Frayed Rope (The Ugly Roses Book 1)

by Harlow Stone

  My daddy loved his Harley and my Irish roots are green.

  Thus the creation of MS Harley Green from nowhere town who pays in cash, and pays you extra not to ask for identification.

  A few signatures later and my hobo bag quite a few thousand lighter, I’ve accepted the demise of Harley Green and the birth of my next (hopefully for longer) alias.

  “Hey Doc?”

  He looks stunned that I’ve spoken to him casually. Usually its small nods of my head or a wave over my shoulder as I leave his office. Other than the few curse matches with some of the staff, he doesn’t hear me speak much. My voice is still raspy, mostly from lack of use. His eyes are wide with anticipation at what may come out of my foul mouth.

  I relax my posture and look him directly in the eyes. Committing this man to memory for it is the last time I will ever see the Doctor that has helped change my life. I try for the most sincere tone I can before parting.

  “Thank you for your help. It’s appreciated.”

  The gentle curve of his lips is the last thing I see before I round the corner en route to my new life.

  * * *

  The sun is hot on my back as I trudge to my car with the last suitcase. I didn't bring much when I came to this little townhouse in Phoenix. My clothing, my dog, and my old self. That’s the thing I’ve learned about living and being alone. You don’t need much and the less you have, the faster you can run without the worry of leaving something important behind. There’s very little that is important to me anymore, but the thing one usually finds hard to part with after losing loved ones are the photographs and home videos. They remind you of things you’re bound to forget.

  The brain can only hold so much before little by little old memories get pushed out, and new ones take root. I cannot let them go like I did every other sentimental little nick knack in the place I once called home. There are a million memories still in my mind but I know with time things fade. The memories I once remembered so clearly started to get hazy in my mind and lack the once vivid detail.

  This is what has me punching the address into my GPS. The directions to my high security storage unit that has held what's left of my old life in a box located in Denver. That’s it, that’s all I have. One bag and a box in a five by ten storage room. When you’re forced into a life on the run you quickly learn what’s important in life that you need to hang onto, and what can easily be let go.

  I could have fit what's left of my life into a large safety deposit box at the bank, but that involves questions I can’t answer and identification that I refuse to provide.

  I take one last look at what has become my home these past few months. The two story cream colored townhouse sits beyond a modest front yard made up of rock and cacti reflecting the typical desert landscape. The small stone walkway that leads to the rust colored front door.

  It’s a modest yet tiny abode that serves as a resting place for Doctor Revere’s high paying clientele. I could have found my own place; I certainly have the money to do so. However it didn't come with the perks like the on call nurse and personal shopper close by. These things have made my life easier while I was recuperating from surgery. It also lacked the sickening smell of disinfectant and antiseptic that I refused to fill my lungs with had I of chose the regular hospital stay.

  Another plus to my temporary home was that it had been completely furnished. No worrying about bed linens and dish rags. The little home had it all. The selling point for me had been the back yard. Eight foot privacy fencing surrounded the narrow but long back yard. Perhaps most people who stayed here took advantage of the outdoor Jacuzzi tub and the matching loungers under the gazebo. I took advantage of the fact that my dog Norma would have ample space to move around.

  I grew up in a rural area and I’ll be damned if I would confine my innocent large breed Pyrenees to a choker and chain.

  The main level in the house boasted a living room/kitchen combo with a small island to separate the space. The open floor plan was perfect; the demi circle orange sofa dominated the room and sat in front of a wall mounted television. The earth toned tile floor was cool on the feet which was a blessing in the heat I swore I would never get used to.

  Furnishings served a purpose in the home. No dust collectors or personal touches. Moderate lighting with matching coffee and end tables in a dark wood finish. The large teal Aztec style rug held it all together. To the left of the living area were two doors. One for the bathroom and another for the master bedroom. Teal, Orange and muted earth tones carried throughout the bedroom as well. Dark furniture and more Aztec printed linens.

  The bedroom had its own entry into the bathroom that held a large soaker tub and what I refer to as a handicapped shower. Handles mounted all over the dark tile and the shower was flush with the floor in the event that you did need to be wheeled into it. The tiled in bench went along the far wall and formed an L shape. Multiple showerheads and sprayers ensured you could wash no matter where you sat. I myself preferred “the rain” setting. Due to my stitches and tender skin the rain was the gentlest way to ensure I stayed clean without blasting my stitched and bruised face to hell.

  MS Faneuille was my on call nurse. Immediately after my surgeries she came to stay in the upstairs bedroom. Much like my room downstairs minus the kickass shower. The rest of the upper floor contained a home gym that I eagerly made use of since my outdoor activities got put on hold the minute I became a mummy. My favorite part of the gym was the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the back yard. I hate to feel trapped and the illusion of openness is exactly what I needed. There wasn’t a lot I could do in the gym but my legs still worked well so I usually stuck to the treadmill.

