The Flight of Hope

by HJ Bellus

  “Guy!” I leap down from the steps, jogging to him. “Guy, back.”

  I grab his collar, pulling on him. He growls, and it’s a menacing one.

  “Easy, boy. This is Caleb.” The growling ceases, but Guy stays on high alert, not comfortable with our visitor.

  I peer up to Caleb confused and not quite sure what in the hell is going on. Maybe I’m dreaming? Or I drank too much vodka in my sleep? The hell?

  “Sorry,” Caleb offers. “Wanted to drop this off.”

  He heaves a fifty-pound bag of dog food off his shoulder onto the ground.

  “Wow.” My eyes grow wide in shock then a questioning stare takes over my features.

  Caleb reads the question printed on my face. “You bought a bunch of dog treats yesterday. Figured you either had a dog or a screwed up diet.”

  He smirks at me, and I can’t help but laugh at his lame joke.

  “I’m sorry for yesterday; it was straight-up chaos when you came into the store. I appreciate you helping me out with Fender. And I thought it might be a bitch to haul dog food on your bike. And by the size of the rawhide you bought, I figured you had a pretty big dog.”

  His gaze goes down to Guy, and he nods his head happy with answering his question.

  “Hey!”

  I glance over to the truck to see Fender waving out the window. His black hair is as wild as it was yesterday and his cheeks are rosy red. His little hand waves back-and-forth with excitement, as if I can’t see him even though he’s only fifteen feet away.

  I give him a finger wave and smile. And then I see Jed, his dad, in the driver's seat of the truck. He wears the same expression as he did yesterday. The man is angry at the world and miserable. When I make eye contact with them, he pulls his aviators resting on top of his head over his eyes and faces forward.

  “Hey, lady.” Fender waves both arms at me this time. "Can I pet your dog?”

  “No, sit down, son.” Fender’s face falls into defeat.

  Caleb ignores his brother’s instructions and pulls Fender from the truck. He sets him on his feet in front of Guy and shows him how to approach a strange dog to make sure he’s friendly. It’s cute how loving and caring Caleb is with his nephew. Soon Guy is licking Fender’s face.

  “Leftover syrup from breakfast,” Caleb offers.

  Fender looks up to the sky, giggling so hard it’s contagious.

  “Daddy, I made a friend,” Fender squeals between licks.

  Jed shocks the shit out of me when he gets out of the truck striding toward us. I steady myself prepared for his wrath. He stops next to Fender, and I’m legit scared for the boy. Jed is a mystery. I don’t think he’d hurt his kid, but hell, I have no idea who he is or what has him so damn angry.

  “Good looking dog.” Jed kneels next to Fender, petting Guy’s head.

  Guy eats up all the attention, leaning into Jed.

  “What breed is he?” Jed’s deep, gruff voice catches me off guard. It’s warm and welcoming, and nothing like I’ve heard from him before. There are hints of his rich, melodic singing voice as he talks to Guy and Fender. The man has the voice of a God.

  “He’s uh…an Aussiedoodle.” I stumble and trip over each word.

  Fender drops to his knees, crawling underneath Guy. “Does he have a wiener?”

  The boy is obsessed with wieners. Caleb throws his head back, laughing. The sound is resounding around the mountainsides. Jed joins him, offering up a genuine hint of them being twins. At this moment, they’re both carefree.

  “Does he, lady?” Fender climbs underneath Guy, peeking out the other side to face me. Dirt and grime now sprinkle over his features.

  Before I have a chance to answer him, Jed bends down, picking him up by the hips, and swinging him up and over his head until he’s settled on his broad shoulders.

  “Her name is Marlee. Use your manners, son.”

  “Marwee, does he have a wiener?” Fender runs his hands through his dad’s thick wavy hair.

  I nod. “Yes, he’s a boy.”

  Fender’s eyes sparkle. “I haves a big wiener you know, and that’s why took me so long to wee.”

  Jed’s the first to laugh, but cuts it short biting down on his bottom lip. “Caleb, this is all your doing, you know. Since we’ve moved back, it’s all you two talk about.”

