by Amy Simone
“Did you paint these?” Ralph asked.
“Yes and no. I copied them.”
“You look like you have talent.”
“I told you, I’m a simple girl.” She smiled again at him, reached around his hip to grab her large leather purse from a chair. The purse was so large she had a name for it—George. Her eyes flashed up to his. “Thanks for taking care of the flat.”
After they walked down the stairs and got into his idling truck, he thought for a moment before putting the truck into gear. “If you don’t mind me asking, what in the world are you doing working for a vet? It’s such dirty work sometimes.”
She’d composed herself into her seat with feline grace. “Start driving,” she told him. “I like animals,” was all she said. “How about we swing by Starbucks and I’ll treat you? It’s the least I can do.”
Ralph centered himself and put the large truck in gear. "I’m impressed.”
“It’s a long story,” she told him. “And you don’t have enough lifetimes to hear it.”
6
Regrets
Ralph couldn’t get Susan’s naked image out of his mind for the rest of the day. His groin ached when he first saw it. He went through the movements of his work on autopilot. This girl, this hot young girl, was something he needed to understand. She seemed to be like a quiet river now running through his veins, a puzzle he had to solve. It was as if something had given him a treasure—a gift—sitting with him daily. She had that wonderful sensibility he loved too. She loved animals and she loved to work. Yet she was so quiet much of the time—remaining an enigma.
He took in aspects of her—observing where exactly her left knee was while they rode in the truck, how she sat as he took a corner, her smile as she greeted clients, how she shouldered her purse when they went into a gas station to grab a soda. Suddenly it felt like his eyes had become more open than they’d been in a long time. He feared it—he was falling in love. Or lust.
She didn’t seem to be aware of his thoughts. Not yet, anyway. She still did all the same stuff—the fiddling with the radio, bantering with him when he brought up cases they had waiting back at the office, holding animals steady while he stuck them, prodded them after she’d clipped them. What he most did not want to happen was for anybody to volunteer to give her a ride home at the end of that day.
He talked more than usual, too. His efforts all led to having her focus on him, to turn those green-flecked eyes framed by that wild elf-ish hair cut, in his direction. He kept talking all the way to her front door. She turned and looked at him before unlocking her door.
“The answer is no,” she said.
“Did I say anything?” he pleaded.
“You don’t have to. I don’t do married men. Ever.”
She opened the door slowly. “Think.”
She entered her apartment. “See you tomorrow.”
Ralph stood still for a moment. It embarrassed him. She was right. He stayed in his truck out in the parking lot for a good ten minutes.
Then he texted her. “Don’t know what came over me. I apologize.”
The next day neither one of them brought it up. She kept her composure, and he burrowed down mentally into what work he had in front of him. There had to be a way said one side of his mind that kept roiling at him. The other side strummed a song, something with lyrics about “dangerous.” He faced himself in a small wall mirror while washing his hands before doing surgery on a cat. This was ridiculous. He was a married man with children. He took in a sharp deep breath, turned and dived in. How dare he even entertain these thoughts.
Something changed for him, though. He felt a new energy he hadn’t had in a long time. Work didn’t feel like work anymore. It felt more like a reward. He reasoned that because he had his lucky charm working alongside him, everything would flow more smoothly. Taking on extra work that stretched into the evenings didn’t feel as heavy and onerous.
Even Verna, his office manager, noticed that something shifted. Suddenly he was popping off with phrases like “bring it on,” “tell them yes,” “the time is now.” Farm calls he used to turn away he embraced.
“You sure you want to drive all the way out there tonight?” she’d ask.
“Sure do. That farm needs help. They’ve been a good client. When else can we fit it, anyway?”
Part of this was pure selfishness on his part. It meant he’d get to spend more time with Susan. She’d get paid for her time. She took it all in stride—the fifty-hour weeks were now getting longer. Ralph didn’t mind. He began working out in the mornings—using a weight set he kept in the carport.
Cassie commented about his renewed vigor and longer hours. He explained that he needed to take on more work to justify hiring a second vet. Nobody would want to sign onto a flailing practice. Plus, he just wanted to feel better, he said.
Finally he made an appointment to visit his banker. It was Friday, the same day Cassie had her makeover appointment at the spa. The ball was now in motion. Ralph could feel springs beneath his feet. Soon he’d be able to take some time off if he at least had an in-house vet he could trust. Privately he figured they’d hired a second tech, too. He didn’t want Susan riding shot gun with anybody else. He put a listing on the board at LSU and the professional employment platforms.
It was the middle of the next week when his bank called him. They had rejected his loan because of his huge personal debt.
“What?” he barked into the phone.
“I’m telling you thirty grand is not terrible but we need that to whittled down some,” his banker said. “We’ll re-evaluate after that. I mean car loans and bigger things like of that nature we understand…”
Ralph called Cassie. She didn’t answer. He left her a terse message, asking what was going on with this new debt and how come he didn’t know about it. Then he texted and called once more. Where the heck was she?
