The booze was having an impact. Her head wobbled. “Okay, I guess so, I mean… I still don’t know.”
And she didn’t.
When Peg woke up the next day, her lips felt like dried-up sea sponges sealed together to contain dead sea creatures in her mouth.
Did I smoke cigarettes last night?
Nipper licked her fingertips that dangled off the bed. The other side of the bed was empty except for a note from Clark.
Peg, I’ll be back. Thanks for signing the agreement, Love Clark
Right, dim memory. He’s gone and I signed another drunk agreement.
When she sat up in bed, her stomach contents stubbornly refused to sit up with her. She gingerly placed her head back on the pillow. Wiping the fuzz from her eyes, she saw the folder labeled Alternate Contract for Sale of Company on the nightstand. She leaned on her elbow to move the empty shot glasses from the top of the folder. The glasses clinked and the strong smell of leftover tequila triggered a gag. Holding the file over her head, she shook it.
Empty
Without a phone, she checked her computer for emails – no messages.
Too hung over to care as much as she otherwise would have, she got up, let out the dog, fed the dog and went back to bed. Nipper curled up at her feet. When night-time crept into the room, she forced herself awake. Stumbling into the kitchen, she prayed that some do-gooder had made her a double cheeseburger with bacon and left it on the counter.
“So I should be happy now, right Nipper?” The dog sat at attention. “I mean, he came home and promised that he’ll be back again soon. Like he said, it’s all good.”
A blast of cold air swirled around her legs. She shivered and wrapped her robe tightly around her.
A green aura appeared on the kitchen counter. The shape of a six-toed cat hovered over the carved wooden box on the counter. Snow White’s tail flicked menacingly. The lights dimmed.
“Oh no you don’t. That’s from Clark. It proves he loves me.” Peg lunged for the gift, but she was too slow. The cat’s tail swished the box off of the counter and sent it flying into the wall with such force that the wood smashed into pieces.
Peg ran to the broken bits on the floor. “No. Why did you do that?”
The haintly feline sauntered in midair. With her dextrous six-toed front paw, the cat opened the kitchen desk drawer, levitated a folder labeled Emergency Cash and Traveler’s Checks and zoomed the file across the room, where it came to a rest next to an incredulous Peg.
“You beast,” Peg screamed.
The translucent cat raised her back leg, licked her private parts and disappeared.
Peg scrambled to find the pieces of the box. She located one of the tiny compartments with a hidden piece of paper wedged in the slats. Her heart leapt. A secret love note – from Clark.
It read:
Clark, my love, I can’t wait until we can be together forever. Todo mi amor – BENITA.
… not possible…
Peg read the note again.
… a re-gift from his mistress… to HIM…
… the box wasn’t for me… he lied…
Nipper took interest in the manilla folder next to her. He sniffed and pawed the label on the cover. Peg tug-of-warred the file away from the dog, but when she opened it up, it too was empty. The cash was gone. The traveler’s checks were gone. She slumped against the wall.
A militaristic masculine voice echoed through the house: “Get up woman – and fight like a man. He’s after your money.”
A southern drawl oozed from the vents: “You should know all about that, Ernie.”
“Shut up you miserable excuse for a writer,” Hemingway bellowed.
Why? Why is he doing this to me? What about love? What about a new company together… lump sum payout?
“Sugar, he’s just playin’ you. One lump or two – doesn’t matter – he’s biding his time ’til he takes you for everything,” Tennessee snarked.
Peg collapsed into the fetal position.
There’s nothing left to take.
Drinkin’ It All In
Empty liquor bottles toppled as Peg reached for the chili cheese Fritos on the coffee table. Leaning across her dog, she dug her orange-stained fingers into the bag and cupped a handful of chips.
“One fur you.”
Nipper gently lipped the chip from her grasp.
“Two… okay.” She waved her hand in front of her face, shaking her wobbly head. “More than two fur me. Ha ha.” She gobbled a mouthful of chips. She wiped her carrot-colored palm on her flannel pajamas, the armpits stiff with three-day-old sweat. Her pajama pants billowed jodphur-like out of her knee-length Italian leather boots.
