Joy and Tiers

by Mary Crawford

  “Are you finished?” A deep, gravelly male voice asks, causing me to jump about a mile in the air.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask as I pull the pepper-spray out of my purse. I just about drop the stupid thing. My hands are shaking with shock and sweaty. No one ever gets the drop on me. I’ve got multiple obscure MMA titles to prove it. Everyone always laughs when they find that out about me because I look like a nondescript vanilla bean. Nothing really stands out about me. I’m tall and skinny and basically brown. I’ve got brown eyes, brown hair and olive toned skin. When I stand next to my sister, people are always asking if I’m adopted because my skin tone isn’t the nice peaches and cream tone Heather has. I look like I could be working in the wine vineyards in Italy like my ancestors.

  I take a defensive stand, aiming the pepper spray at the guy’s eyes.

  “I advise you to stand down,” he says with icy calmness that sends a chill up my spine.

  Well hell. This isn’t how the script is supposed to go. He’s supposed to be cowering in the corner, crying for his mommy.

  “Suppose I don’t?” I ask, displaying an insane amount of bravado. My sensei would have me scrubbing down mats for a month if he could watch this bizarre little exchange.

  “Look, Lady. Please don’t ask me to answer that because you really don’t want to hear my honest answer anymore than I want to tell you. It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning and it’s already been a hellacious day. I’ve had one horse go down with an infected hoof and the other with colic. With all due respect, I don’t think you really want me to touch you. Trust me, if I had to touch you right now, you would be offended in every sense of the word.”

  “Oh, so you’re the stable hand?” I ask dismissively as I look around for my sister. I take a good long look at him. He’s very handsome in a ‘rugged-surviving-the-wilderness-oops did-I misplace-my-razor?’ kind of way. I generally prefer my guys a bit ‘neater’. Still, my eyes are drawn to his impeccably defined shoulders and forearms.

  He just smiles mysteriously and shrugs. “Sometimes.” He’s watching me openly ogle him. Yet, unlike most guys, he doesn’t flex or preen. For some reason his quiet confidence ticks me off.

  I narrow my eyes suspiciously as I demand, “Wait… does my sister even know you’re here?”

  This time, he doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk as he answers, “I imagine so, since I manage to cook breakfast for her three or four times a week.”

  “You’re kidding me! Heather’s always been on the flighty side, but I never figured her for a cheater.”

  “Lady, you seem to have a universally lousy opinion of everybody. If that’s the way you treat somebody you love, I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies. It just so happens your sister is the adorable wife of my commanding officer. I am his tenant at his request because I got sprung early. Do you have issues with me stepping up to take care of Heather while he’s gone? If so, that’s too damn bad. You can take your faulty assumptions and go climb back on a tin whirly bird and go back home for all I care. It’s no skin off my nose.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t believe your macho asshole-ishness. My sister hasn’t said one word about you. It’s not like Heather to miss an opportunity to wax poetically about a cute guy.” I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands as I realize what I’ve just clumsily admitted out loud.

  The stranger just wipes his hands on the back of his jeans and gives me an indulgent look of pity. “Well, considering your sister is one of the happiest newlyweds I’ve ever seen— especially given the fact she never sees her husband— I doubt she much cares about my level of handsomeness. Quite frankly, if she knew she was going to face these accusations by innuendo from you; that in itself, may explain why she hasn’t been forthcoming.”

  “Ooo look at all those big words coming from somebody who shovels horse crap for a living,” I reply sardonically, rolling my eyes.

  Suddenly, I hear a strangled gasp of surprise from behind me. “Madison Paige LaBianca! Did you leave your manners in the baggage carousel or something? Why on God’s green earth would you talk to Trevor that way?”

  “I don’t know the man from Adam!” I argue defensively.

  “Exactly! You have absolutely no reason to treat him like pond scum. You’ve been hanging around Mom and Dad too long. Obviously, I need to reintegrate you into polite society,” Heather responds as she shakes her head in disbelief.