  “Wieners?” The one word in the form of a question slips from my lips before I can stop it.

  “It’s our manhood and pride by damn.”

  I grab the flannel shirt, wrapping it tight around my body, clutching to Hope’s blanket. “Thank you to you and your uncle for bringing my Guy some dog food. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get it back on my bike.”

  “You have a doll?” Fender points to the plush pink blanket.

  “No. I…uh.”

  Jed steers the conversation in an opposite direction, pointing at my bike. “Doesn’t look like you’d make it very far anyway.”

  I turn to see two flat tires on my bike. Well, shit. My shoulders sag defeated. I quite enjoyed the adventure yesterday, especially if working out my body allows me to sleep in peace.

  “Well, that sucks.” I chew on my thumb.

  Jed strides over to the bike, picking it up with one hand while keeping Fender balanced on his shoulders. It’s hard not to admire his body. He walks it right to his truck, tossing it in the back of the old-style, sleek black Ford.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, fear in my voice.

  “Stealing your piece of shit bike. What the hell does it look like?”

  Caleb slaps Jed in the back of the head. The men exchange a few heated words. A switch flips with Jed, and it’s right back to the dark, broody man who is suffering in his misery.

  Fender turns to me. “Banky says Dad is ponstipated all the time.”

  “Damn right, the grumpy ass is,” Caleb murmurs loud enough for all to hear.

  Jed ignores the jabs while he buckles Fender in the backseat safely in his booster seat. Fender begins humming a popular country song I can’t place. That humming does something to me.

  “Enjoy the bike,” I whisper to myself.

  Caleb and Fender both wave as Jed backs out in his truck. But it’s not them who hold my attention. Jed looks over to me for a long time, and even though he’s wearing glasses, I can tell he’s studying me. He’s stripping away all of my exterior.

  22

  “Love is a trap. When it appears, we see only its light, not its shadows.” -Paulo Coelho

  I’ve been determined to chase sleep similar to a few nights ago. The following evening, I chalked it up to being saved from the nightmares. It was the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself, and I’ll be the first to admit that. I woke up in a cold sweat and reached for the bottle without thinking. It offered a few hours of uninterrupted sleep with the side effects of a glorious hangover.

  The next day I picked the tallest mountain I could find and hiked up as far as I could go. My lungs threatened to collapse, every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I pushed through it. That night sleep came.

  I did the same thing last night, pushing my body to exhaustion damn near to the fine line of its breaking point determined to avoid nightmares. I woke up once again nightmare free before dawn. It’s a small victory, one that offers a positive new pattern of life. I stretch out and go about my morning routine. Albeit much slower and with lots of groaning. It hurts to sit on the toilet. It hurts to stand, walk, and breathe. It’s the first time my body has been alive in a long time.

  The adrenaline and high my body gets from working out are becoming my new addiction. Guy stands at the door whimpering as I stir a splash of Bailey’s into my coffee.

  “Just a sec, boy.” I button up the flannel, knowing the morning’s briskness will be a good one. It’s been growing colder and colder in the mornings. As soon as the door is open, he bolts out of it, not letting one of his paws touch a single step. He takes after a bird, barking up a storm the whole way. It’s become one of his favorite pastime
s. He scares them away, waits for a new one to return, and repeats the process over and over.

  A familiar black truck rolls into my campsite in front of the rising sun. I use my hands to shade my eyes, only able to make out a silhouette. As soon as the figure steps out, I know it’s Jed from his slightly trimmer build.

  I walk up to the truck, cupping my coffee in my palms, blowing on the steaming hot liquid. This man has been hot and cold, to say the least. The last thing I want is small talk when I’m suffering in my misery, so I stand here studying him.

  He reaches into the bed of his truck and pulls out my bike. The muscles covered by his black t-shirt strain as he does it. The shirt is pulled taut across his broad chest. I notice how tan he is. Even up in the mountains, he’s as handsome as he was on all of his album covers. Possibly even sexier in his rugged state. His jawline is covered in a light scruff. His eyes aren’t covered with sunglasses today.

