“I don’t know. I guess he just looked like he belonged there.”
“So you called 911, and then what?” Jeff continued.
“They told me to wait in the driveway for the ambulance, and then when I got there I couldn’t see the show ring anymore.”
“Who told you to wait in the driveway?” asked Jeff, confused for the moment.
“The 911 operator.”
“Oh, right,” nodded Jeff. “I’m with ya.”
“When the ambulance got there, all I saw was Carlos kneeling by Colleen, and Jesus, our assistant foreman had the filly tied against the fence.” Joan paused for a second again and tried to remember if she forgot anything. “That’s about it. The ambulance got there and took care of her.”
“So where was the cowboy?” asked Jeff as he scratched his forehead with his right thumb.
“That’s just it,” Joan said as she tilted her head to the left and squinted. “He just disappeared. Oh… but he wasn’t wearing a shirt after that.”
“How do you know that?”
“Part of it was around Colleen’s leg, and the other part was under her head if I remember right.” Joan closed her eyes and nodded. “The ambulance driver said that whoever bandaged her up knew what he was doing.”
“Interesting,” said Jeff.
Colleen took in a loud, deep breath and turned her head slightly to the left as she let it out. Joan and Jeff paused and looked at her from the foot of the bed.
“Man, she’s out, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” replied Joan. “I imagine Doc has her on some pretty heavy shit for the pain.”
“I’ll bet,” agreed Jeff. “See that thing in her hand?”
“What thing?”
“That thing.”
Joan leaned over the foot of the bed a little to see what Jeff was pointing at. In Colleen’s hand was a grayish-colored, cigar-shaped thingamabob that had a long cord sticking out. The cord was connected at the other end to a gray box mounted on the IV pole.
“I see it. What is it?” Joan asked.
“It’s a button that Colleen can push when she needs a little more of the good shit for the pain. It squirts the medication right into her IV.”
“No shit,” said Joan as she stood up.
“Good shit,” replied Jeff with a chuckle.
“Good shit?” a female voice asked from the doorway.
“Sheila Jones,” Joan and Jeff turned their heads and said in unison.
“The one and only,” Sheila said as she posed like Vanna White at the beginning of a new puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.
“Good shit,” said Colleen weakly, drawing everyone’s attention back to the hospital bed. Colleen’s eyes were still closed, but her forehead was wrinkled with a frown. Sheila approached Colleen’s left side and leaned over her.
“Hey,” Sheila said softly.
“Hey,” replied Colleen sleepily, still frowning.
“What happened? The Dial-a-Ride guy beat you up last night?” Sheila asked with a weak smile.
“Pfft,” Colleen slurred weakly. “Show ’em your tattoo.”
“Tattoo?” Joan asked from the foot of the bed.
“Never mind,” said Sheila without looking up. “Just a little inside joke.”
“Inside joke,” Colleen repeated.
“Hello,” Leah said to everyone as she entered the room with a small clear plastic bag in her hand.
“Hello,” Sheila said as she stood up and looked at the nurse.
“Afternoon,” replied Jeff.
Leah approached Colleen’s IV pole and Sheila shuffled toward the foot of the bed to get out of her way.
“You’re fine,” Leah said as she began to replace the empty square bag with the new one she brought with her. “Busy place today,” she said without looking away from what she was doing.
“We should probably leave the room and let the nurse do what she needs to do,” said Joan.
“You don’t have to leave,” replied Leah. “I’m almost done.”
“We should let her rest for a while anyway,” Joan said. “She’s had a rough day.”
“Rough day,” Colleen repeated.
Jeff and Sheila chuckled. Joan turned and grabbed her purse from the recliner and slung it over her shoulder. Jeff followed her with his eyes as she walked to the head of the bed and kissed Colleen’s forehead.
“Get some sleep, baby,” Joan whispered.
“Seep,” Colleen whispered back.
Joan brushed Colleen’s hair with her fingers and then stood up. “Let’s go downstairs to the little garden thing,” Joan invited as she addressed the others.