7
The Laptop
Josh finally took a nap. Cassie carried the laptop out to the shed with her. It was easier to review her shipping lists that way so she could pull the right inventory. She flipped on one of the fluorescent lights. The motor of her computer warmed in her hand as she held it braced against her hip. She pulled out the appropriate bins. She had ten orders to fill of her own. For The Daze website she had three to pass on to Annie who would ship those out on her own. These had all come through overnight. It was nine in the morning. Josh had gotten up super early and now crashed. She was used to this.
She kept pulling out clothes that had sold and eventually balanced her computer on a handlebars basket of an old bicycle they kept parked in the shed. It was stuffy in the shed but she didn’t plan on staying long in there.
Suddenly it seemed like the ceiling light throbbed with a strange violet hue. Cassie looked up—saw it hadn’t changed—then checked her laptop. The door to the shed was only ajar a few inches which allowed a tiny sliver of daylight to come in. The computer screen was doing something odd—as if it would explode out of its frame. A bizarre purple filled the shed each time the screen emitted bright arcs and spirals.
Cursing under her breath, Cassie shut the thing off. Maybe she needed to buy a newer model. As she walked over to the bike, a loud pop sounded in her ears and a stronger purple flooded the interior. For a moment she blacked out.
The first thing Cassie heard was breathing. She looked about and saw a packed stadium filled with hushed spectators. She realized she was riding a large horse. Its hooves thudded in the perfectly level arena sand.
What the hell? She hadn’t been on a horse since Soldier Boy died.
She wore a dark navy formal suit jacket adorned with three brass-colored buttons on the cuffs. Its coat tails flapped lightly against the saddle.
The horse was more powerful than anything she’d ever ridden.Around the rectangular arena were six judges’ stands.
The horse automatically performed the complicated movements required in a Grand Prix dressage test.
Now the
y bounded across the diagonal of the arena in an earth-covering extended trot. Cassie instinctively tightened her core before they hit the corner. Immediately the dark bay horse came to a feather-light walk. She marveled how his braided mane vibrated on the crest of his neck. How did this happen?
At one end of the arena was a cluster of clicking and flashing press cameras. This competition pattern took at least 15 minutes. It’d always been her dream to compete at this level.
The horse trotted in slow motion as he passaged down the center line, stopping dead center and ending their performance. After saluting the primary judge, she leaned over, to path the horse’s neck.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
The crowd enthusiastically applauded as they exited.
Once through the stadium tunnel a pit crew and show officials surrounded them.
Cassie looked down at the small knot of support personnel now walking alongside her. An Irish-looking fellow with a thick head of wavy almost black hair, creamy complexion and sun-tanned cheekbones, patted her leg.
“Welcome back, Timmie!” he said with delighted crinkles about his eyes. “It’s been a long time. We knew you’d pull it off.”
“Excuse me, who are you?”
“Bob,” he answered, then laughed. “How could you forget? Especially after last night!”
She stared at him. He winked at her and smiled with a familiarity she didn‘t like. Her face flushed.
They made their way back to a long low barn set back from the competition arena. Bob hugged her once she dismounted.
“The Coach wants to see you,” he exclaimed, turning to take the horse. Abruptly he turned back and gripped her by her shoulders and passionately kissed her.
“God, you’re good,” he sighed. He tucked the reins under his arm. Gently he stroked her cheek. “Such a lovely,” he said, bending forward so his forehead almost touched hers.
It shocked Cassie so much that she didn‘t move away at first.
“What are you doing? I’m not Timmie!”
“Sure you are! Did the heat get to you? Now get along and go over to that big RV over there at the corner of the lot and check in. He will be pleased.”
Cassie looked at Bob with her eyebrows raised and a silent “who?” on her lips.
“Get along,” he encouraged. “We got Monster here. You were the only one who ever could ride this one!”
Cassie examined the horse. He had to be at least 18 hands high.
“Go. You know the Coach doesn’t enjoy waiting—for anybody. Be sure to knock off any dirt and shavings, too. He likes things nice and tidy in that fancy trailer of his,” Bob warned.
Cassie backed away, almost tripping over her spurs. The boots had changed. Before they’d been black leather and now looked to be a dark navy but they seemed to be alive—smoothe, clingy and flesh-like.
“I’ll be here when you get back. I’ll always be here…” He beamed at her.
She shook her head, trying to clear it, then headed towards the parking lot. She stopped once, angled her feet to see sparkling gems on the ends of her spurs. Her outfit was the most fancy thing she’d ever worn at any horse show.
The cool of the evening was setting in. The sun almost had set. She saw industrial arena lights flicker to the side of her.
Several massive RVs and horse trailers sat in the parking lot—all powered by purring generators. A few people waved; she wondered why.