  “You can’t be too careful these days. He might’ve been here to hurt you,” I sputter, not quite willing to give up the point.

  “For the record, I was doing the functional equivalent of cleaning fungus out of Velvet’s toenails when you came bursting in here like there was a shoe sale at Neiman Marcus. How many evil guys with nefarious intentions do you know would take the time to give a horse a pedicure?”

  Crap. The man makes a good point. “It’s hard to know what to think. You’re out here mucking out barns like a high school dropout but you speak like a college professor. Talk about your mixed messages. I don’t even know your name.”

  “All you had to do was ask. I’m Lieutenant Trevor Black, It’s been an interesting experience to meet you to say the very least,” he turns to Heather and comments, “I’m still not used to calling myself Lieutenant. Has Colton gotten used to his new rank?”

  Heather smiles at Trevor as she responds, “It’s still so odd for me to hear him called Colton. I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about his rank very much. So, I’m not sure how it’s affecting him. I just got off the phone with him. He sounded weird and secretive again like he always does before something big is going to go down. This cloak and dagger stuff is killing me. I don’t suppose you’re in the loop on this one?”

  A pained expression crosses Trevor’s face. “No, they won’t let me talk mission stuff with anyone from the unit since I appealed the decision regarding the separation. But, I would take it as a really good sign that he has the time to call you. It shows they’re not in bug-out mode, ma’am.”

  “That’s kind of the way I read it too. He sounded excited, but not in a doomsday way. You know how he gets. He wasn’t asking me to double check that the life insurance premiums are paid this time. So, maybe it’s good news this round,” Heather replies with a slightly watery grin.

  Trevor gently smiles at her. “I hope so, ma’am. I really do.”

  When I see the compassionate expression on Trevor’s face, I’m even more embarrassed by my snap judgments earlier. When exactly did I turn into such a bitch?

  “Trevor, I’m sorry for the belated introduction, but this lovely creature is my pesky little sister Madison LaBianca. You’ll have to excuse her. She’s from the East Coast. They do things at a different pace there. It’s going to take her a while to get acclimated to farm life in Oregon.”

  I smirk at the accuracy of Heather’s explanation. There is more truth to it than she could ever know. There are about a million and one reasons I can’t be in Boston right now and I can’t tell my sister about any of them. Fortunately, her upcoming wedding gives me the perfect excuse to hide in the middle of nowhere all the way across the country.

  I stick my hand out for Trevor to shake. “It’s nice to meet you Trevor. Look, I’m sorry for being such a putz. I’m not usually such a jerk. Can we chalk it up to jet lag or something?”

  Trevor nods at me but does not take my hand as he replies. “I don’t think you want to touch these hands. They’ve been in some pretty nasty places today and I haven’t had a chance to properly wash up.”

  “Oh, I am familiar with the dirty side of horses, didn’t Heather tell you that I own four Arabian horses?”

  I guess I’m not the only one with a few surprises up my sleeve. Although, she can’t be hiding much of anything under her outfit. It’s not as if she’s trying to be deliberately provocative but it’s downright sexy nonetheless. She’s wearing a burnt orange turtleneck sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans. She has a scarf with fall colors casually draped over her shoulde
r that highlights her stunning copper brown eyes. Her hair is a rich, deep brown that flows softly around her shoulders. She looks like she has far more in common with the fashion model who might walk on fashion row in New York City than someone who would own Arabian horses. I’m actually confused. I thought Tyler told me that she was an investigative journalist whose specialty was looking into bogus charities. Raising and breeding Arabian horses is not a cheap hobby. My confusion must’ve been showing on my face because Madison snaps at me, “Please don’t tell me you’re one of ‘those guys’ who thinks that only men should own and raise Arabian horses.”

  My jaw drops open for several seconds before I think to close it and answer, “Excuse me? I didn’t say anything like that!”