  All in all I enjoyed the small but airy home, especially since I developed an aversion to close quarters and basements since the attack. Open and airy kept the panic attacks at bay. This is another new aspect of my life that I need to get used to.

  Too many walls? I won’t stay there.

  Stairway leading to a basement?

  Get the fuck outta dodge.

  My time in Phoenix is done and I don’t think I’ll ever be back. It served its purpose and regardless of my shit attitude towards the people I encountered here I will forever be grateful. MS Faneuille will return after my departure to clean out the fridge and get everything washed and ready for the next inhabitant. She was good to me. Maybe one day if I decide to speak more I will tell her so.

  Chapter Two

  According to my GPS it’s going to take me close to 12 hours to get to Denver. I enjoy driving, always have. The new sights and smells, the wind rustling my hair and my favorite music blasting from the speakers. It has always been an escape. My peaceful place. Somewhere to clear my head and focus on the road as oppose to the shit hand life has dealt me.

  I would normally get the jaunt over and done with in a day however I have to think of Norma sharing the back of the SUV with my suitcases and having just enough room to stand up but not quite enough to wander. Between the heat these past few months in Arizona and the stress of being in a car for so long she’ll enjoy a break, if I’m honest I probably will too after being cooped up for so long after surgery.

  I plan to stop in Durango for the evening at a campground that rents little cabins near Huck Finn Pond off the Animas River.

  It’s early spring but to me this still feels like the blazing heat of summer. Something I’m not used to after living in Canada for thirty years. The roads are clear and the sun is bright through the windows of the SUV. I have the A/C directed to the back and the windows down in the front since the cool air tends to give me a headache if it’s blowing in my face. The winding roads and desert like landscape is a sight to behold.

  I’m forty miles in and I am proud to say that I can scratch ‘seeing a tumbleweed float across the highway’ off of my bucket list.

  The barren miles of sand and stone are breathtaking but not enough that I would have ever considered this area my home. The perfect backdrop for my future will
hold much of the same scenery as my past. Large leafy trees shadowing green grass, and the scent of water nearby.

  It feels good to be on the road, out of the house and enjoying some fresh air. I have a long road ahead of me but I know this is one more step forward in getting there. The trip to the east coast will be a long one, a little more driving than I would like but I’m happy that I already have a place rented for when I get there.

  I need to get in and out of Denver as quickly as possible and get to my new home. Some people feel safer when they are moving, I feel safer in a dwelling where I can assess my surroundings and lock my doors.

  As I approach Durango I instantly feel more at home here than I did in Phoenix. The older style town with the backdrop of mountains and large evergreens speak to me in a way that the cacti in Phoenix failed to do.

  I drive towards the far side of town to find a small provisions store where I can pick up a few supplies. We don't need much other than a something quick to eat for dinner, and something containing alcohol for my nightcap. I don't sleep much anymore, but a nightcap or two (or seven) assures me a few solid hours of shuteye, hopefully nightmare free.

  I find a parking spot and hop out of the truck to stretch out the ache in my hips from sitting so long. Norma is eager to sniff her way around town so I open up the hatch and walk her over to a grassy area beside the store. No leash for her. After everything that has happened in the past year the dog will not leave my side.

  After Norm does her business and gets a much needed drink from a nearby puddle, I put her back in the vehicle and make my way into the store. It’s quaint and clean with a friendly looking older man behind the counter, who could easily pass as Mr. Rogers if you took away the suspenders and lumberjack coat hanging behind him. I make my way to the refrigerated section of the store since any food that comes in a box has never appealed to me.

  I find some cured meat and a pre-made garden salad that will serve as my meal for tonight. Next to the cold aisle is an assortment of fruit. I grab a few apples and a bunch of bananas and make my way to cash out. The store is relatively quiet save for a few young boys counting change to see if they have enough for a pop after they purchase a bag of chips.

  “Find everything you were lookin’ for dear?” asks the older gentleman as he begins to load my purchases into a brown paper bag.

  I simply nod my head and add a few bottles of vitamin water out of the cooler beside the counter to my items on the counter. Mr. Rogers gives me a side look that shows he is unimpressed I didn't elaborate more.

  He’s a talker, I can tell. He wants to chat me up about the weather and tell me all about his daughter Emmy who is giving him grandchild number thirteen next week and he couldn't be happier about another little whipper snapper entering the family fold.

  He wants to ask me where I’m from, where I’m headed and what I’m going to do when I get there. He wants answers I will never be able to give him. Answers to things I refuse to elaborate on. That’s the thing with very small towns; they need to know everyone else’s business.

  I’m not about to share mine, he’ll catch on to that quickly.