The Coach‘s had a large AstroTurf carpet laid out along its side with several lawn chairs and tables under an immense stark white canopy. A security camera hovered above the short set of stairs.
“Get in here!” a deep voice rumbled once she’d knocked.
Cassie mounted the last stair and pulled open the door. What she saw inside impressed her. The whole main room was made of ebony wood paneling. Under an accent spot light at one end sat a silver-headed man wearing a deep tan leather vest and eating an apple. Hundreds of TV monitors played on a wall behind him. Some played equestrian competitions but most of them focused on people doing what appeared to be everyday activities.
“Hello,” she said. “Why am I here?”
The man rose and shook her hand. He was trim and graceful, much like an aging ballet dancer. Every piece of clothing—especially the black turtleneck—set off his silver hair. “Have a seat. We’ve been expecting you for sometime. I’m Daniel Evans and you are Timmie Brown. They call me Coach.”
“I’m not Timmie,” Cassie said. “I’m Cassie Owens.”
The older fellow laughed. “That’s just our nickname for you. We all know you. We caught you on the wave. That’s what brought you here.”
“Wave?”
“You were on your computer, right? The wave.” He relaxed and sat back heavily onto his large chair.
“Damn knees,” he groaned. “No, to tell the truth, it was your dad who made this happen. When that helicopter went down, he reached out and asked us to bring you in when the time was right. He knew he would die.”
He then waved his hand fast as though surfing through the air only to flip it dismissively in the air.
Cassie shook her head, still not believing him.
“Oh c’mon. You have always wanted to ride in the Games. We picked up on it, brought you in. We needed you. Monster’s a helluva a horse,” the Coach insisted.
“I don’t understand. I have two kids and I live in Louisiana,” she said defensively, rising to leave.
“Sit down. Don’t get yourself in a pickle,” the man barked. “We’ll make sure you get back in time. Hell, you’re only gone a second from that other life out there.” The Coach pointed vaguely towards a window. Nobody knows you disappeared. In earth time it’s only a second. But your score helped us.”
“Just get me out of this dream! I want to go home,” Cassie said impatiently.
He pushed further back in his chair, then rolled it away from his desk. Balancing his elbows on the armrests, he made a tent with his fingers in front of the bridge of his nose; he looked at her directly, pausing. “You sure?”
“My kids need me! Get me out of here.”
“Okay. But you’ll be back. Close your eyes. Count to three.”
Cassie followed his directions then stopped.
“What is Monster’s real name? Surely you don’t show him under a name like that. Who owns such a wonderful horse like that?” she blurted out.
The Coach smiled widely. “Faberge. He’s 12. Dutch. You won’t find him if you look for him, though.”
“What?”
“He hasn’t been born yet.”
Cassie’s took a strong breath. “Oh God, get me home. This dream is too much.”
“It’s not a dream. Now count,” the Coach repeated. A buzz sounded on the corner of his desk. “I got to take this call anyway,” he said. “Hurry, go on ahead. We’ll see you later!”
Cassie came to inside the shed. She stood near the bike just where she’d been before that strange adventure. Her laptop whirled quietly as if nothing had happened. From what she could tell, she hadn’t disappeared all that long. Immediately she fled from the shed to check on Josh. Everything inside of the house was just as she’d left it. She even checked her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom. Had she lost her mind?
8
The Road Not Taken
Around noon Cassie finally called Ralph back. He closed the door to his office.
“What the hell is going on with our credit cards?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Somebody has racked up thirty thousand dollars. What the hell have you been doing Cassie?”
“I can explain, Ralph. I’m working on it. Right now in fact.”
“Working on it? How’d it get this far?” He was incredulous. They had things worked out—she paid the household bills out of their joint account. He put enough in there to cover what he thought they needed. She had never warned him she‘d gotten them in over their heads.
He sat down with a tired plun
k, clutching the phone to his ear. “The bank turned me down this morning, do you realize that?”
“I’ll get it fixed Ralph. Promise.”
“When? I can’t go forward with the expansion. All because of you and your pipe dreams.”
“That’s not fair. It’s the economy. Competition. I’m working on new avenues.”
“Oh really? You know what I say to all this? Cut the crap and quit this loser business. Now.” He sat up a little straighter and barked into the phone, “Get a real job.”
“I can’t, Ralph. Not with Josh here.”
“Day care. Mom care. We’ll figure something out for him. I can’t believe you ruined our credit down like this.”
Verna knocked at his door. His next appointment had arrived.
“I’ve got to go,” he told Cassie. “When I get home, I want you to have this figured out. I’m not waiting a month. The contractor is all set to go. Sell the crap. Ask Hayworth for it. She’s loaded after all that insurance money.”
Ralph hung up.
“No she’s not,” Cassie said to an empty phone. She heard Josh in the other room singing to Tiger. She needed to make him something to eat. How dare Ralph yell like that. She’d never heard that tone before in his voice.
