to get today. I packed in several bottles of sports drink for the run along with a couple packs of power gel in case I could fill the water bottles at the public fountains along the way. Not looking to win any races here, just to finish and be able to walk.
I deliberately left the cell phone on the counter. I needed time to think. Didn’t want any interruptions.
The drive to Gilman Village was rather short, given that it was Saturday traffic. I parked across from White Horse Toys, cranked up a long playlist of random metal, and began to stretch.
Once I was really aligning to the tunes, and had stretched enough to allow a light jog to get the rest of the way, I packed my fanny pack with wallet and keys and headed down the trail.
Eleven miles. That’s a long damn way.
I started at a light
jog, but as I cleared the strollers and the talkers, I stepped it up. The first few miles were smooth, finding my rhythm, hitting my cruising speed. After mile five, I walked a bit, then jogged, and walked, alternating for endurance. It was that first moment where my heart thudded in my chest, and my breath stuttered in and out with a near sob. This was when my mind felt clear, when the voices and critics were shut down, pushed aside by fatigue. I figured it was time to take stock.
Carl had a thing for me, but now knew I was gay.
Jennifer loved Carl, and felt a kindred spirit to me now that she realized I wasn’t the competition.
JJ was a dumbass, surrounded himself with strippers, and Sawyer was telling him what a great actor he was. Amazing. Of course, if I was honest about it, he was pretty damn good. He was just a jerk. At least I knew where he stood in the grand scheme of things.
Rolph, on the other hand. He was a puzzle. Had he sold me out to the damn banker? Why was he twisted up in this? Why would he call in Sawyer, other than to put him in my face? He seemed so damn earnest about both the sword and the dragon.
A shudder slipped across my shoulders but I ran through it. There was something scary about Sawyer. On the surface he seemed fine, real humanitarian, but with Rolph’s story and the sword, things didn’t synch.
It all came back to the sword. Maybe I was just too damn tied up with it emotionally, making me imagine things. There was something about Sawyer that set my teeth on edge—a sour taste below the surface that told me he was a very dangerous man. But what evidence did I really have?
And my gut had worked so well on many levels in the last few days. Just look at the mess I’d made with Katie. She’d told me she loved me, and I managed to piss that away pretty quick.
But, dear sweet Katie. I thought of the wicked smile on her face when she stepped into the shower. How she looked in the morning just waking up. How she liked her coffee and how, when she was really tired, she’d sleep curled up on top of the blankets, instead of burrowing under them like I would.
But Katie was in another league—one I wasn’t sure I wanted to play in. I could see a relationship totally working with her, but when you added in Melanie, and Dena, and the whole Gay Pride agenda, I balked. I didn’t want the lifestyle. No marches, no banners, no rainbow T-shirts and spangled pink pyramids emblazoned on my car.
Whom I chose to share my sex life with was my own damn business. If straight people didn’t have to declare who they were sleeping with, then why the hell did I have to? Why did I have to make some proclamation to the world on the subject? Anyone who needed to know, already knew. Hell, some folks I wish didn’t know already knew, and the world hadn’t come to an end . . . yet.
Maybe Katie and I could just come to a quiet understanding. She could handle all the rallies and sit-ins, and I’d read her notes or something.
One movement is as bad as the next, frankly. First Da has us running all over God’s creation looking for the perfect church, and we’d sit in on meeting after meeting, joining the team with the TRUTH. Only, each version of the truth differed, depending on who you talked to.
This whole Gay Pride thing was no better. Individuals preaching to the converted masses, telling them things they already knew, making the world a little more sparkly in the name of equity . . . as long as you believed what they believed.
Sigh. What I needed to do was to clear my head, air out the cobwebs a bit and maybe make some room for new thoughts, an alternate perspective.
So I ran on, head down, concentrating on my breath.
Back when I took tae kwon do as a kid, my sa bum nim told me that my mind was too busy. She said I needed to learn to concentrate, to focus my actions and my thoughts on a single target, a single goal.
I don’t think I really understood what she meant until I started smithing. That’s where I found my ability to give myself to the task at hand. Become so engrossed with the art, the work, that everything else fell to the side.
Running didn’t fix that, but it got close. Of all the things in my head, only Katie’s face interceded for the next few miles. I kept catching glimpses of Katie—the way she held her mouth when she orgasmed—the way she drew in her breath in quick gasps.
There was power in that moment. Not unlike the power I felt when I created something with steel and fire. Taking her to that edge and riding with her as she crossed into bliss—that was when I was at my best. Focused . . . dedicated . . . invincible.
I wish I could keep that feeling after, when I was out in the world. To be able to hold that fire, keep the overwhelming confidence and surety of that precise moment. That would be bottling the lightning, that’s for sure.
At the hour mark, realizing that I was not going to solve the whole sexual orientation conundrum, I switched my thoughts to the other huge thing in my life at the moment.