  He sets the bike between us. Something jangles, pulling my attention to it. A leash and a brand new dog collar shine brightly. The tires are aired up. We stand for a long time staring at each other. Neither of us saying a word or making a move. I sip from my coffee and Jed reaches for the leash. It’s then I notice the large bruises on the inside of his arms. Track marks? Is he a recovering addict? Would explain his highs and lows that much is certain.

  I look back to his eyes and notice he followed my line of sight. He places the bike back where it was when he picked it up the other day without asking and walks right back to his truck. He slams the door and settles in behind the wheel and glances over to me.

  I’m not sure why, but I can tell there’s so much more he wants to say but doesn’t.

  “You have time for coffee?” I worry my bottom lip, regretting the question.

  Jed drops his hand from the ignition, shoulders relax, and he nods, making me stumble over my own feet. I glance around my campsite to see a broken down picnic table and one chair. It’s not much.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Jed gives me a jerk of his head as he climbs back out of his truck. I fumble around with the coffee grounds, making a damn mess. My hands tremble packing the filter. Soon the Keurig fires to life with a hot stream of coffee pouring into a generic mug that came with the Airstream.

  I turn to holler at the door and see Jed standing in the doorway.

  “Shit.” I clutch my chest. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry.” He shrugs. “Love these style of campers, just taking a peek.”

  I don’t like him in here. It makes my skin crawl.

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  He points to the unopened bottle of vodka on the counter. “And a dash of creamer.”

  “Okay.” I turn back to the coffee mug, battling to control my breathing.

  No one has ever been in this camper with me since it’s been parked in the mountains. I wouldn’t enter it when the salesman was setting stuff up. This is my place painted with my own memories. No one is welcome. Not even a mysterious, famous country singer.

  The stairs creak as he walks back down them and my shoulders sag in relief. I can breathe. I stir his coffee and follow him outside. He’s perched on top of the rickety picnic table. His bronzed, rugged hand roams over the rough, splintered top of the picnic table. Head bowed deep in thought.

  “Here.” I hold the mug out in front of me.

  He nods and grabs it. “Thanks.”

  “Least I can do for fixing my bike.”

  He answers with his stare and no words. I back up, grab my mug off the arm of my chair, and take a seat. We drink in silence not saying a word. The birds sing in the trees, the river racing away, and the refreshing breeze is whirling around us.

  My heart still pounds in my chest from the sight of him in the doorway of my camp trailer. My stare goes from Jed’s stoic silhouette to the bright clear blue skies. As the minutes drift by, the situation doesn’t grow awkward. I find myself relaxed back in the chair with my tanned legs kicked out in front of me; another perk of living in the mountains.

  I take the final swallow of my coffee. “Want another cup of Joe?”

  Jed looks over at me and smiles. It’s not a full teeth megawatt one just a glimpse of one making his dimples come to life, and his mesmerizing rich dark honey eyes shine for a beat.

  “Please.” He goes to stand up.

  I beat him to it. “I’ll get it.”

  This time I shut the screen door and main door behind, leaving no room for question. I feel like a bitch. I trust him and maybe I shouldn’t. I’m not ready. I put another splash of Bailey’s in my cup and doctor up Jed’s coffee. I use my elbows and balancing skills to get the door open. Jed’s focused on the river not noticing me.

  “Here you go,” I whisper, not wanting to spook him.

  “Thanks, Marlee.”

  My name rolling off his lips does something to me, making my stomach roll in excitement, and then it goes sick. I shouldn’t be feeling. This is wrong.

  Jed reaches out, placing his large hand on my arm holding my mug of coffee. I flinch. Jed runs his fingers over my prickled skin. He soothes it out with his words. “I needed this. I need a friend, Marlee. Thank you.”

  I roll my lips between my teeth digesting his words. He has no idea how bad I need a friend as well.

  “Ditto,” I whisper.