Jeff nodded.
“Okay,” Sheila said as she shuffled back to the head of the bed and touched Colleen’s left cheek with the back of her hand. “Sleep well, my friend,” she whispered.
“Seep,” Colleen repeated again in a whisper.
Jeff replaced his hat, ran his fingers along the brim to make sure it was on straight, and headed for the doorway. Sheila followed and Joan trailed behind.
“I’ll be back,” Joan said to Leah, who was still standing at the IV pole.
“Okay. I’ll be around. I’m on until seven,” Leah said.
Joan paused at the doorway to look at Colleen one last time, sighed heavily, and then left the room.
†
Carlos stepped off the second floor elevator with a heavy heart. He knew that the yellow roses cradled in his arm were not nearly enough to make things right with Colleen. He had seen enough guilt in the Caldwell’s lives for a lifetime, but now the Guzman surname shouldered more guilt than twenty generations before him.
The young girl at the volunteer desk made him feel welcome, but the heat that emanated from the doorway of Colleen’s room made him uncomfortable. The baby’s breath that surrounded the roses shook in his aching hands. Beads of sweat formed at his temples and dripped slowly down the side of his face as he moved to the table at the foot of the bed.
The young ranch owner he often jokingly referred to as “Boss” lay motionless before him. Her beautiful face was masked with a grimace, which Carlos thought was from extreme pain. His eyes erupted with tears. The vase clunked against the table as he sat the flowers down.
“Ma?” Colleen called sleepily.
Carlos wiped away his tears and moved around the bed to her right.
“Ma?” she called again and raised her right arm in the air.
Carlos stood and held his breath. Waves of despair convulsed in the pit of his stomach as he tried to hold back the sobs that he knew would eventually overtake him. Colleen slowly waved her unsteady arm in the air trying to find her mother-in-law’s hand.
“Boss?” Carlos called in a throaty whisper.
Colleen opened her eyes slightly with a flutter. They sparkled from behind her eyelashes as she fought to keep them open. She weakly cleared her throat, closed her eyes again, and then turned her head toward Carlos. With an involuntary twitch, the cigar-shaped “pain button” that was in her hand freed itself and rolled down her tummy.
“Los?” she said as she opened her eyes and squinted at the brightness of the room.
Carlos placed his right hand on the bedrail and leaned over her. Tears rolled down his cheek and dropped onto the blanket. Colleen steadied her arm with her first moment of clarity and placed her hand atop his. She smiled weakly and gently caressed the top of his rugged hand.
Carlos could no longer contain his despair. His legs shook as he fell to one knee, bowed his head and began to sob uncontrollably. Colleen touched his forehead with the back of her hand. Carlos whimpered.
“Los… What’s wrong, my friend?”
She gently caressed his short, thick hair. Carlos felt as if his heart was going to explode. She was the one who was nearly killed, and yet she was doing the comforting. She was the rock. He tried to compose himself as he lifted his head and met her eyes. She placed her hand atop his again.
“I…” Carlos began, and then stopped to
clear his throat.
“What’s wrong, Los?” Colleen asked.
“It’s my fault.”
“What is?” she asked, confused.
“This… the gate... the filly,” he said with a swallow.
“What about them?”
“Camorrista… the filly… I knew about the gate… and I… I never had the chance—”
“Camo—” Colleen interrupted weakly. “Who?”
“Camorrista… La potranca,” Carlos said in his native tongue.
“The filly? You call her… Camorrista?”
“Si,” said Carlos.
“That’s not your fault, Carlos,” Colleen said strongly as she squeezed his hand. “La potranca es una locura de todos modos,” she said in Spanish, and then repeated in English. “The filly is crazy anyway.”
“I know, Boss,” said Carlos, lightening up a little. “But it’s… I—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Colleen raised her arm and touched the back of her hand to the side of his face.
“I still hate it when you call me that,” she said with a smile for the first time that day.
Carlos returned the smile and winked away a tear.
Colleen repositioned her head on the flat pillow and let her arm drop to her side. She lowered her chin and looked at him out of the top of her eyes as she always did when she had something important to say.