  “Ain’t seen beautiful girl like you around this place before. Mind ya, we got lots beautiful girls in town. My daughter bein’ one of ‘em ( See, I knew Emmy would get a mention) she lives outside of town though so I don’t ‘spect people see her as much since she only comes in to do her once weekly shoppin’. She’s about your age. You stickin’ around for a while dear or just passin’ through. Not alotta food here if ya stickin’ around.”

  Sweet Jesus every time.

  I can’t be the psycho bitch that flees the store with my purchases just to avoid speaking with someone. That raises suspicion and the last thing I need is unwanted attention. I love small towns but this is why slightly bigger ones are safer. People don't ask questions.

  “Just passing through”

  I hand Mr. Rogers a twenty as I gather up my sac of goods and make for the door.

  “Ms. don’t forget your change”

  He reminds me, but I just point to the jar for cancer collections on the counter and make my way outside. Norm’s head is between the seats of the truck staring out the window waiting for my return. She does this often. Afraid I won’t return like the rest of them. She’s all I have left and I promise my white bear of a dog daily that I will do my best to stay close.

  She doesn't understand why we’re alone now. Just sulks the days away and follows my every lead. One of us has to keep our shit together. There have been many days I would love to give up. Just say fuck it and be done with. But I feel like that's the coward’s way out. I remind myself that regardless of how much life fucking hurts there are many people out there who are suffering a much harsher fate than mine.

  * * *

  The cabin isn’t far now as I listen to the GPS guiding me there. The tall trees have blocked out the sun and the air through here is cooler. I know I’m close, I can smell the water. Norm perks up from the backseat knowing this leg of our journey is about to come to an end. I spot the small cabin near the road that serves as an office and pull into the little gravel lot.

  The dark wooden logs of the cabin resemble what the rental cabins looked like when I had been searching the internet for accommodations in the area. I spoke with an older woman in the office here a few days before I left Phoenix and she assured me renting a cabin for one night midweek wouldn’t be an issue as its not busy season and they were currently all open.

  I make my way to the door under the sign that reads ‘office’. The small reception is not much bigger than a bathroom has one small desk and a little bench on the opposite wall. The door on the opposite wall I assume is what leads into the actual home, and a small bell sits on the counter. ‘Ring for Service’ is taped on the front of it.

  I ring the bell and wait for the old gal I spoke with on the phone; she told me she would be here any time after four o’clock today. I hear a small dog bark in the back room and shuffling footsteps heading my way. The door opens and I get my first eyeful of silver hair before a little old bitty standing five foot nothing comes through the door.

  “Heya deary you must be the young lady I spoke to on the phone, one night at one of my cabins? That you dear?”

  If I still laughed and smiled I would be doing both of those things right now. But it’s enough that my lips are twitching. This woman could be Estelle Getty’s sister. I’m not sure if I want to start singing the theme song to Golden Girls or muster up my man voice and say “Stop or my mom will shoot!”

  “Yes ma’am that would be me.”

  She shuffles behind her desk with a large appointment book resting on top. No computer for Estelle, she likes to take appointments the old fashioned way.

  “Well dear let’s get you registered then, my Grandson made me that fancy page on the computer but I don't know how to do the bookings on that damn thing and he’s gone back overseas, so it’s just pictures for folks to look at for now. Did ya see one you liked?”

  Most of the cabins all looked exactly the same but some boasted more than one bedroom. My only requirement was the furthest one from other people.

  “Yes I would like number eight if it’s available?”

  I say kindly to the woman. She deserves all the kindness, respecting the elderly and all.

  “Told ya on the phone deary, they’re all available. Number eight it is.”

  “Thank you ma’am.”

  She scribbles some Sanskrit down in her planner before addressing me again.

  “That’ll be sixty dollars for the night dear. You mentioned you had a dog, and I won’t charge ya extra seein’ as its off season. But, you mind my words Miss if I find anything chewed or soiled on, you won’t like what I have to say about it”.

  As tiny as she is; I could see her putting the fear of god into small children that didn’t bother to wash their hands before supper, so I take her seriously. I don't for one second think that she’s joking. In fact I’m pretty sure
this little old woman probably has a gun in the pocket of her robe. I know I would if I were out here by myself answering the door to strangers wanting a room for the night.

  “Norm’s a good girl ma’am.”

  “Norm?”

  “Short for Norma. My dog.”

  She eye’s me through her bifocals like she could predict whether I was lying or not. Hell she could probably predict what I would die from and who would get my kidneys after I become an organ donor.

  After a perusal of my face followed by my clothing, and last a long gander out the office window to see Norma waiting in the truck she nods her head and focuses on my eyes.

  “I trust ya to be sayin’ the truth, now once we get you paid I’ll send ya on your way with the key”.