  He drops his hand from my arm, and I shiver, trying to hide by briskly walking over to my chair. My skin burns, coming to life where his hand once was. We sit in silence finishing our second cup of coffee.

  “Much appreciated, Marlee.” He stands up, stretching, and then putting his hands in his pockets. His low rise, well-worn jeans dip a bit with the action.

  “You good to drive?” I ask, picking up his mug from the picnic table.

  He smirks. “Yes, takes a hell of a lot more than that to even get me buzzed.”

  “Thank you, Jed.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Back to reality.”

  His long strides carry him easily to his truck. The roar of the engine rattles my insides, and he’s gone. I walk over to the bike and notice he didn’t air up the tires. He replaced them with brand new ones and the tread looks to be thicker and sturdier. The dog leash dangles off the handlebars. I grab the manly leash and collar, running my fingers over the smooth leather.

  Guy has always worn the collar Bentley and I picked out for him. It’s worn and fading. Maybe it’s time? I shake the thought away as quickly as it entered my train of thought.

  He brought a leash and a collar so Guy could go with me on bike rides. To say I’m confused and dumbfounded is an understatement. I think about those marks on his arms and feel guilty for my first thought of it being track marks. It could be anything; he could be sick, or I guess have a drug problem.

  I haven’t been connected to the Internet since living out here; it’s been a breath of fresh air being disconnected from society. But right now, I would do anything for a quick Google search on country’s biggest singer, Jed Bryant. The news would have to be plastered all over the World Wide Web because someone of his stature doesn’t quit singing without heads turning.

  23

  “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”

  -Oscar Wilde

  Jed has been by the last week for morning coffee. We sit in silence and drink. I look forward to it. He comes earlier, right before the sun peeks over the mountains and only drinks two cups to be home when Fender shows up. There’s been minimal conversation between us. I know his parents are on a trip and will be home shortly. He hates helping run the grocery store and despises vegetables.

  The early afternoon drags on with me sitting in my chair toes in the river, going over the entire situation. Guy is on repeat bringing me a stick, waiting for me to toss it, galloping after it, and then repeats the action over and over.

  I don’t beat myself up over the night my life ended, as I know it. I bring my fingertips up to the side of my face where a scar lives. It’s narr
ow and a few inches long. The rest I’m able to hide underneath my clothes and in my soul. I miss Bentley every second of every day, but right now it’s dulled a bit. My heart is finding a new rhythm, allowing me to survive. I glance over to the bike, biting down on my bottom lip.

  After making a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, an idea strikes me. Caleb didn’t have to bring the dog food. Jed didn’t have to fix my bike. But they did. They’re good men. Not to mention Jed is the best coffee companion.

  I rummage around in my cupboards not seeing much. It’s not like I can whip up an apple pie or cake. So I grab the closest thing to a dessert. A box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts. I shrug my shoulders and then shake my head. It’s mountain life, you do the best with what you have. And it’s the idea that counts and more important with me it’s all about the effort. I’m stepping out of my comfort zone.

  Guy and I used to go on walks all the time. He would always be waiting at the door when I got home with his leash dangling from his slobbery mouth. He’d nudge the side of my thigh until I was so tired of him pestering me that I'd give in and take him on a walk out to the pond or to Mom’s house.

  His ears perk up when he hears the rattle of the leash. The new collar clutched in my hand burns my skin. He’s at my side in a beat. His tail waggles and his body wiggles in untamed excitement. Guy’s joy urges me to go on.

  “Here goes nothing.” My fingers tremble unhooking his old one. Tears fall. Memories flood me. All of it wrapped up in the old collar. Once the new one is fastened around his neck, I clutch his old one to my chest. Memories. A new chapter. It hurts to try, but I want to. Guy nudges my leg with his nose, showing off his new pretty.

  “Darn handsome, mister.” I lean down, kiss his head, and wipe away the tears.

  His excitement is uncontainable, making me a bit nervous to be riding a bike with him on the other end of this leash. I’ve never ridden a bicycle and walk a dog or would that be called riding the dog? I slap my forehead, giggling. It would not be called riding the dog.