“What in the world?” Josephine walks toward his imprisonment, stretching out her arms to investigate.
“Don’t touch them!”
She backs away. “What is this?”
“If I try to get out,” Drake points above him, “I’ll be crushed by these timbers. They’ll cave in on me all at once. Get your phone. Call the fire department for help.”
“How did you —
“Dammit, I’ve been stuck out here for hours. I’m getting freezer burn.” He balls his fist and calms down with a deep breath. “I need help. The sooner you act, the better my chances. Call for help.”
Lucius watches from a distance. His smile grows with every new fire truck or local volunteer. It seems every department has parked on the grass outside her barn. “I’m rather enjoying myself,” he chuckled.
Firefighters around the scene are stumped in figuring out the dead man’s switch in order to get him out. As the third responder turns on a space heater, Drake huddles in a small area. Drake takes a woolen blanket slipped carefully through a bottom gap and wraps it over him. He’s still shaking, getting as close as he can to the warmth of the heater barely bleeding heat through the gaps between timbers.
“Maybe we should all grab one. Push them to the side away from him,” a volunteer said.
Drake’s mouth drops, “Y’all don’t know what the hell you’re doing. Do you?” His chin trembles. “They’ll all fall like a circle over me, idiot.”
The local fire chief points at timbers leaning against each other, “We have to wrap them in place before he can come out. This guy can’t be moved, until it’s secured like a tepee on top.”
Drake looks up the twenty-two feet, until, his head sinks. “I’m gonna die.” He whimpers.
“I’ve got something,” a firefighter runs to his truck’s toolbox, grabbing a long rope. He nods over at Josephine, and says, “You might not wanna go in there right now. Your husband —
“He’s not my husband,” plugging two fingers toward the crowded barn. “That’s my crazy renter. And I’m not going in there with him like that.”
He nods, “You never know I guess… until, they move in.”
“Guess so,” and she spirals around. “I guess so.” She walks the tree line away from drama, figuring out her morning with a jostle of her jaw. Overgrown grass covers many places where leaves blanketed the ground a few months earlier. The sounds of screams suck tranquility from the air. Josephine shakes off the absurd situation to the sound of firefighters yelling out orders, as they wrap timbers in her barn. An ambulance roars a siren down the road in the distance. Drake continues crying a few octaves higher than before.
“Today is crazy,” she said.
She finally travels down a quieter thin walkway, trailing areas of disturbed ground from uprooted trees. “Do I have gophers?” Holes appear freshly dug and so she decides to follow them. Snapped off roots from where tree trunks were previously connected. “They were snapped apart,” and the trail winds back and forth, making its way toward her back property. Along the tree line.
And
next to a tree. A mangled tree. Covered in sawdust and streaked by lightning burns. Destroyed by fire and broken apart at the mid-base. Shredded in half. She glances over and sees part of her cabin from where it sits. Barely visible from her back windows because of a cedar tree shadowing in front of it. “I’ve never seen this. Perfectly out of view.” Lucius’s heart is pounding, standing yards behind her. She studies for several minutes. Then, walking around the oddity of it all. “Magnificent.” She paintbrushes her fingers over bark.
He’s holding his breath. She’s getting closer. Please stop, baby. Stop looking at it.
And
she circles around the other side with a halt. Paralyzed by what she sees. Her arms drop. Lucius utters beneath his lips, “She found it,” letting out his breath, “My God, she found it.” Josephine inhales sharply. Immediately crying. Lucius covers his emotions. His eyes peeking through fingers, “Why did I do it? What have I done?”
She’s blinded by her tears and hugging the tree. “Lucius,” she whimpers, “my, Lucius.”
He squats to one knee, “Don’t move or dare give in, soldier. You caused this and now you’re gonna have to hear it,” scolding himself.
She kisses scorched bark, “I love you, too.” Her tears stick sawdust to her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve told me,” and glances down, tugging camo pajamas and sobs louder, “It was you. This was you.”