“Listen to me,” she said sternly. “I knew what I was in for when I bought that bitch. The only one who made a mistake was… what do you call her?”
“Camorrista,” Carlos replied.
“The only one who made a mistake today was Camorrista. She fucked with the wrong cowgirl, and I’ll deal with her as soon as I can get this crap off my leg.” Colleen paused, lifted her chin, and looked Carlos squarely in the eyes. “Until then, just keep her in her pen and don’t let anyone but you or Jesus near her. Camorrista,” she repeated with a scoff. “That’s the perfect name. So far she’s been nuthin’ but trouble. Just keep doing what you do, Carlos, and I don’t want to hear anymore about how it’s your fault. Comprende’?”
“Okay, B—” Carlos said as he lifted his head a bit higher. “Okay.”
“I’m tired and I have a headache,” Colleen said as she started to slur again. “Where’s the thing?”
“The… thing?”
“Yeah. The thing.” She closed her eyes and winced. She clicked an invisible ball point pen, indicating that she was referring to the pain button. Carlos stood up and placed the “thing” in her hand. She nodded and pushed the end of it repeatedly. The gray box on the IV pole emitted a short chirp each time she did. “Where’s Ma?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” replied Carlos. “I didn’t see her when I got here.”
Carlos wiped his eyes again and blew his nose. Colleen quickly dove back into sedation as she positioned her head comfortably. Carlos made his way toward the door, and then stopped at the foot of her bed. He made a Sign of the Cross over his chest. He then bowed his head and said a long, silent prayer. Colleen sighed heavily.
CHAPTER 3
“I need a shirt,” Jim said.
“What for?” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“I had to lose the other one.” Jim maneuvered a Marlboro from its pack.
“Where are you?”
“The 7-Eleven on Wilbur. Off Moorpark.”
“You get around fast.”
“Yeah.”
“I heard about your handiwork at the gas station on Lynn.”
“How’d you hear about that?” asked Jim.
“I said low profile, Jim!” shouted the man. “Jesus Christ! What did I say? I said keep a low profile.”
“Well… it couldn’t be helped,” Jim said nonchalantly.
“You think I’m fucking with you?” the man yelled. “It’s all over the scanner, asshole. They’re looking for a big man with no shirt and a Jesus tattoo. That your idea of laying low?”
“That’s why I need a shirt,” Jim said as he wedged the handset between his right ear and shoulder.
“Don’t get smart!” the man’s voice bellowed from the earpiece.
Jim heard the man sigh in disgust as he leaned against the hot brick wall and lit his smoke with his Zippo. He cupped the flame with his injured hand, which was still wrapped in the bloody blue flannel bandage. The relentless August sun blazed directly overhead.
“Bring me some gauze or somethin’,” he said calmly. “And some aspirin.”
“For what?”
“I cut my hand.”
The man sighed again heavily. Jim took a long drag, drew the smoke deep into his lungs, and rested his head against the wall.
“I’ll find somethin’. How bad is it?”
“I’ll live,” said Jim. He looked down at his bloody hand. It throbbed as he pulled the bandage aside to inspect the damage. Thick flaps of shredded skin oozed fresh blood into his meaty palm.
“Look,” the man said in a calmer voice. “Don’t draw any more attention to yourself until I get there.”
“I won’t,” said Jim, still looking down at his hand.
“I’m serious. I’m responsible. I could get my ass in a sling because of you, little brother. You know that?”
“Yeah,” replied Jim indifferently. “I know.”
“I got some shit I gotta do, and then I’ll be there,” Jim’s brother said in a much calmer voice than before.
“How long?”
“I don’t know… thirty minutes?”
“All right,” Jim said with an annoyed sigh.
“Think you can manage to stay out of sight for that long?”
Jim didn’t respond. He took another drag of his cigarette, stood up straight, and faced the pay phone.
“Hello?”
“Yeah,” Jim said as he blew the smoke toward the ground.