Like what to do about that damned sword.
Swords and dwarves, dragons, bankers, movies, prima donna actors, and desperate, well-meaning directors.
If I used the sword to kill Frederick Sawyer, what would that cost? Oh, the prison time notwithstanding. I understood all that, but where did I stand morally?
That moment at Carl’s, I knew fear like I’d never known before. Something there triggered a primal instinct in me. I could’ve killed him, if I had been within reach, but instead I let the fear wash over me, shutting down my defenses, closing off my mind.
The next several steps jarred through me as my pulse thundered in my ears. In that moment, the world narrowed, folded in to nothing but the trail and the sound of my feet.
The Fear rose in me then, caused me to stumble. For a moment the world was consumed with the black shadow that had engulfed my heart. While the certainty of the monster others could not see had faded with sleep, the overwhelming feeling of powerlessness had not diminished. If anything, it was growing stronger.
I stutter stepped as pain thrashed across my left calf—cramp of an alarming category. For a moment, I nearly lost my balance as the trail seemed to slide around. Then I realized it was another quake. This one about like the last, several hard jolts and a semi-long rolling shrug as the Pacific shelf slid north toward Canada.
I walked after that a long bit, wishing I’d brought my cell phone. At least I had the sports drink. Should’ve drunk one earlier.
I managed to work the cramp out of my calf, but the knot I felt forming below the skin would not dissipate altogether. I did the best I could to get it eased back enough to walk, but I foresaw a foul-smelling muscle ointment in my future.
I limped the last two miles, hoping I could borrow a phone long enough to get a cab back to Issaquah. No way I was making that jog back.
As it was, I could see collapsing into a hot bath and then going back to bed.
When I arrived among people again, I made my way over to a women’s softball game, purchased two bottles of water, and sat in the stands to watch. Eighteen- to twenty-four-year-old women of all colors and creeds dotted the field. The pitcher was excellent, and the outfield superb. They played ball well, too.
Definitely a little surge of joy watching them. Watching the way they moved, the way they looked in their uniforms—all the curves in all the right places.
The guys on the rock climbing wall to the left did nothing for me, however. Oh, I could appreciate the way they were toned and all, but they didn’t light my Bunsen burner.
I watched the doubleheader, eating hot dogs and drinking several bottles of water over the next few hours. Several times I had to pace around the bleachers as my legs threatened to cramp up, but I knew the drill. Work the knots, stretch the muscles to prevent further damage, and drink enough to get my electrolytes back into balance and to hydrate.
Around one, I found that there was a bus that ran to Issaquah so I made sure I was on it. Getting from the bus stop to my car proved a bit challenging, but nothing compared to trying to drive a clutch.
When I got home, I would medicate, steam, and sleep.
In that or
der.
Twenty-eight
THE ANTI-INFLAMMATORY DIDN’T KICK IN UNTIL AFTER I’D soaked in the tub for an hour or so. But when the knots began to finally loosen, I limped to the bedroom and crawled deep into the nest of blankets, not even bothering to dry my hair.
I woke around midnight. I’d slept for almost nine hours, and had no recollection of dreams. My left leg burned where the knot had been, but overall it felt pretty good.
I slipped on the pink sweat suit—hey, it was comfy. I grabbed my satchel and sat on the couch to check my e-mail.
Maybe I’d won the lottery or something.
As my laptop booted, I remembered Sawyer’s offer. That was one big-ass check. I opened my messenger bag and rifled through the notebooks and assorted papers. The envelope was not there.
I panicked. Had I lost it? No, wait. Did I even put it in my kit? Was it sitting on Julie’s desk at this very moment?
That was the likely scenario. I put on a pair of white socks, and my tennies, grabbed my fanny pack, and headed to the car. If that envelope was at Julie’s I wanted to get my hands on it immediately. It was imperative that no one else got ahold of that check.
I drove over to the smithy, making the best time and within the speed limit. Julie’s truck was in the driveway, but the lights were out in her trailer. Of course, it was nearly one in the morning by this point.
The crunch of the gravel seemed louder than normal, but I pulled over to my normal space and parked. This would only take a moment.
I had the keys in my hand, and had already thrown the light switch in my head, when I stopped short. The door was ajar.
Had Julie left the door to the smithy open? I couldn’t imagine it.
I crept forward, keeping my hands free and my profile low as I approached the door. Through the crack, I could hear someone swearing in thickly muted whispers, and the sound of a shuffling body. At least one, couldn’t tell if there were more.
Robbers in my domain? This was the fight I’d been itching for. I slowly pushed the door open with my foot and listened intently. Whoever was rummaging around inside had not heard the door. I scuttled around the edge of the door frame, keeping my profile as small as I could. When I reached the tool bench, I quietly picked up a two-pound hammer and stood, flipping on the lights.