The channel changer’s buttons were caked with grimy crud, making them no longer functional. The homebuying channel remained on the screen day and night, with no rest for the worldwide homebuyers. The couple in the Caribbean held hands as they decided on what house to buy on their island paradise. Peg shouted at the TV, “Don’t do it. Oh shhhure, he promissses you aventure… HATE THAT WORD… take it from me, girlfriend, he’ll leave you alone… by yurself… oh… an watch the coconuttts too… not kiddinabout that.” She waggled her pointer finger at the screen.
The doorbell rang. Peg stumbled to answer it. The mail-lady stepped back when she saw Peg. “Hello, Mrs. Savage. You’re still here? There’s a tropical depression, you know.” She handed Peg a stack of mail.
“Than’ you very much, donn you worry… I’ve alllreddddy got it.” Peg closed the door and re-stumbled back to the couch.
Holding Nipper’s head, she pressed her nose against his face. “Randolph is shhhuper mad, I should shheck emails, but I’m not gunna. He’s done with me. I got only you now… no husband… no Trudy… juss ma dog.” A drunk tear trickled down her cheek and landed on Nipper’s paws. The dog, drawn in by the proximity of her foul breath, licked her cheesy lips. Peg hugged him close. Her head fell to the couch armrest and she passed out.
Had she not been trashed for three days she would have noticed:
Day one: the weather warnings on all of the other TV channels, the wind picking up, the barometric pressure dropping
Day two: the pounding rain, the tropical depression
Day three: the tropical-depression-turned-hurricane’s unexpected turn toward the Florida Keys, the power outage, and–
A humongous hunk of blue paint missing from the front porch ceiling.
From the darkness of inebriated sleep, her eyelids opened to a vision of unblinking dog eyeballs, eerily reflecting the electrifying lightning flashes. A huge crash of thunder bolted her upright. “Ahhh, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Her tongue was a cotton ball wrapped in a dirty sweater.
The rain pelted the windows and the shutters banged against the siding. The roar was deafening like a–
Freight train… it sounds like a freight train… that’s how you’ll know it’s a…
“HURRICANE.” She leapt off the couch. “Nipper, come.” Instantly sobered by fear, she corralled the dog into the bedroom and shut the door.
All my fault… the grotto… so sorry Sister Gabriel…
Why didn’t I follow the hurricane readiness checklist? I’m not ready… no phone… I didn’t get bottled water… or a seven-day supply of non-perishable food… or batteries… or plastic plates…
She opened the nightstand drawer and found a tiny reading flashlight, formerly used so she wouldn’t wake up Clark.
Clark, you son of a bi–
CRASH. The windows rattled and a picture fell from its hook.
Peg clutched her chest. “Nipper, on the bed!” She knelt on the floor and felt around for the doggie life jacket that Clark had bought to take Nipper out on boating excursions.
“I should have been suspicious when he didn’t buy me a life jacket. At least one of us is going to survive this.” She crawled on top of the bed and kissed Nipper on the head, shakily slipping the blue vest around the dog’s body and fastening the straps.
Something heavy careened into the back of the house. The sound of shattering glass filled the air.
“Ayyyy, what was that?”
She hustled Nipper under the covers. The top of her head made a tent with the sheets. The torrential rain pounded the metal roof. The walls creaked and moaned.
Life passed before her. She thought about her mom and Gram – how much they had meant to her – how much she had loved them. How she wished they were here with her now.
Their jewelry… I have to save their jewelry.
Throwing off the blankets, she crept across the mattress to the dresser. Another resounding crash and the house quaked. She scampered under the covers, clutching her jewelry box. A trickle of water formed under the bedroom door.
“This is what it’s come to, Nipper. You’ll be my treasure ship.” Peg dumped the jewelry on the bed, holding the flashlight between her chin and neck. She fondled the family heirloom bracelet, worn by every baby girl for 100 years. She clasped it onto Nipper’s collar. The tiny stream of light shone on an engraved heart locket, given to her by her mother. Peg picked it up. It read, To Peg, my little ray of sunshine.