  “You don’t have to. Your face said it all.”

  “I think not. My face said, ‘Wow, that’s impressive. She must be doing really well as a journalist. Arabian horses are hellishly expensive.’ If you read anything else into that, I’m sorry.”

  Madison flushes and hides her face behind her hands as she says, “Wow, I’m really batting a thousand with the bad judgment calls today. I think I need to go inside and take a nap.”

  “Anyway, if you’re hungry, I made you some tomato bisque soup with some homemade sourdough bread,” Heather offers. “It sounds like you could use something to eat. You always get obnoxiously cranky when you’re hungry.”

  For a second, it looks like Madison is going to take offense at Heather’s words. But, then her stomach lets out an audible growl. Madison blushes slightly and shrugs as she concedes, “I just hate it when you’re right. I’ll admit, I could eat an entire buffet at the Golden Corral. I couldn’t believe it, the cut-rate airline I flew didn’t even offer peanut or pretzels. It’s such a rip off to fly these days. That is one long flight. Why didn’t you remind me?”

  As she has to stop and take a breath, take a moment to admire the color in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes. Tyler was right on a certain level. The sisters are quite different. You have to look really closely to find any family resemblance. Madison has rich mahogany brown straight hair whereas Heather’s a mass of curly blonde corkscrew curls. Madison is tall and thin and Heather is well endowed. But, as different as they are on the surface, I have a hunch deep down, they are probably a lot alike.

  When the living conditions in Iraq started to cause maintenance issues with my prosthetic and contributed to pressure sores on my stump, the National Guard required me to bail on my team early. To say I’m less than pleased with some bureaucrat’s decision who’s never met me is the frickin’ understatement of the century. I had it handled. They just needed to give me a couple more days of healing time. Hell, they show more leniency to people who are sleeping off hangovers than they did for one decubitus sore. Heather and Tyler allowed me to patch my skills together and build a semblance of a career. I’m extremely grateful they gave me a chance to salvage my pride here on their farm. But, one of the things I’ve learned is although Heather looks like she might be about as ferocious as a Maltese puppy, she’s every bit as tough and tenacious as my former commanding officer.

  As I watch the sparks fly from Madison’s eyes, I wonder if she’s always this prickly or if it’s simply the fatigue from the trip. Yet, as I observe her when she thinks no one is watching, she seems to be surreptitiously looking over her shoulder and checking her text messages.

  “Got a husband or boyfriend back home?” I ask before I can stop the question from popping out of my mouth.

  She so startled by the inappropriateness of my inquiry that she reflexively answers, “Good God no!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry I guess I should’ve said, ‘significant other’.”

  “That’s just sad that you think just because I’m plain I must be playing for the other team,” Madison replies with a menacing glare.

  “Hey now! Don’t put words in my mouth.” I argue. “I never said that. I don’t think you’re plain at all. For the record, nor do I think your gay. I just didn’t know what you call your boyfriend. I was trying to be sensitive and all that. In case you haven’t noticed, figuring out relationship statuses is like navigating minefields these days. Have you looked at options on Facebook? It’s more complicated than a voter’s ballot in November.”

  “Not that this is even remotely your business, but I have enough stuff going on in my life right now without having to worry about adding a guy to the mix. With all due respect, you’re not worth the trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you’ve made your opinions clear on the subject.”

  Madison cringes. “I suppose I did at that. Knock it off with the ma’am stuff; it’s likely I’m younger than you are and it just makes me feel weird— like I’m some strange dominatrix.”

  I choke as my coffee goes down my windpipe. “Pardon?” I wheeze.

  “You know, “‘Red Room of Pain?’ Ma’am, Sir and all that jazz? Where have you been lately—living under a rock?”

  Her casual question is like right uppercut out of nowhere. I’m not even sure how to form a socially acceptable answer to her tossed away punchline.

  “You could say that,” I respond dryly.