He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved, vindicated, or guilty. But some small part of him is glad he left a love letter. A love letter carved inside of a heart with yesterday’s date in a tattered tree:
Camo PJs
loves
Lil’ Momma 4ever,
Happy b-day, March 20th
“You were here,” rubbing bark under her fingers, “You were here on my birthday.” Her smile lifts reddened cheeks, dropping heavy tears down her face, “All I needed to know was that you were here.”
◆◆◆
Sometime later, she moseys back toward the barn yard spectacle. Drake shivers in the back of an ambulance, covered by heating blankets over his body. His voice quivers, “I’m not g-going to… to the… stupid… hospital.”
A fireman strides over to Josephine, “He’s very stubborn, miss.”
“Well…” stretching her chin, “he’s a dude —
“And sick. He’s very sick.”
“Why are you telling me,” cocking a corkscrewed brow sideways, “Take him for treatment. I’m not his momma.”
He drops his shoulders, “We can’t. He doesn’t wanna go. He doesn’t understand how bad it is. I don’t have the authority to force anybody.” The gentleman is left scratching his head, looking down for a moment before his gaze climbs up toward her, “Do you think… maybe… you can talk him into having sense as his wife?”
Her head jostles violently, “I’m not his wife… I’m,” and dawns on her. Her jaw drops, “Is that what it looks like,” gesturing between herself and Drake in the distance, “Does it look like we’re together?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t assume nowadays. Your friend, boyfriend, colleague, or whatever he is, is really sick. We can stay for a while, warm him up some. I can’t make any promises. But we can’t stay for what he needs. We can’t force him to go either. He needs a lot.” The man points at the ambulance, “That’s an emergency vehicle. People wanting help come first.”
He dips his hands, almost too embarrassed to mention. In a moment of a courage-giving breath, he glances off to the side, “A firefighter had explained something to me. Half an hour ago as we arrived…” hesitating briefly, “His undergarment. The one he had on… well… um…” shaking his head and waving his hands, “I don’t like to get into y’all folk’s business, but it ain’t smart to use poison oak as clothing, especially, on private areas. The warmer his tissue gets, the worse it’s gonna feel. Just thought I’d tell you that.”
Her jaw drops, “That’s what that was?”
“So, you didn’t know?”
“No. How’d he even get in there?”
He stands with marbled eyes. Stunned. “I was hoping you’d tell me. He doesn’t remember either. He said he was drinking,” raising a palm, “… and it’s all he could tell me.”
Josephine covers her mouth, holding in laughter, “I’m sorry,” and turns away. Her eyes open, and the tree stands partially visible. She realizes, “Oh, my gosh,” and swivels back toward the firefighter.
He asks, “Can you get him to go? Maybe make a deal? Something? He needs help. He has cactus spines… in… well… in some pretty bad areas. Fire ant bites. You name it. He can hardly move in his current condition. This is pretty serious. However, he got there, it was rigged in such a way to cause damage if he got out. He was stuck pretty good.”
A police officer walks up, “Josephine,” a smile plasters across his face, “you remember me? I knew your father.”
“I sure do,” her smile greets him, “Ranger Walker.”
“Just Officer Walker. You used to call me Ranger for fun. Your dad used to let us do drills out here for our volunteers. Sometimes work alongside soldiers.”
“He did,” she nods, “right after he inherited it. I remember that,” and glances over, watching a couple firefighters wrestling with long sticks, retrieving clothes from green boughs. “He only used the property for hunting once a year. Better used in training our servicemen.”
Walker places his foot up on an old stump, “He let me out here a few times for hunting too. A way of controlling the wildlife population, keeping people safe out here.” He rests his arms over a bent knee, grabbing her attention from watching the volunteers. “Me and a couple others if memory serves,” and gives her a kind smile, “I’m grateful for your father. I sure do miss him.”
“I do too,” placing a guarded hand over her heart, “every day.”
“Um,” the fireman interrupts with a clear of his throat, “Ma’am?”