I could use a little ray of sunshine right about now…
Peg pinned the locket to the outside of Nipper’s life jacket. “There… like a purple heart for bravery.” Nipper’s brow formed a wrinkly upside down V over his dark brown eyes. Peg scratched his ear.
Her grandmother’s gold and silver necklaces turned Nipper into the canine version of King Tut. “I don’t want to weigh you down, my good friend. The rest’ll be on me.” Peg stifled a sob. “The sunken treasure.” Nipper sat on the bed like an Egyptian sphinx, solemnly taking on his responsibility.
Peg squashed rings on her fingers and loaded bracelets on her wrists. She moved her arms robotically, watching the reflection of the jewels glint under the makeshift tent. The emerald earrings that Clark had given her caught her eye.
Back when he cared…
She looked down at her pajama shirt. Lifting her right breast, she picked off an orange-colored chip-goo-ball and replaced it with the green and gold earrings. “You’ll be safe under there… one day you’ll be discovered,” she cooed as she patted her breast down. The earrings disappeared in the shirt, under the wine-stained words, I love my bed.
Peg and Nipper jingled together in their huddle. The little flashlight’s battery grew dim.
The room darkened and the gale forces howled. The rain intensified in waves – thunderous, then backing off.
Out of nowhere, Nipper sat erect and cocked his head. He turned frantic, leaping back and forth under the tent, then jumped off the bed.
“Nipper, what’s the matter? What is it?” Peg un-tented herself in the unlit room.
Nipper body-slammed into the door, barking furiously. Peg hurried off of the bed to get to the berserk animal. The dog hopped back and forth, madly gyrating his head as Peg clasped her ringed fingers around the knob. Thinking she would peek through a crack in the door, she inched it open. Nipper had another thought – he wedged his nose into the small opening, forced the door wide open and bolted.
“Nipper, come here. It’s dangerous.” Peg followed his craziness down the hallway, where he resumed his frenetic behavior. He bounded into the front door, leaving claw marks as he fell to the floor.
“Nipper, you’ll hurt yourself.” Peg wrenched him back, only to have him wriggle away from her.
In an instant, all hell broke loose. The front door opened with a huge blast of wind and rain. Seizing his opportunity, Nipper darted out onto the porch. He stopped briefly, crouched into an athletic pre-launch pose, then leapt into the river of water that once was the street. Peg yelled for him but all she could see was his neck bling and shiny metal heart, swimming away.
“Nipper. Nipper,” she screamed, delirious.
The pelting rain forced her to clamp her eyes shut. She clutched the porch column to steady herself against the wind.
How am I gonna get him? How can I do this? Too much water…
When she opened her eyes, she noticed a green glowing mist on the bottom stoop. A mini waterspout formed and images took shape. Two ghostly Key West writers and a polydactyl cat lounged comfortably on the step.
Furious and frustrated at the impossibility of her situation, Peg lashed out. “Oh, so are you here to torture me again? To see me suffer? That’s what you want? You guys are really assholes. Maybe if you did something worthwhile you wouldn’t be the undead. Maybe you would be just regular dead… maybe you could move on, or whatever it is that spirits are supposed to do. WHY don’t you help me, you useless asshole haints?” Peg punched the rain in their direction.
Hemingway and Williams calmly nodded to each other and stood up. Snow White wound herself around their legs. The men linked arms and formed a shield in front of Peg. Snow White floated off and glowed brightly over the runaway dog, who swam with the current, on a mission.
Distracted, Peg strained her eyes in the direction of the light, cupping her hand over her eyebrows. “Nipper, I can see you.”
The ghost shield lit up the street. Hemingway pointed to a paddleboard that was wedged perpendicular to a large concrete street light down the street. Water cascaded around the sides of the board forming a raging current.
“What? A paddleboard? Hell nooo. You’re crazy. I’ll die for sure,” she yelled at the haints.
They shoulder-shrugged.
“I’m not a good swimmer.”
They nodded, unabashed.