  “Turnabout is fair play. What about you, Mister Nosy-Pants—where is your ‘significant other’?”

  I know that Madison means her question to be taken as yet another example of her snarkiness. But, there is just enough of a hint of pain in her eyes that prompts it me to be brutally honest for once. I’ll probably regret this later. Hell, there is no probably about it. I will regret this, I can pretty much count on it.

  “I lost her,” I reply, my gruff voice betraying my emotion. Damn, it never gets any easier to say that out loud.

  “What? Who did you lose?” Madison asks, her face full of confusion. “How do you lose a person?”

  I carry my dishes over to the kitchen sink and rinse them off. Topping off my mug of coffee, I head to my favorite leather chair in Heather and Ty’s den. I motion for Madison to proceed in front of me.

  She takes one glance at the recliner and whispers softly, “Oh, look! She rescued Grandpa’s favorite chair.” When Madison spots Ethel laying on the couch, she gasps with delight. She practically skips over and cuddles up beside her, kicking off her boots and tucking her feet underneath her. Ethel responds by plopping her big bloodhound head on Madison’s lap and thumping her tail wildly. “I missed you too, Sweetie,” she murmurs as she strokes Ethel’s long velvet-soft ears.

  Well, I guess there is more to her than prickles after all. Madison glances up and notices my bemused curiosity. “What can I say? Ethel used to be my grandma’s dog. I’ve known her since she was barely bigger than my two hands. I just miss her that’s all,” she explains defensively.

  “Did I say anything negative? I think it’s cute. It makes you seem almost human.”

  “Almost human? What the heck do you mean by that? I’m certainly not a robot or zombie? Although after that flight, I might argue with the zombie part,” she adds with a quick grin.

  I’m a little stunned by the difference in one small facial expression can make. If I thought she was pretty before, Madison with a sincere, unaffected smile is simply breathtaking.

  “Well, even you can admit you’ve been giving a pretty good impression of a ticked off porcupine today.”

  Madison takes such a deep long shuddering breath that I thought she might start to cry. Instead, she acquiesces. “Part of me wants to take issue with that characterization of my behavior, but the more honest part of me knows that you pretty much nailed it. I don’t suppose it would do me any good to argue that I don’t usually act this way.”

  “This is America, you’re free to tell me anything you want to.”

  “I can read between the lines. What you’re saying is you may not necessarily believe me, right?”

  “I don’t really have enough information to make that decision right now, but I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Speaking of information, you never did share the rest of your
story. How exactly does someone lose a girlfriend?”

  Immediately, my expression sobers and my stomach crunches painfully as it does every time. I turn to look in Madison’s general direction and choose to look at a spot on the wall right above her left ear. Experience has taught me that I can’t stare directly at people while I share my story because it just gets too intense. However, if I look away to avoid the onslaught of pity, people draw all sorts of negative conclusions, so this has become my coping mechanism.

  Even though I’m trying not to specifically focus on the expression on Madison’s face, it’s impossible to miss the avid curiosity displayed there. I have a hunch that she’s sliding comfortably into investigative reporter mode as she looks at me with an expectant gaze.

  Finally, I take a deep breath and swallow hard as I admit, “I lost my wife Marcy Lynn.”

  “You are married?” Madison asks incredulously.

  “No ma’am. Not anymore. Marcy Lynn is dead,” I answer, fighting the words.

  Madison pales and sways slightly. “Oh no! What happened?” she asks, her tone hushed.

  “The only girl I ever loved finally decided to listen to me when I told her to get the hell out of my life. That decision cost Marcy Lynn her life.”

  “I don’t know if you can shoulder all the blame. There might be other factors involved you don’t even know about.” Madison tries to comfort me. I have to give her credit for trying. Most people don’t know what to say and can’t stand to even look at me after I tell them the story.

  “We didn’t really have any secrets from each other.” I explain.

  Madison shrugs and responds, “Everyone’s got secrets.”