“Oh,” she remembers, “You want me to talk to him.” She takes a step, glancing back with a wave of her hand toward Officer Walker, “Sorry I can’t talk. I have an issue with a cowboy. Who apparently… got himself stuck in a pickle.”
“Who is he?” Walker asks, “Do you know what got him in there.” His voice raises as she walks further away, “He won’t talk to us. Scared or something. Probably just shock and a hangover.”
“He’s just a friend. He’s new around here. I gotta get him to a hospital somehow.” She turns with a smile, walking backwards, “As for how he got there… I woke up. He was calling for help. I don’t know, but I’d remember if I picked up giant timbers like that.”
“Maybe he fell from the gable, and a loft way gave over him?”
Her shoulder shrugs, “Maybe the Chupacabra or Sasquatch or something.”
“Chupacabra run on all fours. Couldn’t very well pick up timbers like that.”
“Sasquatch then,” she laughed.
He chuckles, “Maybe so.”
Midday chimes with the grandfather clock, and Josephine waits over couch cushions with her phone in hand. “Already a crazy day.” She glances over at her dad’s old weekender bag. The bag her father would take with him on short trips. Wesley called it his fancy duffel bag, but this time filled with a blanket, extra jacket, Drake’s belt she had unraveled from the banister, and his boots. “I wonder what happened last night? When was Lucius here? That had to have been him last night.” Her window light peaks through, making blinds illuminate through slim lines. “He was here.”
Why didn’t he tell me, she thinks, I would’ve stopped everything I was doing. I would’ve stayed home. I wouldn’t have gone out and…
And all at once sinks in.
“Oh, my gosh.” The firefighters, ambulance drivers, they all thought the same. She gasps, “Eww. I’m not Drake’s wife.” She hunches forward. Her thighs nearly falling off her cushion, holding her stomach with the news through someone else’s eyes. The sour information churns within. “No. That’s so gross. Lucius can’t be thinking that?”
She gets up and peeps through the blinds, “He could’ve asked. I would’ve told him that… he,” striding a few steps back, “That’s why he didn’t.” She stares a blank spot through the wall, “I gotta get rid of my roommate before Lucius comes back. This doesn’t look good.”
And…
a heart resounding, Finally, Lucius thinks, something in my favor. Please! Let this be a sign of good things to come.
◆◆◆
A text draws Josephine from her kindest way of planning out an… eviction. She reads the text from Drake:
I’m not staying night. No reason. Just antibiotics and itch stuff. I have a list of things to get. Cough medicine stuff. Can’t wear jeans. Bring sweatpants from dryer. My gray t-shirt too. It’s in the dryer. Nothing in bedroom, it’s all tightfitting and I can’t wear it. My LOOSE clothes in dryer. Nothing from the bedroom.
“I’m not an idiot. I know where the dryer is.” She speaks aloud, “Be there in half hour,” typing away, “Are they just about done?”
Drake texts:
Hope so. I’ll send list of items. Can you get for me on your way here? Everything hurts. This emergency department sucks.
“Sure. Make it an hour,” her shoulders shrugged, “I’ll handle the list. What are friends for?”
Her lips are slanting by the time she’s done texting, “Now, I just feel guilty. How am I gonna do this?” Josephine hangs her head, “I’ll probably tell him about moving out tomorrow, or when he’s better. Wouldn’t be appropriate right now… not after this.”
◆◆◆
Drake takes his precious and agonizing time, steadily walking through the front door. His cheeks resemble beefsteak tomatoes, swollen beyond recognition with tiny constellation blisters. “I didn’t know I was allergic to fire ants. When my body warmed back up, it got worse. A lot worse.”
Josephine winces as she follows a few feet behind him, “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Jojo.” He coughed.
“I’m trying to be positive. Sorry.”
“I’m gonna take a hot oatmeal bath and go to bed with allergy ointment tonight.” He says, “I feel like turd.” He moves bold-legged up steps, grimacing with every movement feeling as if itchy blades are slicing his groin wide open. “Doesn’t feel like they got all the spines out at times.”