Before she could respond, the luminescent figures appeared behind her. Smirking to each other, they lifted their radiant right feet in unison, and swiftly kicked her hindquarters – into the ocean-slash-river-slash-street.
She sputtered and gasped for air after she hit the water. Her body tossed and rolled in the current that surged higher and lower. Taking a breath, she realized she could touch the bottom. Her Italian leather boots protected her feet from the random sharp objects. She tippytoe-swam her way toward the paddleboard. A greenish glow surrounded her in the wind and the rain as she careened down the street. Chunks of palm trees and roof tiles blew past, but miraculously, not into her.
Please, no dead bodies floating by… please God… no dead bodies.
She tossed and turned, gasping in the current until she bonked into the board with considerable force. Peg managed to grab hold of the board’s strap and secure it to her wrist. Swim-walking into the turbulent street she used the force of the water and her body to wrench the board off the street light. The paddleboard flung into the air like a rocket and jetted past her in the rapids, forcing her underwater. It dragged her up and down like a fish flailing on the line.
I’m sorry to all the fish in the world… for mocking your suffering… this is horrible.
The board twirled several times, swirling her in a circle, before straightening out and gaining speed. Peg had just enough time to grab the end of it. She hoisted her body onto the board before it crashed into a parked truck and began to spin again.
Throughout the twists and turns she could see Nipper and the glowing, green ball hovering above him. “Nipper, I’m coming.”
Supernatural strength helped her heave her entire self to a prone position on the board. In alligator fashion, Peg scooped her ringed fingers into the shape of oars and dug into the passing water. A plastic pink flamingo projectiled past her cheek. A beach umbrella missile launched in her direction, only to open up and tornado into the sky when it got close. A shoe, towel, coffee cup and lamp spun in a furious dance, then hastily changed course.
My God, it’s like a rummage sale in hell.
An unnatural phosphorescence oozed around her.
Even though Nipper swam with incredible speed, her paddleboard drew near. Through the din of the storm, Peg heard a familiar bark.
Lulu?
He’s going for Lulu… she’s in that stranded trolley bus.
Nipper swam into the trolley from one of the open windows on the side, but the rough
water forced him toward the front of the trolley. Head down, shoulders tensed, he thrashed his front legs against the strong tides.
Lulu perched precariously on the top of a fire extinguisher case at the back of the flooded bus. The water whirlpooled, swelling in and out of the opening below her. She howled when she saw Nipper, stopping to snarl at the odd piece of rubbish flying by.
“I’m coming, Nipper. I’m coming, Lulu.” Peg crashed the paddleboard into the rear of the trolley. She maneuvered it sideways to force it into the trolley’s rear window. Once through, the board caught the angry current and it blasted past the stranded chihuahua, straight into the front windshield.
The force of the hit tossed Peg off of the board. The water roiled and whorled around her. She held fast to the board, the antique grooves in her many rings providing a good grip. The water alternately lifted then submerged her body as she battled to stay close to the board. She contorted her neck in the water to gain a visual of Nipper on the driver’s side at the front of the bus. The water level ebbed and flowed angrily. She could see him tiring. Against his effort, he drifted sideways toward the turbulent maelstrom outside of the trolley’s front window. It sucked Nipper closer and closer.
“Nipper, watch out,” Peg shrieked.
The raging vortex caught his back leg and dragged him down.
“Nipper, noooooo.”
Peg released her death clutch on the paddleboard. A deluge of water catapulted her body toward the steering wheel. She smashed into the windshield feet first, and, in one Herculean move, swung her Italian leather boots to either side of the driver’s door. Using the adrenaline of a mother lifting a Volkswagen off of her baby, she caught the silver and gold chains rotating around the dog’s neck and hauled the exhausted dog out of the maelstrom. Gripping the top of Nipper’s life vest, she propelled herself backward. The muddy water splashed over her head, obstructing her vision, but she gritted her teeth and lunged for the wedged paddleboard. She caught hold, choking to keep her head above the churning water. A freakish wave lifted the duo and they both landed on top of the board.
Island Life Sentence Page 17