“Just stay out of sight.”
“Yes, Dad,” Jim said mockingly
The phone clicked as the line disconnected. He slowly hung up the receiver and took another drag of his smoke. The pay phone made a series of metallic clinks, and Jim checked the coin return. A balled-up gum wrapper was the only thing inside.
†
Joan sat in the hospital’s rose garden and chatted with Jeff Lohr and Sheila Jones. The many varieties of roses still delivered their sweet fragrance despite the relentless heat. Joan’s conversation was much different than that of her “garden confessional” earlier. Jeff pulled on his pipe and leaned against the wall.
Sheila took a few pictures of the roses and fountain with her camera phone as she listened to Joan and Jeff’s conversation. She “stole” a picture of the Ventura County Sheriff puffing away under a NO SMOKING sign.
“Hilarious,” Sheila muttered with a smile.
The unlikely trio chatted about lighter things, such as MaeBelle, who was Joan’s best friend and Jeff’s wife. Jeff talked about how MaeBelle’s coffee was better than anyone else’s, and boasted that she also made “one hell of a meatloaf.”
“She would have my hide if she knew I told you what her secret ingredients were,” said Jeff as he made air quotes with his fingers when he said secret ingredients.”
Sheila looked up from her cell phone. She thought to herself how her husband would love a good meatloaf for a change.
“What are they?” asked Joan, with her attention diverted from Colleen for the moment.
Jeff leaned over and whispered in Joan’s ear. Wisps of smoke rose from the pipe, which he held behind his back. Sheila turned her head and leaned closer to the secretive pair.
“No shit,” said Joan.
Jeff went back to his leaning and smoking, and slowly nodded his head.
“But you said there were two secret ingredients,” Joan said and tilted her head like a puppy hearing a high-pitched noise for the first time.
“Oh, right,” said Jeff.
“Hey!” Sheila nearly shouted and stomped her foot, startling the other two. “Joe hates my meatloaf!�
�
Jeff removed the pipe from his mouth and crossed his arms. “Well, you see…” said Jeff. “You have a secret we want to know, and we have a secret you want to know.”
“What secret? I don’t have any secrets,” Sheila said.
Jeff and Joan looked at each other, and then at Sheila. Sheila stood with her arms folded, mocking Jeff’s lackadaisical posture.
“We want to know about the tattoo,” said Jeff.
“Shit,” Sheila guffawed. “You heard that?”
“Yes we did,” Joan chimed in.
Sheila stood among the roses, thinking about the value of good meatloaf. Her thoughts wrestled with each other about whether or not the secret that only The Four Musketeers knew was worth trading. Jeff and Joan waited for a response.
“Okay,” Sheila said finally. I’ll show you my tattoo, but that’s all.”
Jeff and Joan looked at each other again, and then back at Sheila. Sheila closed her cell phone, put it in her purse, and sauntered closer to Jeff and Joan. Jeff unfolded his arms and stood up straight.
“You can’t tell anyone,” said Sheila.
“Neither can you!” replied Jeff.
Sheila was wearing a knee-length denim skirt and a sleeveless red cotton blouse, which was buttoned up the front, save the top two buttons. The blouse had a large “retro” collar, which was commonly referred to as “vintage” by modern fashionistas.
“The things I do for a good meatloaf,” Sheila chuckled.
“It’s worth it,” replied Jeff. “You’ll see.”
Sheila slowly turned her back to the waiting sheriff. She unfastened a third button and looked over her left shoulder at Joan, who was still sitting on the concrete ledge.
“It’s on my left shoulder blade,” Sheila said.
Sheila grabbed her collar with her left hand and pulled it down as far as she could. Her freckled shoulder was draped with a thin silky bra strap, which was slightly darker than her blouse. She looked at Joan and indicated that she needed help pulling her blouse down further to reveal the tattoo. Joan stood up while Jeff held his pipe to his mouth and gnawed on the plastic mouthpiece. He tilted his head as Joan hooked Sheila’s collar with her fingers and gently pulled the blouse downward.
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 6