“You sure they sent you home? This doesn’t seem normal.”
He almost hollers, “Yep,” gripping handrail, “Too many people bothering me. And none of their business.”
Her eyes open wide and mouth drops. She’s figured it out, “Ahh, AMA.”
“I don’t care what that means… right now. I heard a couple nurses saying that. They can shove that information where they were shoving me earlier,” concentrating on his last five stairs up.
“It means… Against Medical Advice. They didn’t discharge you.”
“No ball and chain on me, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want people touching you and prodding you in places, you don’t want people touching you and prodding you in.”
“Isn’t that ironic,” Lucius muttered.
Drake whines behind pursed lips with a survey of how far his distance is to the bathroom. He pauses, as if staring will make a difference. A deep breath is held before moseying toward the tub. “Bring me the grocery sack. I’m taking my oatmeal bath first. Put the ointments on the toilet for me. The shots they gave me are worth diddly squat right now.”
“No problem,” grabbing the plastic bag for him. Josephine pauses on the bottom step, “Oh…” her words are heavier for some reason than when she had practiced earlier, “Drake… um… when you get to feeling better, we need to talk.”
“Whatcha gonna do,” he half turned from the bathroom door, “poison me too?”
“What are you talking about,” she asked.
“Did you have something to do with this?”
She swings a plastic bag under two fingers. “I don’t know how anything happened. I can’t even remember last night. Or how we got home. I was gonna ask you. I don’t even remember tasting the dancehall’s ranch. Did I even like it?” She’s shrugging, “I can’t remember anything beyond the first hour of being there,” stretching her neck up, “… if that. Did you see anyone? Remember anything? What do you remember?”
“Maybe bad beer.” He wobbles his jaw, “I don’t remember anything either. I woke up and my life was flashing before my eyes.”
Only one could wish, Lucius thought.
Josephine says, “Oh. I was hoping you did.”
“What did you mean… anyone? You saw someone?”
“No.” Before she knows it, fear of conflict is shaking her head. “Just… general… you know? I was generally asking.”
“I don’t know.” He braces before walking again. “What I do know… is a hot bath is calling me right now to relieve some
family jewels.”
“Eww,” she grimaced under her breath.
“From the burn’n itch I feel, the things are scream’n at me.” His last step leaves him balancing in the doorway, moaning, “I need two aspirin and peace and quiet. I’m done for the day after my bath. I don’t think the pain meds they gave me are enough. They’re already wearing off and my throat is sore.”
“Would’ve been better if you had just stayed.”
He answers, “I ain’t got that kind of cash for hospital stays. They didn’t need me to run tests or anything. Pretty self-explanatory.” Josephine slides around him, laying down a couple store bags and leaves him alone for the night.
◆◆◆
Lucius makes his rounds, twirling daggers with a smile and an empty belly. But, still pleased. Atmosphere around him changes. A most welcome change. He slows down until stopping. His hungry stomach rumbles, relieved by the light footsteps almost floating behind him. The smell of evergreens and mountain air saturate his nostrils. Lucius closes his eyes, “Aw, great timing,” he sighed. A stressful weight falls with his words, “Artie,” and turns to greet a warm smile.
“Been a while.” Artie says, “I bet you’re starving.”
“I don’t even care about that.” Lucius embraces him strongly, “You have no idea how badly I need your help.”
“What do you mean? How long have you been out of… food,” grunted beneath Lucius’s squeezing arms.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, buddy.”
Artie’s eyes are bulging, “Lucius, you’re crushing me,” he used telepathy. Lucius lets go and Artie is breathing again. “Nice to see you too. I can tell a lot about a hug. You need something. And it’s not food.” He gestures toward Lucius’s crown, “Are you growing your hair out? You need a haircut. That’s gotta be it.” He stands straight with air expanding his lungs comfortably, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not asking for a haircut. I need you for something else.”
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